Rick's farm lay just outside South Los, on flat, fertile land.
Besides a few cash crops, he also raised plenty of cattle, sheep, chickens, and ducks.
Looking out from the carriage, Arthur spotted at least fifty cattle and over two hundred sheep at a glance, and that was far from all of them.
Just two of Cook's "uncles" were tending them, with seven sheepdogs.
The two men rode horses, wielding whips and lassos. A longsword hung on one side of each saddle, with crossbow bolts on the other, and daggers were tucked into their belts. Most strikingly, despite the cold, damp sea winds of a South Los winter, they wore nothing but wool vests, exposing their thick arms.
With every shout and swing of their whips and lassos, the knotted muscles of their thick arms bulged.
What caught Arthur's attention most was the aura the two men unconsciously gave off.
It was not exceptionally powerful.
But it was vicious.
Simply put, they reeked of blood.
Was this the "scent" of a bounty hunter?
Arthur assessed them inwardly.
The two men tending the livestock had clearly noticed the approaching carriage as well.
When they saw Cook jump out, both immediately smiled.
One of them whistled.
At once, a hawk took flight from a nearby fence and flew into the farm.
About ten minutes later, Arthur finally met Cook's father.
He was a tall, burly man whose arms were thicker than an ordinary person's waist.
Bare-chested and wearing only trousers, he ran out from the farm with white steam rising from his entire body.
What an insane training intensity!
Watching the sweat still pouring off Cook's father, Arthur could already picture the man's workout.
In fact, Arthur was certain that the intensity of his training rivaled certain body-tempering mystic arts.
Arthur pushed