Everyone in the Norwington Family Had a Rotten Heart

Hatherford and Boralus faced each other across the sea, with a bridge several thousand meters long connecting two towering peaks.

Across the bridge from the Royal Capital lay the lands of Norwington Estate.

"Leonard, let go of my horse! Have you no respect for my dignity?" Byron roared, grabbing the reins in Leonard's hand and glaring at him.

It was already the third day of their journey to Morris Town, and Byron had spent all three days walking. His legs had been trembling ever since he got up that morning.

Fortunately, Rowan had only ordered him to walk for three days. He could ride today.

Leonard held on to the reins and said coldly, "Today is the second day. You still need to walk for another day."

"Leonard, do you really not know how to count to three? I think you're just making life difficult for me. Ah! Holy Light above, grant me supreme strength to punish this idiot who can't count to three and that petty young master!" Byron was furious. He refused to believe anyone genuinely couldn't count to three. Leonard is just picking on me!

Leonard frowned and asked in confusion, "Is this really the third day since we set out? I don't believe it. I'll ask the young master. Oh, and you just called me an idiot, didn't you? And you said the young master was petty."

"I didn't! That wasn't me! Don't make things up!" Byron stared at Leonard in horror. He couldn't imagine whether he would die on the road if he had to walk for another three days.

Still, Byron had resolved to deny everything to his dying breath. He followed Leonard over to Rowan's carriage.

"Once we pass through the mountain pass ahead, we'll reach North Mountain at Norwington Estate. If you'd like to visit home, Young Master Rowan, we can take the main road north." Leonard returned the warhorse's reins to Byron, saying nothing about what had just happened.

Byron let out a long sigh of relief and stood dazedly to one side.

"No, we'll go straight to Morris Town." Rowan felt little attachment to Norwington Estate. Rather than waste time on the road, he would prefer to reach Morris Town as soon as possible and begin preparing.

Rowan considered for a moment, then turned his gaze to Byron. Byron gave him an awkward smile and avoided his eyes.

"Actually, Sir Byron, I'm not a petty man."

"Young master, you don't need to say anything. I understand. Walking is wonderful. I don't like riding. Not one bit." Byron's face drooped as he spoke, looking utterly defeated.

Somewhat bewildered, Rowan waved a hand and said, "Leonard, go attend to your work. I have something else to discuss with Byron."

This Paladin's mind really did work in strange ways. Rowan realized they were on completely different wavelengths.

"Aren't your legs sore after walking for three days?"

"Not at all. When I took part in the Third Freehold Pirate Interception Battle, I walked across more than half of Drustvar. This little distance is nothing." Byron kept feeling that Young Master Rowan's words carried a hidden meaning.

Rowan smacked his lips and said helplessly, "Suit yourself. Anyway, I have something else to ask you."

"Please, ask."

"What exactly is the Holy Light?" In the game world, the Holy Light was a form of healing magic that could rapidly restore injured adventurers' wounds and vitality. But in a real world, Rowan had doubts about this method of treatment.

After all, he hadn't seen it with his own eyes. He couldn't be certain how effective the Holy Light actually was in the real world of Azeroth.

"A kind of energy? Sorry, Young Master Rowan. I'm not a traditional Holy Light Priest, so I don't study theory. I don't know what the Holy Light really is either. All I know is that it's the power of faith from deep within our hearts," Byron explained, dredging up every word he could think of that seemed to fit the definition of the Holy Light.

Faith equaled the Holy Light. That wasn't far from Rowan's understanding.

"Let me put it another way. If your leg broke right now, could Holy Light magic heal it?" Rowan studied Byron's lower legs as he asked thoughtfully.

The air suddenly fell silent. Byron looked at Rowan, wanting to cry but unable to shed a tear. You still won't leave me alone. Everyone in the Norwington Family has a rotten heart.

"Yes!" Byron suddenly felt that his colleagues at the Chapel were much easier to get along with. They might all be taciturn, but at least they were friendly, kindhearted people.

Rowan took a dagger from his bag, opened his hand, and worked up the courage to draw a cut across his palm.

Bright red blood immediately welled up and flowed out.

"Please, Sir Byron," Rowan requested.

Was I overthinking things? Seeing that the situation wasn't nearly as bad as he had imagined, Byron let out a long sigh of relief, and his familiar smile returned.

"A little wound like that can be healed with the simplest Flash of Light spell." Byron reached for the Holy Light Handbook at his waist, only to discover that he had left it in the carriage.

It had been so long since Byron last used such low-level Holy Light magic that, for a moment, he had actually forgotten how to cast Flash of Light.

He looked at Rowan with some embarrassment, gave a light cough, and said, "Young Master Rowan, you'd better bandage it for now. I seem to have forgotten how to cast Flash of Light."

"If you can't use Flash of Light, Lay on Hands will do!" Rowan yelped in pain.

"My level isn't high enough, Young Master Rowan. Lay on Hands is a spell only level-six Paladins can learn. I'm only level four." Byron shook his head helplessly.

By the time Byron returned with the Holy Light Handbook, Jenny had already thoughtfully bandaged Rowan's hands.

Fortunately, Byron did manage to cast Flash of Light, and the gentle Holy Light unfolded before Rowan's eyes for the first time.

Countless tiny, shimmering inscriptions were interspersed within the pale golden, sacred radiance. Wherever the light settled, it felt warm and refreshing.

In a world of swords and magic, there was nothing magic couldn't accomplish. If there was, it only meant you didn't understand magic well enough.

The wound in Rowan's palm healed at a speed visible to the naked eye. He could distinctly feel his cells dividing and growing faster. In just three seconds, the wound in his palm vanished without a trace.

In the end, Byron did get his horse, but the smile on his face had quietly disappeared, replaced by the same sour expression everyone else wore.

Rich and foolish? Innocent and adorable? He's clearly a sly, scheming young fox.

Bishop Joseph, I understand now. You probably really do hate me. That's why you tricked me into leaving the Chapel.

They continued south along Hatherford's coastline. On the eighth day, Rowan caught sight of Morris Town by the sea.

The whole town was built against a mountainside, and most of its buildings were two-story cottages with green-tiled, pointed roofs. The town was home to the Morris Shipyard, while North Mountain was a mining site.

It had just rained, leaving the road into town muddy. The journey was less than five kilometers, yet it took them half a day.