Chapter 21 – The Astute Lord
"This was originally the emblem of the Tulip family—the tulip flower. I simply added a two-legged dragon's claw to it as my own family emblem."
Rhodes examined the cloth and commented, "The women of the village made it overnight. The embroidery is rough, but you can still make it out."
Sons of noble families who did not inherit the main lineage were permitted to redesign their own family crests after being enfeoffed as lords.
If relations with their family were poor, they could abandon the old crest entirely.
Most, however, modified the original design.
Rhodes held little affection for the Tulip family, but he had not broken with Count Tulip either, so he simply added new elements to the existing symbol.
More importantly—it was convenient.
"Is this… your first family crest?"
Marcus Silverdove accepted the leather pouch with both hands, his fingers trembling slightly.
"This… this is far too precious."
Whatever lay inside the pouch mattered far less than the meaning behind the gift.
A lord's first family emblem carried enormous symbolic weight.
It represented Rhodes' goodwill toward him.
Marcus inhaled slowly and opened the pouch.
Inside was a small wyvern fang.
"I can't give you the large fangs," Rhodes said casually. "Those will be used for weapons. But this smaller one can be a gift."
Marcus hesitated before touching it.
"Luna has already treated it," Rhodes added. "It's no longer poisonous."
Marcus let out an embarrassed laugh before finally picking up the fang.
After examining it carefully, he stepped back and bowed deeply.
"Thank you for your gift, Your Excellency. This is the most special gift I have ever received."
"But I cannot reciprocate with anything of equal value right now."
Rhodes blinked in mild surprise.
"It's good that you recognize its value," he said lightly. "Just bring back the slaves you promised me. That will be repayment enough."
To Rhodes, the poorly embroidered family emblem hardly seemed priceless.
This was mostly a gesture to win over a merchant with useful connections.
Marcus shook his head solemnly.
"This is different."
Rhodes waved it off.
"Then do me another favor."
"When you leave Blackpine Ridge, forget everything you saw here. Just remember me as your friend."
"No problem. I understand your caution."
Marcus agreed immediately, though he added with concern,
"But news of your dragon-slaying will eventually spread."
"As long as merchants keep quiet, news travels very slowly across the wasteland."
Rhodes was not afraid of others learning that he had slain a wyvern.
He simply needed time.
Dragon eggs and wyvern hides were priceless commodities. If people investigated the details of the battle, they might discover that he possessed a blade capable of cutting through dragon scales.
That was not attention he wanted right now.
"Also," Rhodes continued, "I'd like you to keep an eye on the other lords in the wasteland."
Marcus froze briefly, then laughed.
"Baron, I must say—you are truly a shrewd and farsighted lord."
Rhodes chuckled and waved dismissively.
"I'll take that as a compliment."
"Of course, Your Excellency."
Marcus nodded seriously.
"Please wait patiently for the slaves and the intelligence reports."
With that, he waved farewell.
The convoy soon departed.
Rhodes stood watching until the wagons disappeared beyond the horizon before turning back toward Frostleaf Town.
Dusk fell over Frostleaf Town.
At the hilltop estate, Lawrence puffed out his chest and shouted loudly.
"Work harder! Anyone who slacks off won't get dinner tonight!"
"Lord Lawrence," a slave whispered carefully, "the sun is almost down. It's nearly the lord's designated rest time."
"How can you rest when even the valiant dragon slayer doesn't have a proper manor yet?"
Lawrence's eyes widened.
"You're the slaves of a dragon slayer! Show some ability! Get to work!"
No one dared slack off under the Dragon Slayer's steward.
"We must finish the manor in one week—no, three days!"
He cracked his whip against a wooden post as a warning.
Lawrence had always believed he would never surpass his older brother.
Especially when it came to wealth.
His brother would always earn more gold.
But now everything was different.
His lord had slain a dragon.
And he was the steward of a dragon slayer.
No pile of gold coins could compete with that honor.
Lawrence secretly congratulated himself.
The slaves groaned in exhaustion while the nearby guards exchanged amused smiles.
Everyone present had witnessed the wyvern's death.
But the most exaggerated reaction belonged to Lawrence.
His shouting was so loud that it echoed clearly through the town below.
"What's wrong with him? Has he gone mad?"
Rhodes frowned.
Durant smiled awkwardly.
"The day before yesterday, after we returned with the wyvern's corpse, Lawrence asked about what happened. I told him the story and mentioned that you killed it personally."
That was all it took.
"He's developed a condition," Rhodes muttered. "And it needs treatment."
Keeping the wyvern's death secret within the town had been impossible.
But Lawrence's enthusiasm had gone far beyond reason.
"Welcome back, valiant dragon slayer, master of Blackpine Ridge—Lord Baron Rhodes!"
Lawrence jogged up and bowed at a perfect ninety-degree angle.
Rhodes felt a chill crawl down his spine.
"That's enough," he said quickly. "You don't need to keep repeating that."
"My lord, your bravery deserves to be known by all!"
Lawrence added indignantly,
"Especially those vulgar merchants who only care about gold coins!"
"Calm down," Rhodes said flatly. "Stop thinking about that."
He forced a stern expression.
Lawrence immediately lowered his head.
"Yes, my lord."
Rhodes ignored him and began walking toward the manor when someone suddenly called out.
"My lord! Wheat cakes!"
Rhodes turned.
A militiaman ran toward him carrying a wooden basin full of flatbread. Behind him followed a slightly plump woman.
"My mother made these wheat cakes," the militiaman said. "I promised you."
The basin was handed to Rhodes.
The woman bowed respectfully.
"Thank you for saving my child and bringing him home safely."
She glanced at Rhodes briefly before lowering her head again.
"Thank you for making pancakes for me as well," Rhodes replied with a faint smile.
He hadn't expected his casual remark that day to be taken so seriously.
Rhodes gestured for Durant to take the basin, then picked up a flatbread and took a large bite.
The thin cakes were made from coarse rye flour mixed with a little wheat.
They could be eaten plain, or filled with minced meat, vegetables, or dried fruit.
The one Rhodes bit into was stuffed with jerky.
Apparently, the woman had put every scrap of meat her family owned into these cakes.
"It's delicious," Rhodes said sincerely.
He was starving after the long day.
More importantly, it was a mother's heartfelt offering.
"You made such a large bowl of them," Rhodes said after finishing. "Your home probably doesn't have much food left."
He turned to Lawrence.
"Later, deliver fifty pounds of rye and twenty pounds of meat to their house."
"Yes, my lord."
Lawrence obeyed, though inwardly he thought the family had made quite a profit.
"Thank you, my generous lord!"
The militiaman and his mother bowed repeatedly in gratitude.
Rhodes waved casually.
"Come on, everyone. Have one."
Durant held the basin while Rhodes distributed the wheat cakes to the guards.
A mother's kindness should not be measured like a market transaction.
Of course, if someone tried to trade him bread intentionally for profit, Rhodes would chase them away.
Soon the group stood together in the open space before the manor.
They watched the sunset while chewing wheat cakes.
The bread was a little dry.
Still, Rhodes found the moment surprisingly pleasant.
Then a thought struck him.
"From now on, we should eat wheat cakes every year on this day."
Everyone looked up.
"To celebrate the day we defeated the wyvern," Rhodes continued. "And to prepare food for the spring planting."
Many fields lay more than ten miles from Frostleaf Town.
Farmers working them often carried dry food since they had no time to return home at noon.
During the busy season, even women worked the fields. By the time they returned at night, cooking was exhausting.
Wheat cakes made several days earlier were the simplest solution.
"Great idea!" Lawrence shouted immediately.
The others nodded in agreement.
"But the name 'wheat cake' sounds dull," someone said. "It should be changed."
"What should we call it?"
Everyone turned toward Rhodes.
He thought for a moment.
"Spring Pancake."
End of Chapter 21