Translator: CinderTL
"Aren't you going to the festival?" Roland asked, wiping sweat from his forehead.
"If you're not going, I'm not going either," Sean replied, shaking his head and casually picking up another wooden sword.
"Huh? Don't be silly. I'm not a kid anymore; I don't need you to babysit me."
"Absolutely not!" Sean interrupted firmly. "I promised to protect you! What if that bastard Marco tries to cause trouble while I'm not around?"
"Heh." Roland couldn't help but chuckle at his best friend's worried expression. "What about Emily? Aren't you going to ask her to dance?"
"No dancing," Sean muttered, swinging the wooden sword half-heartedly. "Even the prettiest girl can't compare to my bro. Besides..." His voice trailed off. "Even if I went, she might not choose me as her dance partner."
This answer sent Roland into hearty laughter. Sean's earnest yet dejected demeanor was simply too amusing to resist.
"Damn it! Stop laughing!" Sean protested, his face flushing crimson. "Sometimes I really wonder if you're even my age. You'd rather practice boring sword techniques than go to the festival? Unbelievable!"
"Boring?" Roland twirled his sword. "I find it quite interesting."
The two practiced and chatted, and before they knew it, noon had arrived.
It was only then that Peyton emerged from the house, yawning.
"Hmm?" Peyton grunted, rubbing his sleepy eyes until his vision focused on Roland in the courtyard.
"Am I imagining things? How did this kid's swordsmanship improve so much overnight? Could he actually be some kind of sword genius?"
"Uncle Peyton!" Sean waved enthusiastically, completely forgetting about Peyton's extortion from the previous day.
Seeing Peyton, Roland paused his practice and bowed slightly in greeting.
"Yo!" Peyton chuckled, dismissing his lingering doubts. He pulled a wineskin from his waist, slowly unscrewed the stopper, and teased, "What's this, Sean? Not out causing trouble at the festival? That's not like you."
"I'm reporting to the recruitment office near the Black Cedar Forest after the festival, so I need to practice my swordsmanship as much as possible."
"If I earn Lord Beckham's favor, I might become a knight's squire and fight alongside knights—those transcendent professionals!"
As Sean spoke, his face lit up with anticipation.
Seeing his best friend's enthusiasm, Roland sighed softly.
In his opinion, venturing into the Black Cedar Forest now was far from wise.
Even with knights leading the expedition, that darkness-shrouded forest remained exceedingly dangerous.
He had repeatedly tried to dissuade Sean, even detailing the forest's myriad perils, but Sean always brushed him off with a joke.
Eventually, Roland stopped insisting.
He knew his dear friend too well.
Beneath that honest and simple exterior lay a stubborn heart, more resolute than anyone else's.
Becoming a knight's squire and fighting alongside knights had been Sean's lifelong dream.
Though they were as close as brothers, some decisions couldn't be swayed by mere words.
Each person had their own path to walk.
With these thoughts, Roland could only offer his silent blessings.
"I hope that iron sword and heart-guarding mirror will protect him and bring him back safely," Roland murmured.
Peyton and Sean's father, Gary, held a different view.
In Peyton's words, the weak green-skinned mongrels in the Black Cedar Forest had only succeeded because the surrounding villages were caught off guard, relying on their numerical advantage.
Now that a knight was personally leading soldiers to crush them, the green-skinned mongrels stood no chance.
Letting Sean go would broaden his horizons and keep him from idly wasting time at home.
Watching his nephew, who was almost fanatically devoted to knights, Peyton scoffed softly and settled into a shady spot.
He tilted his head back and took a long swig of wine before speaking slowly, "Boy, you're really that fond of knights?"
"Of course!" Sean replied, setting down his wooden sword and nodding vigorously. "They possess immense strength, noble virtues, punish the wicked, and maintain peace in the land."
Sean recalled the tales sung by bards, passionately listing the knights' virtues.
"Ha! I can't vouch for their noble virtues, but when it comes to sheer strength, there are plenty of people in this world more powerful than knights."
Roland, who had been focused on his sword practice, paused at these words, his hand freezing mid-swing as he quietly pricked up his ears.
"Impossible!" Sean, who couldn't bear anyone tarnishing his idealized image of knights, flushed crimson with indignation.
"Why is it impossible? I... never mind. What's the point in discussing such things with a naive kid like you?"
Peyton seemed to recall some unpleasant memory, his expression darkening. After a moment of silence, he let out a bitter laugh, stood up, and left.
Seeing his demeanor, Roland couldn't help but wonder:
Could there be other transcendent professionals in this world besides knights?
But his question remained unanswered. Peyton didn't return even after nightfall.
Perhaps the day's festivities had been too exhausting. Even the usually bustling tavern was now deserted, with only the owner, Lauren, dozing behind the counter.
Creak—
The sound of the wooden door being pushed open startled Lauren awake from his drowsy state.
He rubbed his bleary eyes and looked up.
A figure stood in the doorway, cloaked and hooded, with burlap wrapped around their face, completely obscuring their features.
Lauren was long accustomed to such sights.
After all, the tavern was located near the Black Cedar Forest, a frequent haunt for mercenaries.
These blood-soaked fellows were always a peculiar bunch. Compared to customers covered in tattoos or wearing iron masks, this face-obscured individual seemed almost normal.
"Good evening, sir," Lauren yawned. "What can I get you?"
Noticing Lauren's scrutinizing gaze, Marco unconsciously touched the burlap on his face to ensure there were no gaps before speaking in a deliberately deep voice.
"I'm looking for someone."
He raised his arm and pointed toward the tavern's darkest corner.
There, at a rickety wooden table, a tall, gaunt figure sat alone, nursing a mug of ale.
The flickering candlelight danced across the man's hollow cheeks, casting an air of brooding melancholy.
"As you wish," Lauren replied lazily, leaning back against the counter and drifting back to sleep.
The heavy thud of leather boots echoed across the floor as Marco quickly approached the wooden table in the corner, scrutinizing the man before him.
Tattered leather armor, listless eyes, and an aura of utter despondency radiated from the man.
Is this guy really an experienced mercenary? Marco frowned, a flicker of doubt crossing his mind.
But then he remembered that most of the village's mercenaries had recently flocked to the Black Cedar Forest to hunt demonic beasts. Finding anyone willing to take on a job was already a challenge.
He sighed, his knuckles unconsciously tapping lightly on the table.
The crisp tapping jolted the man awake. He slowly raised his head, revealing a weary face.
"Good day, sir. I heard you need some help? By the way, my name's Sam."
"I'm not interested in your name," Marco interrupted impatiently, waving his hand dismissively. He then pulled a cloth pouch from his coat and slammed it heavily onto the table.
Seeing the other man's cold demeanor, Sam merely shrugged indifferently and reached out to untie the cloth bag.
Inside were two silver coins and a portrait with writing on it.
"I'll pay you another silver coin once the job is done."
Sam's eyes lit up at the offer, and he carefully examined the portrait and its inscription.
"Roland," he murmured softly, then looked up. "What do you want me to do?"
"I want him to never be able to lift a hammer again!" Marco suddenly leaned forward, the candlelight dancing in his eyes.
The thought of Roland receiving Master Hawk's approving gaze filled him with suffocating jealousy.
To become Master Hawk's apprentice, Marco had spent countless sleepless nights honing his forging skills, his palms layered with calluses upon calluses.
If he could win the assessment in two months and become Master Hawk's formal apprentice, his life would be completely transformed.
Not only would he inherit his father's blacksmith shop, but he would also gain the opportunity to serve the nobility.
With a bit of luck, he might even climb the social ladder through connections with Knight Beckham.
He would never allow anyone to ruin this perfect plan.
As these thoughts raced through his mind, Marco spat out each word as if squeezing it between his teeth:
"Break his right hand!"
(End of the Chapter)
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