Translator: CinderTL
The nobles of the Golden Valley Kingdom naturally wouldn't stay at the Sea Pearl Pavilion like King Monen, but their accommodations were far from humble. They had chosen the Fog Island Hotel, a luxurious establishment near the port.
As a privately owned hotel, there were no guards stationed at the entrance, so Roland entered easily.
Just as he was about to ask a lobby attendant about Darco's whereabouts, a heated argument erupted from upstairs.
"Hmph! You backwater bumpkin from the Blackwater Territory, where's your father?"
"To send a mere young noble who hasn't even inherited his title to meet His Majesty Monen... it seems old Forslin doesn't even respect the king!"
"Don't you dare insult my father!"
Hearing the familiar voice, Roland nodded to the attendant in thanks and quickly climbed the stairs.
In the second-floor corridor, a haggard Darco stood facing a middle-aged man with a handlebar mustache and dressed in silk finery. The man held his head high, sneering at Darco's trembling hand as it moved toward his sword hilt.
"What's this, you hick? You think you can lay a hand on me?"
The middle-aged man sneered, deliberately emphasizing the word "hick" with each syllable.
The relentless humiliation and slander against his father finally shattered Darco's tightly strung nerves.
Just as he was about to draw his iron sword, a broad, powerful hand clamped down on his wrist, gripping it like an iron vise.
Instinctively, Darco struggled with all his might, but found himself utterly unable to break free from the hand's unyielding grip. Enraged, he whirled around to confront his attacker.
But the moment he saw the man's face, the fury that had been churning within him receded like a receding tide, replaced by a surge of disbelief and joy.
"Roland..."
His voice trembled slightly.
"Calm down, Darco," Roland replied in a low voice, firmly pressing the iron sword, which had already been drawn half an inch, back into its sheath.
"Ha!"
Seeing Roland's simple attire, the middle-aged man raised an eyebrow, drawing out his mocking tone.
"What's this? The young noble of Blackwater Territory now takes orders from a servant?"
"Enough, Marshall. Cough, cough, cough."
A raspy voice suddenly cut through his words.
Looking in the direction of the sound, they saw an elderly man with a hunched back and sparse, graying hair slowly approaching.
He slammed his cane heavily on the floor, instantly freezing the tense atmosphere in the corridor.
"We are here to pay our respects to His Majesty Monen, not to engage in petty squabbling. Isn't that right?"
"Hmph!"
Hearing the old man's measured words, Marshall snorted coldly, flicked his sleeve, and turned to enter a nearby room.
As he left, the corridor, which had seemed slightly crowded, suddenly felt much more spacious.
Darco managed a strained smile when he saw the old man.
"Uncle Gavin."
Roland's eyebrows arched slightly at the name.
The barren and chaotic land of Dawn Territory had left a deep impression on him.
Yet, gazing at the gentle smile on the old man's face, he found it hard to reconcile this figure with the tyrannical lord he had heard described.
"Don't let them bother you, child."
Baron Gavin coughed a few more times and gently patted Darco on the shoulder.
"Remember, the moment you leave Blackwater Territory, you represent the Collins Family. Don't bring shame upon your father, understand?"
"I understand, Uncle Gavin."
Darco's emotions gradually calmed. After respectfully bowing, he seemed to remember something and suddenly asked, "By the way, Uncle Gavin, where's Mason? Didn't he come with you?"
Roland, who had been silent until now, noticed that at the mention of Mason's name, Baron Gavin's smile faltered slightly, and his lips twitched unnaturally.
But in an instant, the odd expression vanished without a trace, so quickly that it was almost as if it had been a hallucination.
"That boy..." Baron Gavin shook his head with a helpless sigh. "Like you, he's about to attend the Knight Academy for further training. He's busy honing his skills right now. I wanted to bring him along, but that stubborn child refused."
"Hahaha, Mason's still the same as ever," Darco chuckled in agreement.
After exchanging a few pleasantries, the two men bid each other farewell amicably.
Roland followed Darco into the room, the wooden door closing softly behind them.
"Roland, I never expected you to still be here," the young noble said, his voice weary but tinged with undisguised surprise. "I thought you'd already be on your way back to the manor."
Seeing the forced smile on his friend's face, Roland didn't respond immediately. He cautiously scanned the room, ensuring they were alone before gently locking the door.
Turning back, the question he'd been holding back finally escaped his lips. "What exactly happened? Why are you the one here to see His Majesty King Monen?"
"Father was ambushed," Darco said, his voice suddenly hoarse, as if scraped raw by coarse sandpaper. He slumped onto a wooden chair, his fingers unconsciously tracing the intricate patterns on his sword hilt. "It happened that night... around the same time we were attacked."
This outcome aligned with Roland's earlier prediction, so he wasn't surprised. He merely pursed his lips slightly and pressed on. "And then?"
"Father and his escort successfully broke through the encirclement. Shortly after you left the manor, he returned with his guards. But..." Darco's unfocused gaze drifted aimlessly out the window, his pupils slightly dilated.
Seeing the sudden flicker of sorrow in his friend's eyes, Roland frowned.
With the strength of that mob, even with the addition of that bizarre giant, they shouldn't have been a match for Baron Forslin and his elite guards.
But judging by Darco's expression...
"Darco," Roland said, his voice softening unconsciously. "Lord Baron Forslin... is he..."
Seeing Roland's hesitant expression, Darco immediately realized he seemed to have misunderstood. He quickly shook his head.
"Father isn't in mortal danger. It's just... he's been unconscious ever since. When I left, there was still no sign of him waking up."
Roland breathed a silent sigh of relief.
From a purely pragmatic perspective, the manor was his primary base for improving his strength, so the stability of the Blackwater Territory was crucial to him.
On a personal level, he didn't want to see his friend suffer the pain of losing his father.
Thinking this, Roland stepped forward and gently patted Darco's shoulder.
"Don't worry too much. Since there's no mortal danger, with Lord Baron Forslin's constitution, he should recover soon..."
"It's not that simple."
Roland's words of comfort failed to ease Darco's anxiety. He shook his head weakly, his clenched fists turning white at the knuckles.
"Besides a few minor scrapes, Father has no fatal injuries. Yet every physician has failed to diagnose the cause of his coma. Moreover..."
As Darco slowly described Baron Forslin's condition, Roland unconsciously stroked his smooth chin.
Having recently taken the Spirit Summoning Potion, he couldn't help but connect this unusual state to spiritual damage.
After a moment of thought, Roland cautiously asked, "Have you consulted Mr. Bronson about this?"
"Mr. Bronson?" Darco visibly froze at the name, a look of confusion crossing his face. In his memory, the scholar was renowned for his vast knowledge, but he didn't seem to have any medical expertise.
But Roland's question seemed to have triggered a memory. Darco's eyes lit up, and he slapped his forehead. "Wait!"
He hurried to the bed and retrieved a linen-wrapped object from under the pillow. The bundle landed on the wooden table with a dull thud.
As Darco untied the cords, he explained, "Before Mr. Bronson left, he specifically instructed me to give this to you if I ever met you in Far Ocean Port."
As the linen layers unfolded, the object within finally revealed itself. It was a piece of white skeletal remains with an ivory-like luster, its surface densely covered in intricate and mysterious carvings. In the sunlight, these lines shimmered with an ethereal glow.
(End of the Chapter)
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