Chapter 49: Raimondo

In a remote mountain forest somewhere north of the Star Prayers Lake, the werewolf Rogues led several hundred handpicked personal guards, carrying vast riches and valuable items, proceeding cautiously through the dense woods.

One werewolf, who had followed Rogues for many years, was full of doubt. Watching the distance between them and the main force grow ever larger, he suppressed his fear and finally asked, “Chief, why are we breaking away from the main group, taking the treasures, and abandoning the original plan to leave from the north?”

Rogues, riding atop another werewolf, opened his single eye—cold and vicious—causing the questioner to shudder and immediately regret his inquiry.

“I suspect the missing Dorago has fallen into human hands. The original evacuation plan is compromised. Besides, with so many human captives in tow, do you think those noble humans will let us safely cross the border?”

The less intelligent werewolf grew even more confused, but wisely nodded in agreement.

Rogues, disappointed by this fool’s feigned understanding, waved him away—out of sight, out of mind.

He looked up at the sky, silently calculating the distance remaining.

“Two more days, and we’ll leave this place.”

This journey, serving as fodder for others, convinced him never to return for another such campaign.

Upon returning, Rogues resolved to use two-thirds of his wealth to bribe the clan elders, elevate his status and power, and ensure he would never again be chosen as a sacrificial leader.

Clutching his missing arm, his eyes grew ferocious.

“The debt of this lost arm—I’ll repay it tenfold.”

Meanwhile, Verin selected six Silver Knights and twelve Knight Attendants, leaving Star Prayers Lake and heading north toward Gray Mist Mountain.

Unlike the short-term surge in his territory’s power, Verin valued thirty years of safe development far more.

For this reason, he brought along every Seven-Colored Life Flower he possessed, prepared for unforeseen needs.

Gray Mist Mountain lay over a hundred kilometers from Star Prayers Lake. Travelling at full speed, they would reach it within a day.

The path was clear; apart from a few hapless goblins, they encountered no other monsters.

“Lord, it should be here.”

Verin spurred his horse forward, gazing at the mist-shrouded mountain rising a thousand meters high, awed by its majesty.

“It’s late. Let’s set up camp here and search the mountain at dawn tomorrow.”

Twelve Knight Attendants began to set up camp, feed the horses, and light fires for cooking. The six Silver Knights patrolled the area, driving away wild beasts.

There remained one day before the legendary mage’s arrival.

Verin sat upon a large stone, closed his eyes, and followed the glow in his heart, roughly sensing the direction and distance of the legendary mage’s fall.

“Northwest, two kilometers away.” He opened his eyes and looked into the distance, his gaze deep and thoughtful.

“Lord, the tent is ready.” A Knight Attendant approached Verin, respectfully reporting.

He looked at the young man—already a mid-tier Knight Attendant.

“You are Cyril, Belder’s Knight Attendant,” Verin said gently, rising to his feet.

Cyril straightened, respect and delight shining in his eyes. “Yes, Lord.”

“Good. You have great talent. I hope you’ll continue to improve.”

“Lord, I will!”

Patting the excited youth, Verin strolled leisurely toward the tent.

Inside, he set down his short knight blade, removed his heavy armor, and felt the cool air, settling onto a blanket.

“It seems Belder’s education is starting to show results.”

Strictly speaking, vassals of vassals aren’t truly his own, but Verin disliked this arrangement. He didn’t want uncontrollable military cliques under his command.

For now, lacking a proper education system, he relied on the master-apprentice model.

Once the territory developed further, he planned to adopt his family’s system—training handled by one group, combat by another, and loyalty reserved only for himself.

Half an hour later, a Silver Knight brought him a bowl of meat broth, placing it on a low wooden table.

“Lord, there’s no danger in the surroundings.”

Verin didn’t eat right away, but looked at Silver Knight Raimondo, calmly speaking. “Raimondo, I recall you were born to a merchant’s family.”

“You are correct, Lord. Thanks to my family’s support and your guidance, I’ve come this far.” Raimondo’s eyes flickered with a complex emotion as he responded respectfully.

“Next, I intend for you to reclaim your family’s skills. Are you willing?”

At Verin’s words, Raimondo fell silent, struggling inwardly.

Verin was in no hurry, quietly observing him, waiting for his decision.

If Raimondo refused, he would begin grooming another merchant leader—Cyril, perhaps, who seemed quite sharp.

Raimondo, as the third son of a merchant family, benefited from both talent and wealth. He was chosen as a Knight Attendant, trained at Windsor Castle, and later served in the Seventh Knight Brigade of Eagle Territory.

He recalled his father’s earnest teaching: being a merchant led nowhere; only by becoming a noble could one walk the righteous and most honorable path.

Unconsciously, over ten minutes passed. After much internal struggle, Raimondo finally knelt, saying, “If the Lord requires it, Raimondo will obey.”

Surprised by this unexpected answer, Verin took a moment to reassess the guardian knight before him.

His family had given him twelve knights. Besides paying close attention to Belder, Andro, Randolph, and Greg, he knew little about the other eight, and was not particularly close to them.

“A guardian knight for a day is a guardian knight for life,” Verin said calmly to Raimondo. “If you no longer wish to serve, you may report to me at any time, and I’ll make other arrangements.”

“Yes, Lord.”

Afterward, Verin and Raimondo discussed matters of his hometown.

Once Raimondo left, Verin took up the slightly cooled meat broth and slowly savored it.

“The merchant leader is settled. Next, I'll establish the merchant caravan, sell mineral salt, and develop the territory’s pillar industry.”

But first, he needed to personally conduct business in the Province of Cadro—to connect with other nobles, gather intelligence, and determine trade routes, ideally establishing caravan exchanges to avoid repeated tariffs and tolls.

At dawn the next day, Verin left a few behind to guard the camp, and led the others northwest, preparing to greet the guardian deity of the next thirty years.

Meanwhile, several hundred werewolves, emerging from the mountains, rested just over ten kilometers from Gray Mist Mountain.