Chapter 10: Marco's Burning Jealousy

"Aren't you going to the celebration?"

Roland wiped the sweat from his forehead and asked.

"If you're not going, then I'm not going either."

Sean shook his head and casually picked up another wooden sword.

"Huh? Don't be like that, I'm not a child, I don't need you to accompany me."

"How can that be!"

Sean interrupted decisively.

"I promised to protect you! What if that bastard Marco comes looking for trouble when I'm not around?"

"Hehe..."

Looking at his best friend's conflicted expression, Roland couldn't help but chuckle.

"Then what about your Emily? Aren't you going to invite her to dance?"

"Not dancing."

Sean mumbled, swinging his wooden sword aimlessly.

"No matter how pretty a girl is, she can't compare to a brother, besides..."

His voice grew softer and softer.

"Even if I went, she might not choose me as her dance partner."

This answer made Roland burst into laughter.

Sean's honest and wronged appearance was truly amusing.

"Damn it! Stop laughing!"

Sean protested, his face flushed.

"Sometimes I really wonder if you're even the same age as me. Compared to a celebration, you actually prefer practicing boring swordsmanship? It's incredible."

"Boring?"

Roland twirled his sword.

"I find it quite interesting."

The two practiced and chatted, and before they knew it, it was noon.

It wasn't until this time that Peyton emerged from the house, yawning.

"Hmm?"

Peyton grunted, rubbed his sleepy eyes, and his gaze refocused on Roland in the courtyard.

"Is it my imagination? How did this kid's swordsmanship become so proficient overnight? Could he really be some kind of sword genius?"

"Uncle Peyton!"

Sean enthusiastically waved hello, completely forgetting about Peyton extorting him yesterday.

Upon seeing Peyton, Roland also stopped his movements and bowed slightly.

"Yo!"

Putting aside the doubts in his heart, Peyton pulled a wineskin from his waist, slowly unscrewed the stopper, and said playfully.

"What's wrong, Sean? Not going out to join the fun? That's not like you."

"After the celebration, I'm going to report to the conscription office near Black Fir Forest, so I need to practice my swordsmanship diligently."

"If I can gain the appreciation of Lord Beckham, maybe I can become a Knight Squire and fight alongside extraordinary individuals like Knights!"

At this point, Sean's face was full of longing.

But seeing his best friend like this, Roland sighed softly.

In his opinion, going to battle in Black Fir Forest now was by no means a wise move.

Even with Knights leading the charge, that forest, shrouded in darkness, was too dangerous.

However, he had tried to persuade Sean many times before, even analyzing the various dangers of Black Fir Forest in detail, but each time Sean had brushed him off with a joke.

Gradually, Roland stopped insisting.

He knew his best friend too well.

Beneath that honest and simple exterior lay a heart more stubborn than anyone else's.

Becoming a Knight Squire and fighting alongside Knights was Sean's lifelong dream.

Although they were like brothers, some decisions ultimately couldn't be changed by a few words from others.

Everyone had their own path to walk.

Thinking of this, Roland could only offer silent blessings.

"I hope that iron sword and heart guard can protect him and bring him back safely."

As for Peyton and Sean's father, Garry, their views differed from Roland's.

According to Peyton, the weak green-skinned bastards in Black Fir Forest only succeeded because the surrounding villages were unprepared and they relied on their numerical advantage.

Now that Knights were personally leading soldiers to battle, those green-skinned bastards had no chance of winning.

So, it was good for Sean to go and gain some experience, rather than doing nothing at home.

Looking at his nephew, who almost fanatically admired Knights, Peyton snorted and found a shady spot to sit down.

He tilted his head back and took a swig of wine before speaking unhurriedly.

"Kid, do you really like Knights that much?"

"Of course!"

Sean put down the wooden sword in his hand and nodded vigorously.

"They possess great power, noble virtues, punish evil, and maintain peace..."

Sean recalled the stories told by bards, eloquently describing the virtues of Knights.

"Ha! I can't say for sure about noble virtues, but as for great power, there are many characters in this world who are more powerful than Knights..."

Roland was originally focused on practicing his sword, but upon hearing these words, his movements paused involuntarily, and he quietly pricked up his ears.

"How is that possible!"

Sean couldn't stand anyone blaspheming the image of Knights in his mind, and his face instantly flushed.

"Why not possible? I used to... forget it, why am I telling you, a childish brat, these things..."

Peyton seemed to recall some unpleasant past events, and his face gradually darkened.

He was silent for a moment, then finally just gave a bitter smile and got up to leave.

Seeing him like this, Roland couldn't help but wonder.

"Could it be that in this world, besides Knights, there are other extraordinary professionals?"

But his question ultimately went unanswered, because Peyton didn't return until night fell.

Perhaps it was because the daytime celebration had been too noisy; even the tavern, which was usually lively after dark, now only had the owner, Lauren, dozing alone at the counter.

"Creak—"

The sound of the wooden door being pushed open startled the drowsy Lauren.

He rubbed his sleepy eyes and looked up.

A figure stood at the doorway, clad in a hooded cloak, with linen wrapped around his face, completely obscuring his features.

Lauren was already used to this.

After all, this place was not far from Black Fir Forest, and mercenaries often passed through.

These guys who licked blood from the blade were always strange; compared to guests with tattoos all over their bodies or wearing iron masks, the one covering his face was still relatively normal.

"Good evening, sir."

Lauren yawned.

"What can I get for you?"

Noticing Lauren's scrutinizing gaze, Marco unconsciously touched the linen on his face, and after making sure there were no omissions, he spoke in a deliberately low voice.

"Looking for someone."

He then raised his arm, pointing to the darkest corner of the tavern.

There was a rickety wooden table, where a tall, gaunt figure was sipping ale alone.

The dim candlelight flickered on the man's sunken cheeks, casting a gloomy aura.

"Then suit yourself."

Hearing the reply, Lauren responded lazily, then leaned back against the counter and continued to doze.

The dull sound of leather boots echoed on the floor, and Marco soon stopped in front of the wooden table in the corner, scrutinizing the man before him.

Ragged leather armor, lifeless eyes, the whole person exuded an air of decadence.

"Is this guy really an experienced mercenary?"

Marco frowned, a hint of doubt rising in his heart.

But then he thought, most of the mercenaries in the village recently had gone to Black Fir Forest to hunt monsters, so finding someone willing to take the job was already difficult.

He sighed, his knuckles unconsciously tapping lightly on the tabletop.

The crisp tapping sound startled the man with his head bowed opposite him, who slowly looked up, revealing a tired face.

"Hello, sir, I heard you need some help? By the way, my name is Sam."

"I'm not interested in your name."

Marco waved impatiently, then pulled out a cloth bag from his embrace and slapped it heavily on the table.

Seeing the other party's cold attitude, Sam merely shrugged indifferently and reached out to untie the cloth bag.

Inside were two silver coins, and a portrait with writing on it.

"After it's done, I'll pay you another silver coin."

Hearing the price, Sam's eyes lit up, and then he carefully examined the portrait and the writing on it.

"Roland..."

After muttering a name softly, Sam looked up.

"What do you want me to do?"

"I want him to never be able to lift a hammer again in his life!"

Marco suddenly leaned forward, the candlelight flickering in his eyes.

Thinking of the approving look Master Hawke had given Roland, he felt a suffocating jealousy.

To become an apprentice under Hawke, he had spent countless sleepless nights practicing his forging skills, his palms layered with calluses.

As long as he could win the assessment in two months and become Master Hawke's official apprentice, his life would be completely changed.

Not only would he inherit his father's Blacksmith Shop, but he would also gain the opportunity to serve nobles.

If he was lucky, he might even be able to connect with Knight Beckham.

He would never allow, nor could he possibly allow, anyone to ruin this perfect plan.

Thinking of this, every word Marco spoke seemed to be squeezed out from between his teeth.

"Crippl- his right hand for me!"