We Lack Real Professionals

Roland watched from the sidelines rather than barge in.

He watched the father and son quarrel and part on bad terms.

Before the middle-aged man rushed out of the courtyard, the conversation went something like this:

"Wouldn't it be good to have that money and put it on Sopma?" The middle-aged man rebuked angrily. "Nana is just a girl, she will have to marry someone later—what can she do if she studies and becomes a Mage?"

"Sopma has no talent," Old Beckrum scolded angrily. "Granddaughter has magic talent; isn't it better for our family to have a genius Mage than a mediocre Warrior?"

"I told you, sooner or later she will marry someone else—sooner or later she will take the last name of some outsider," the middle-aged man roared. "We'll just give away these ten years of hard work as a dowry? You might want to do it, but I don't! With that money, wouldn't it be fine for me to eat and drink every day?"

"But…"