Chapter 50: Father's Teachings

Claudius had returned home.

If there was anywhere in the world that he truly hated and was reluctant to stay, this place was definitely among them.

The marquis's mansion loomed darkly, with many stains and scars left by the years. The scene appeared even more shabby than when he last returned. As Claudius walked into this home, which felt like a completely different world compared to the grand and opulent ducal mansion, he felt a deep sense of loathing. Ever since he had started following Duke Murak three years ago, his disdain for this place had only grown.

However, he had no choice but to come back once. Even someone as profound and wise as Duke Murak, with his keen insight, or Captain Roland, no matter how experienced, would find it difficult to deduce anything from the few threads that had fallen from a woman's clothing. Just because someone was capable didn't mean they were omnipotent; a general might not know how to slaughter pigs, and a politician certainly wouldn't understand how bread ferments. For trivial matters, one had to seek out those adept at handling them.

The more intelligent, accurate in judgment, and experienced a person was, the more clues they could glean from those few threads. Therefore, what Claudius needed now was an expert in the realm of romance, someone who understood women even better than women themselves. He knew exactly where to find such a person. Although he detested this individual, he still came for the sake of the task at hand.

In the living room, Claudius met his father. The marquis had a stern expression, but still offered a proper noble greeting: "Good day, father."

The marquis seemed a bit surprised by his son's sudden appearance, but his smile only made Claudius uncomfortable: "No need for pleasantries. Let's skip the formalities between us. Your expression clearly says one thing: dislike."

Even when facing his own son, the marquis remained casual and unconcerned, pulling over a chair for Claudius. "Actually, I should have left long ago; my friends have urged me several times. But some matters came up here that I needed to deal with. I wanted to talk to you before I left, but since your return must be for something serious, you go ahead and speak first."

Although the marquis's bluntness annoyed Claudius, it undoubtedly saved a lot of time on niceties and small talk. He sat down on the mahogany chair, which had no velvet cushion, still bearing the same age-old impression from his childhood. Everything in the room—the floor, the furniture—exuded the same sense of decay and neglect as the man seated before him, which he detested the most; it represented his childhood shadow of complacency and decline.

The two sat face to face, their similar features contrasting sharply: the father's casual indifference against the son's serious, gloomy, and even somewhat menacing demeanor.

Emotions aside, Claudius carefully took a small pouch from his bosom and opened it, revealing the few strands of silk.

"Father," Claudius struggled to control his tongue to utter this extremely uncomfortable word, "please help me see if there's anything we can deduce from these threads."

"From a woman's clothing," the marquis chuckled, almost without looking at them, as if he could tell just by intuition. For the first time in his life, Claudius felt a glimmer of hope toward this father.

The marquis's fingers were delicate, and his skin was smooth, appearing younger than Claudius's own hands. He picked up the strands lightly, examined them, and smiled slightly, quickly deducing their origin. "This is silk produced in western Tatalia, of medium quality. Over twenty years ago, when the western trade routes were not yet opened, this was considered high-end material. Its beautiful colors were prized, and at that time, noblewomen were proud to have a dress made from such fabric."

"Can you tell what kind of person wore this dress?"

Originally, Claudius wanted to ask if they could narrow down the possibilities further. However, as soon as the question left his mouth, he realized it was pointless. To deduce the identity of the dress's owner from just these few threads seemed impossible, even for a legendary diviner.

But the marquis did not disappoint his son. His calm, effortless demeanor was something no decrepit, musty old wizard could hope to match. It was like Duke Murak discussing power or Captain Roland discussing swords—not merely mastery, but something transcendent.

"Due to the recent prosperity of trade between the west and here, these things are no longer that expensive. True nobles wouldn't wear such outdated garments, but making a dress from this would still cost several silver coins. So, this wearer is certainly not poor. They probably don't belong to the nobility either, as wearing outdated finery to elevate one's status is indicative of a superficial and shallow character—almost screaming for others to notice them. Additionally, I can detect a hint of perfume from these strands, indicating that she likely uses it heavily… 'Dune.' It's not low-grade, but it certainly shouldn't be used in this manner." The marquis held the strands to his nose and took a light sniff, sighing before concluding, "This woman is young, flirtatious, likely possesses some beauty, and while she's not poor, she's definitely far removed from noble status and taste."

"Young… flirtatious… not poor, yet not noble…" Claudius repeated these characteristics, processing everything he knew about Asa, and finally settled on a small rumor. "Could it be… a prostitute?"

"Correct. It is that prostitute." The marquis confirmed his son's judgment with a smile.

Claudius froze for a moment, instantly realizing how strange that statement was. But he couldn't pinpoint what was odd about it. From any angle, this person should not have been able to articulate such a statement.

"Well, the urgent business has been addressed. Let's temporarily set aside these mundane matters and discuss our father-son issues." The marquis looked at Claudius warmly, revealing a paternal affection.

"I'm sorry, but I still have work to do," Claudius coldly replied, standing up to leave. He had always rejected any warmth, viewing it as a sign of weakness that could undermine one's resolve and ambition, especially when expressed by this man; it felt as disgusting as a dead mouse in a garbage heap.

The marquis gestured for him to sit down, saying lightly, "Stay seated. There's no rush. Even if that prostitute is not in the capital, she definitely won't have gone far, and it should be easy for you to catch her."

Claudius slowly sat back down, but it wasn't out of obedience. His face was filled with surprise as he looked at his father with the eyes of someone encountering an unimaginable creature.

"I need to leave immediately, as I have many matters awaiting me. I don't know how long I will be gone, and before I go, I think it's necessary for us to have a good talk." The marquis offered a somewhat awkward smile. "From your birth until now, it seems we haven't had a proper conversation, have we?"

"I know you've never liked me as a father. I understand. I am indeed an incompetent father, preoccupied with my own indulgences, neglecting the family, relatives, and your mother. As the head of the family, I've completely disregarded family affairs, which has caused you to suffer, enduring many grievances within the family. The reason you are so strong-willed and so absorbed in seeking fame and fortune is probably because of this, and that's my responsibility…"

No amount of curiosity could suppress the rage and impatience surging from the depths of Claudius's heart. He abruptly stood up.

"Sit down." The marquis glanced at him, his voice not loud but carrying a hint of paternal authority.

Claudius immediately sat down, as if he were the most obedient child.

The moment he sat down, Claudius's first reaction was one of utter confusion. He knew he didn't want to sit down and that sitting down would signify submission. Yet, it felt as though his body had reacted directly, independent of his will.

Upon realizing this, his shock and disbelief only intensified. As a martial artist, he understood that such physical reactions usually occurred between individuals of vastly differing strengths, where one's momentum could entirely overshadow and pressure the other, like a fierce tiger paralyzing a rabbit merely with its presence. Yet the man before him was merely a debauched idler with no real power, at most capable of some minor magic. He could draw his sword and behead him at will. But… Claudius gazed at his father's familiar face, struggling to find something unfamiliar within it.

But the marquis still wore an air of casual defeat as he looked at his son with a hint of sorrow, continuing, "You are still too young but have been deeply ensnared by the filth of this world. Power and fame—do you really understand what these are? Do you truly need them? Do you understand how this world works? You do not understand; the world you see is one that others have bestowed upon you. Others covet power, compete for status and wealth, and you follow suit, even believing in it. Everything you do is merely to gain others' admiration and acknowledgment. You are living for others. Life is short; how can you waste time on such trivial matters…"

"Precisely because life is so short, we cannot squander our time on frivolous matters like romance and beauty. We should instead establish enduring achievements, so that this world, this history, and every person in this realm remembers your name." Claudius suddenly glared at the marquis, vehemently refuting him.

It was the first time in his life that he had expressed his thoughts to his father. Until now, he felt it was unnecessary to speak about such things to a hedonistic playboy, a wasteful scion who showed no ambition. He looked down on the man, believing he would never understand his lofty aspirations, just as a maggot wriggling in filth could never comprehend the greatness of an eagle soaring above. But now, he felt compelled to speak. He vaguely sensed that this man might not be as what he had imagined. Certain aspects of him seemed to validate his own disdain for the beliefs he held dear. Rather than merely confessing, this was an act of defending his values.

The marquis looked at Claudius and smiled, as if dealing with a child who insisted on playing. He shook his head and said, "There's no need to argue with me; the value of life is never found through debate. Go ahead and do what you want, indulge fully in your beliefs, and see what you ultimately gain."

"The harder you climb, the higher you will fall; the higher you climb, the more it will hurt. And the more it hurts, the clearer your mind will be." The marquis's smile deepened, and a strange glimmer began to shine in his eyes. "Once you're clear-headed, I'll take you to see the real world. I've even prepared everything for you. By the way, you haven't practiced magic yet, have you?"

"No…" Claudius shook his head. Although learning magic would be easy for him, he hadn't pursued it. His mentor, Captain Roland, had said that one could only choose one path, whether sword or magic. No true master excels in both; one must invest all, body and soul, into their craft to reach the pinnacle.

"That's good," the marquis nodded, pulling out a book from his pocket and handing it to Claudius. "This book should be very useful for you. When you have time, you can practice the content inside. Heh, I was recently inspired by someone… well, a friend, and realized that what's in here is meant for those who haven't practiced magic. No wonder so many dead wizards are out there. Who would have thought that the notes left behind by the greatest wizard would be contradictory to magic?"

"Remember, you must not lose this book, nor let anyone else see it. This book will guide you toward the true path. You must practice diligently and treat it with care, understood?" As the marquis spoke, a small but brilliant light seemed to flash in his eyes. Claudius was momentarily stunned and replied, "Yes." Unknowingly, his mind slipped into a strange haze; his father's words seemed fuzzy and difficult to recall, yet they felt imprinted deep within his mind.

"Alright," the marquis sighed, standing up and clapping his hands. "You can go back to your work. I need to get going; there are matters waiting for me."

It wasn't until the marquis's figure disappeared at the end of the corridor that Claudius suddenly snapped back to reality.

Reflecting on the fact that he had spent so much time talking to someone he initially despised, Claudius felt he had completely wasted precious time. However, the conversation left him with a strangely unsettling feeling. He waved the book in his hand, intending to toss it aside, but a sudden feeling of unease sprang up from a corner of his mind, prompting him to tuck it safely away in his bosom.

Taking a deep breath, he decided not to let these bizarre and unexpected events disturb his focus any further. He would concentrate on the task at hand as he headed to the command center of the royal capital's guard.

"This is how it is… this matter must be kept absolutely confidential. Do you understand?" Claudius found the commander of the royal capital's guard and explained the details of the search. He concluded with a stern expression and voice, adding politely, "I would appreciate it if you could handle this as quickly as possible."

"Of course. I'll ensure it's done swiftly," the commander nodded repeatedly. Officially, Claudius had no authority to mobilize the guard, but his significant background spoke volumes—he was a squad leader in the Holy Knights and the son-in-law of Duke Murak… All these titles indicated that even if it was troublesome, it needed to be dealt with quickly.

Leveraging their local advantage, the royal capital's guard managed to extract information about the target from other prostitutes within half a day. A large contingent quickly spread out, and by the next morning, this important witness was placed in the guard's jail.