Chapter 21: The Arrival of Will

Ryan and Theresa walked along the street. Ryan's face was dark, as if covered with a layer of ash. He casually threw aside the long sword he had picked up at the dock, causing a scramble among the locals. Ignoring the commotion, Ryan hesitated for a moment before retrieving his personal single-handed sword and slinging it over his back. "How foolish of me to think there wouldn't be any battles in town."

Theresa paid special attention to Ryan's sword. Since the first time she met him, the sword had always been by his side, but she had never seen him draw it. It seemed more like a decorative piece than a weapon.

The sword's scabbard had gold and silver patterns with a wax-sealed scripture that Theresa couldn't read but recognized as High Gothic, the sacred language used by the Carolingian knights under Charlemagne during the Empire's founding. Unlike the simpler Low Gothic used on the continent, High Gothic was complex and took years to master. It was reserved for the Empire's high nobility and forbidden to be shared. Knowing High Gothic was a symbol of status and honor. Theresa remembered Ryan's godfather was indeed from the Empire. She forced herself to focus back on the sword.

The sword was longer and larger than a standard longsword, about 1.3 meters, which should classify it as a greatsword, yet it was designed as a single-handed sword.

The blade was hidden in the scabbard, with only the hilt and the strange golden box connecting the blade and hilt visible. This box was covered in runes with an unknown purpose. The black hilt was somber and serious, and the pommel was a silver skull-shaped counterweight.

"Is this sword a custom ceremonial piece made by a craftsman for you? I've never seen you use it," the sorceress asked casually, genuinely curious.

"Maybe it is, maybe it isn't. Who knows? I'm still pondering that damned mercenary and the cursed customs of Nord."

Seeing that Ryan didn't want to talk about the sword, the sorceress decided not to provoke him further and spoke gently, "Why care about a small mercenary? If you really dislike him, just kill him. What's the big deal?"

"After the Second Chaos War, the veterans who first followed Emperor Ludwig agreed to meet every ten years at the Griffin Plaza in Brunswick to reminisce about the past," Ryan began telling a story instead of answering her question. "The first decade, the second decade, the third decade—they grew older but most could still make it back. They would chat and drink until they were happily drunk."

"Then came the fourth decade, the fifth, the sixth. People started to disappear."

"By the ninth decade, only a few remained, those who had broken through to legendary rank. But after ninety years, they too began to age, and more veterans became part of history."

"Then came the tenth decade, the eleventh, the twelfth..."

Theresa remained silent. If one couldn't break through to the Sanctuary rank, their lifespan would inevitably end. This was an eternal truth.

"On the fourteenth decade, Baron Manuel Rudy was wheeled into Griffin Plaza by his servant. He saw no comrades."

"At first, he thought he was early, so he had his servant wait patiently."

"The sun rose, climbed the sky, and shone brightly overhead."

"But no one came."

"Tears soaked Baron Manuel's uniform and his medals. He realized he was the last of his brothers still alive."

"No one would come again."

"Manuel sat in the plaza for half the day. As the afternoon sun shone on him, he seemed to give up."

"But then, something unexpected happened."

"The entire Imperial Army poured into Griffin Plaza from all directions. Pike formations, sword units, firearm brigades, knight orders, all flooded the plaza."

"Next came the elite Reiksguard, the Royal Wizards, and the War Council Guard, tasked with protecting the Emperor and Electors. The Emperor arrived, along with the Electors and the Empire's high nobility."

"Emperor Franz Friedrich, newly crowned, stood before Baron Manuel, saluted him, and said, 'The Empire will never forget your contributions. We will always remember the sacrifices you and your comrades made for the Empire's glory. On behalf of all Imperial citizens, I extend my highest respect and deepest gratitude to you and all veterans.'"

After finishing the story, Ryan's eyes were slightly red. He paused, then said, "And look at Nord? They take pleasure in humiliating veterans and consider pitying them a sign of their kindness."

"Yes, Nord believes in the law of the jungle. Retired soldiers have low status, getting a pension at most before returning home. Unlike the Empire, where veterans become instructors or join the military police," Theresa remarked offhandedly. She wasn't very interested in this topic, even though the story had moved her. Her path was the pursuit of arcane knowledge, not concern for the lives of commoners.

"Enough, let's not talk about it. Lord Villard is hosting a banquet soon. Do you want to come?" After forcing the mercenary Simon to apologize, Ryan noticed that the Blood Axe Mercenary Group's opinion of him had dropped, so he decided to leave the dock and rest at the inn.

"Before I decide, can you tell me what these rural noble banquets are like?" The sorceress asked, her almond-shaped eyes fixed on Ryan with a slight smile. "All-knowing Ryan?"

"All-knowing my ass," Ryan rolled his eyes.

"Then, Mr. Warhammer?"

"…" Ryan's face twitched. He really disliked the nickname "Warhammer."

It reminded him of a certain sketch back on Earth: "Big hammer eighty, small hammer forty."

But there was nothing he could do. In this world, nicknames were given by others, not chosen by oneself. Typically, for low-ranking nobles like him, nicknames were often derogatory or unpleasant. Though "Warhammer" wasn't derogatory, it still followed the tradition of expressing humility before gods and people.

Humility was one of the knightly virtues, after all.

To have a pleasant nickname, Ryan needed to become stronger and more renowned.

"A rural lord's banquet usually involves a group of people enjoying barbecue, stews, and wine indoors. They stand or sit, eating and talking, discussing recent events and trades," Ryan explained, nodding before shaking his head self-deprecatingly. "But some lords' banquets can be different. They can be… more uninhibited. You know, like… well, that."

"What do you mean?" The sorceress didn't understand.

Ryan smirked and made a gesture with his hands. His right thumb and index finger formed a circle, and his left index finger pierced through it repeatedly. He winked.

"I feel like hitting you with an ice arrow and cutting your head off," the sorceress's cold, beautiful face turned red, then black. She decided she didn't want to attend the banquet with those smelly men. "You go by yourself tonight. I won't go."

"Then will you visit that little mercenary? The one who broke his arm trying to show off in front of you?" Ryan stroked his chin, amused. "Oh, the beautiful Lady Theresa visiting the brave mercenary, giving him a passionate kiss. Our dear Banda would be so moved he'd wet the bed, I'm sure."

"Hmph, admirers of mine could line up from the Sea of Chaos to the World's Edge Mountains. Among them are many suitors. That mercenary, Banda? What does he have to do with me?" Theresa scoffed. To her, a lowly mercenary was categorized as a "useless man," and even if he was willing to die for her, he wouldn't leave an impression on her.

Women of the Garon Council were like this: pragmatic and ruthless, making them widely disliked.

Ryan found this straightforward. If you don't care about me, do you think I care about you?

If it weren't for the church's cooperation and his father's life-saving kindness, Ryan wouldn't want to get involved with these female spellcasters.

The Garon Council always interfered in politics. Some members married into noble families and issued orders as noblewomen, using gatherings to engage in "lady diplomacy" to build their networks and gain political influence.

"So you're not attending the banquet?"

"Do you think I should go?" The sorceress suddenly stopped, her tall figure standing still, her beautiful almond-shaped eyes gazing at Ryan.

"If you take my advice, you should go, Theresa. Meeting some smelly men and learning about the outside world is better than isolating yourself in a hotel room, isn't it?" Considering her mother's request, Ryan offered his suggestion. "Of course, it's just advice. Whether you go is up to you. The path of arcane magic doesn't mean endless solitary research in a tower."

"Alright, see you tonight, Ryan." The sorceress finally nodded, striding away with her graceful figure, her long legs wrapped in tight pants and boots swaying as she disappeared around the corner.

"See you tonight."

After packing his things, Ryan headed towards another part of town where the Imperial merchant Oliver's caravan was located. Oliver had rented an entire inn and an adjacent farmhouse, where Ryan was staying temporarily since he didn't plan to stay in this town for long.

The caravan was bustling with people, constantly loading and unloading goods, mostly ores and furs, as well as other commodities.

Loading and unloading goods had always been a hassle.

Ryan entered the inn's lobby and noticed Oliver speaking with a well-dressed man.

The half-elf Estel stood behind the man, so Ryan assumed this must be Estel's employer, the merchant

 Mats.

Speaking of which, Mats wasn't a very pleasant name; it meant "butt cushion."

"Mr. Ryan! You're back? I heard there was a ghoul attack at the dock. They say you displayed great prowess, killing the ghoul leader and driving them off. Remarkable!" Oliver greeted Ryan, a hint of trepidation in his voice, though Ryan could tell he was faking it.

How could a major town be breached by a group of ghouls?

"Your combat skills don't seem to be learned in Nord. They look more like... Gryphon steps?" Estel remarked suddenly, curiosity evident on the half-elf's face.

"You've been to the Empire?" Ryan raised an eyebrow. For some reason, he didn't like this half-elf.

Maybe it was because this handsome, elegant, and knowledgeable half-elf was more likely to win others' favor. Men often found it hard to get along, and some animosity was inevitable.

"Heh, I worked for the Elector Count of Tuscany, Corleone, for eight years. He never granted me a knight's title. Do you think I know the Empire?" Estel laughed, sitting down. "So, if I'm not mistaken, Mr. Ryan, you were taught by that elder, weren't you?"

"Does it matter to you who taught me? From what you've said, I understand why you didn't get a steady job after eight years with Count Corleone," Ryan looked up and down at the handsome half-elf, suddenly mocking, "Long ears are not a badge of honor, half-elf."

"You!" Estel stood up, his face paling. "Fine, in the name of Asuryan, I won't argue with you. Don't pester me either, Nord knight."

Asuryan was the main deity of the Elven pantheon, the Phoenix God.

This surprised Oliver and Mats. The typically proud half-elf didn't argue back? Elves despised being called long ears.

Even more surprising was Ryan's expression. The Nord knight's face showed a mix of anger, surprise, and even a hint of relief and joy.

"I'm going to my room! Don't disturb me unless necessary. Talk to me later if you need anything!" Ryan said, prompting the two merchants to nod instinctively.

Ryan quickly headed to his room, shutting the door and windows tightly.

He stood alone in the room, seemingly waiting for something.

Gradually, the cold and quiet room began to fill with a faint golden energy, exuding unparalleled majesty and sanctity, briefly flashing through the room.

Ryan was enveloped by this mysterious energy.

In his sea of consciousness, endless golden light flowed around him, the shimmering golden glow rotating, colliding, and merging like flowing water. Ryan felt his consciousness shine like stars, yet also felt a weight like Mount Tai pressing down on him.

Until a golden figure emerged from the light, the immense pressure lessened slightly.

"I speak to you from afar, my son!"

"I really don't want to be your son! I have a father on Earth, a foster father here, and a godfather. Now you tell me I'm your son too? How many fathers do you want me to have?" Ryan retorted, his face showing a mix of displeasure and relief.

"You are my son, since you accepted my genes, Ryan. You are my youngest and newest son," the golden figure said gently.

"…Alright, I guess I have one thing over China's Mr. Lv." Ryan felt no choice. He could sense the intense bloodline resonance within him. His blood rejoiced, his bones crackled with excitement, and his muscles hummed with a resonant melody. The feeling of being blood-related echoed within his body.

He was indeed his son.

Yes.

He was indeed his father.

Who is this person? Hehe, I don't know either.