LeMoSc

V1 C8 - tFP

As was his routine, Rodriguez was taking an afternoon walk. He enjoyed checking on his neighbors and deepening their misery.

“How are you, Hans?”

“Fine, Counselor.”

“What is the best fruit today?”

“This one. Please have some. Fresh strawberry, sire.”

“Thank you.”

Rodriguez’s steps were light. For one thing, he wasn’t pestering others who fell under his gaze that afternoon. He was elated by the recent publication of the latest book he had penned.

When he returned home, his manservant in care of the manor was waiting at the entrance to greet him. He spoke without reservation to the manservant whose dedication to his family lasted for decades.

“How was your walk, milord?”

“Excellent. Very excellent. These days are free of worries and trifles.”

“I’m glad to hear that, milord. By the way, do you mind if I ask you a question?”

“What is it, William?”

“This is about the young lord who carved statues on the other side of the street, milord.”

“Oh, that kid!”

“Did he find what he was seeking?”

Rodriguez laughed.

“It’d never be that easy.”

“Then…”

“No chance! He can’t find the place, and even if he finds it, against all odds…”

“…”

“Serves him right even if he gets the class!” Rodriguez burst into insane laughter.

* * *

The first thing that Weed did when he was alone was double-check his armor and inventory. “Twenty-four gold and thirty silvers…”

Instead of receiving his share of the spoils that his men had collected from the slain kobolds and goblins, which were mostly crude weapons, equipment and pieces of metal, Weed had asked for hard money.

“The revenue’s not too bad, and…”

For the last month, Weed had advanced his skills by far. His cooking mastery hit level six, the repair skill four. The repair skill is so useful that some users are encouraged to pick it up, but the cooking skill is almost extinct, except for professional cooks.

Weed’s bandage skill, now level four, empowered him to tend a minor injury by rolling gauze twice. But the most progressive one among his stats was his level.

He felt like laughing.

Sniff

To Weed’s dismay, however, Arse whinnied unpleasantly. He had no choice but to take care of the colt by courtesy of Sir Midvale. The colt was good for nothing for now, but Weed was obliged to return it safely to the Royal Stable.