Chapter Thirty-Six: Compassion

Since this team was tasked with escorting Vivian and Cook into the depths of the mountain range, Anderson's inclusion as a five-star swordsman became especially crucial.

Facing the silent Anderson, Carlos couldn't help but recall the sort of noble rhetoric his father, Mori, had instilled in him since childhood. Breaking the brief silence with his youthful voice, he spoke up.

“If you help me complete this mission, not only will you receive what I promised, but you might also regain your position in the Sword Pavilion, Anderson.”

“Why is that?”

“Because after this, you'll be assigned a new task: escorting a dwarven Knight of Light to the Holy See, which is more than enough to explain away the accusations of abandoning Xilin City.”

Anderson’s interest was visibly piqued. Escorting a foreign knight of the Holy Light was indeed a plausible reason.

He frowned slightly. “You don't need to appease me with your noble games. Frankly, I don't care much about my status with the Sword Pavilion—that's all in the past. But if you truly have a dwarven Knight of Light needing my escort to the Holy See, I’m willing to serve.”

Carlos didn’t curse Anderson for his apparent hypocrisy. On the contrary, such honesty felt more genuine.

Negotiating with a man like this, where mutual interests prevailed over schemes, was far more reassuring.

With the most important party secured, Carlos turned to the three hunter brothers who were still hesitating.

Anderson suddenly asked, “Are you letting them join out of pity?”

There was a playful tone to Anderson’s question. The more time he spent with this heir to the Stevenson family, the more he sensed the boy’s uniqueness—his remarkable wit and an almost innate grasp of people’s hearts. Though still somewhat inexperienced, it was clear he retained a fundamentally kind nature.

Anderson walked to the bars near the adjacent cell, gazing at the three bewildered hunters. “Then let it be pity. A noble should do more good in the world before all conscience is worn away. If you once chose to harm them, you can still make amends. I’m only curious—was it intentional that your servant didn’t stab his heart, or was it a mistake?”

Carlos looked at the short, thin man whose abdomen was swathed in bandages, his clothes threadbare, limbs frail, his face gaunt and yellowed from weakness.

For Uncle Grant, once an assassin, striking a vital point on such a person would have taken no effort at all.

Of course, deliberately avoiding a fatal blow would have been just as easy.

Carlos glanced at Grant, whose expressionless face sometimes seemed almost dull.

Suddenly, Carlos realized—there truly were no fools in this world.

He had the warden fetch the keys and opened both cell doors. Approaching the three hunters, he squatted down and produced a handful of silver coins, handing them to the trembling, chubby one.

“This time, I’ll pay the bill. I’m adding another apprentice knight’s qualification.”

Two apprentice knight qualifications? Conrad’s hand shook as he clutched the silver. As for why the young noble didn’t simply grant three, he neither wondered nor dared to ask.

The burly Sory, breathing heavily, suddenly dropped to his knees and knocked his head hard against the ground before Carlos.

“Young master, we’ll take the job!” Sory declared, his forehead thudding resolutely.

For hunters with no schooling, this might be their one chance in life to become someone of status.

Anderson, who came from humble beginnings himself, understood well the emotion in Sory’s choked voice.

With the same offer, Carlos could have simply posted a notice in town and caused a sensation.

Those fearsome-looking bounty hunters would have broken down the Stevenson family doors for the chance at this task.

Here, in this remote wild town, not even the strongest and most seasoned bounty hunter could resist the lure of knighthood.

It wasn’t about money, but the immense honor that came with the title.

Carlos was pleased to have things settled. He had never enjoyed such trivialities, though he knew he’d face them ever more often as time went on.

With Grant accompanying him, he left the dank prison.

They rode the steam lift back to the surface.

Through the crowd of miners seated on the ground eating from all manner of lunchboxes, her gaze fell upon the dwarven mine overseer, Julio, standing tall among the squatting humans—he looked almost imposing.

Perhaps it was a matter of status as well.

No matter how odd his appearance or how short his stature, when everyone else looked up to him, he became the tallest, most robust in the group.

“Good day, Mr. Julio.”

Carlos took the initiative to extend his hand in greeting.

Hearing this, Julio hurried over, bowing in gratitude.

“Oh, young master, you’re finished? It’s mealtime—shall I have the kitchen whip up a couple of dishes?”

Carlos smiled and waved him off, placing a friendly hand on Julio’s arm.

“No need, Mr. Julio—my father is waiting for me at home. But I do need a favor: please send some food to the prisoners in cells two and three. Uncle Grant will pick them up by carriage in two days. Prepare some rations for their journey as well.”

Julio, flattered, agreed at once and watched as Carlos left through the path cleared by the miners, soon vanishing into the crowd.

What a handsome, confident, and approachable young master, Julio thought, then slapped his thigh and bellowed at the miners, “Reba, have the kitchen make a few more dishes and send them to the underground prison. And bring out that malt beer I’ve had soaking in the spring!”

The old supervisor bared his yellowed teeth in a grin, turning his gaze to the northeastern horizon. If the master took Xilin City too, how enormous would this mine become in the future?

“Is Charles ready?” Carlos asked as he left the mine and climbed into the carriage, addressing Grant.

“I believe so. His letter arrived early this morning—he says he’ll be leaving at dusk.”

Carlos had long been prepared for Charles to join the bounty hunter team and depart, but now that the time had come, his childhood friend’s leaving still felt abrupt.

After a moment’s silence, he said, “Very well. Let’s have dinner with Father first. Later, I’ll fetch a bottle of brandy from the cellar, and tonight we’ll see him off at the tavern. The lad’s never tasted proper brandy before. Ah, Saltwell Town is truly dull—the world beyond must be far more exciting.”

Grant cracked the whip, driving the carriage onward. Sensibly, he kept silent; Saltwell’s young master was about to have one fewer friend in this small, lonely town.