Chapter 12: The Knock

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While Lys was exchanging culinary insights with the young lady at the evening banquet, at the Earl Cain’s mansion, Butler Joyce sat resting by the window in his bedroom, gently swirling a glass of deep red wine. Even clad in pajamas, his elegant demeanor could not be concealed.

If an outsider were to witness this scene, they would surely mistake him for some distinguished nobleman.

“Knock, knock.”
“Come in,” Joyce said, setting the glass near his nose to savor the fruity aroma slowly wafting from the wine.

“Sorry to disturb you, Lord Joyce!”

The captain of the guards, Welf, entered and quietly shut the door behind him.

“What is it?”

Joyce didn’t even glance at Welf, as if the exquisite wine before him was far more worthy of his attention.

Welf immediately recognized the wine in Joyce’s hand as Muge wine from the Thousand Wind Hills in the southern part of the Kingdom of Fies, highly sought after for its unique fruity fragrance and delicate taste—a single bottle costing hundreds of gold coins.

Of course, Welf had never tasted such a luxury himself; he only recognized it thanks to the distinctive azure bottle resting on a nearby table.

Yet Welf felt no disdain toward Joyce’s enjoyment of such an expensive wine and replied respectfully, “It concerns Master Lys.”

“Oh?” Joyce finally turned to look at Welf, speaking leisurely, “I recall the young master was training with you all in weapons. Has something happened?”

“Nothing serious. The young master learns quickly and earnestly, but…”

Lowering his head cautiously, Welf continued, “It seems Lys lacks patience. Though he learns fast, he switches to another weapon immediately after just getting familiar with one, and mostly he’s only learning flashy moves. Everyone’s quite helpless about it.”

“And these past few nights, the young master has been experimenting until very late; everyone’s been losing sleep…”

Welf bit his lip, uneasy but determined to voice his concerns.

“Lord Joyce, could you perhaps persuade the young master? It seems a noble mage learning martial skills is rather pointless.”

Having accompanied Lys through these trials for days, Welf harbored some resentment. Above all, he believed Lys, as a mage, was wasting his time struggling to master weapons, a thankless effort.

After speaking, Welf kept his head lowered, avoiding even a glance at Joyce, as if the frail-looking butler before him were some terrifying beast.

A moment of silence fell. Welf’s unease deepened, regretting his reckless “informing” when—

“Is that truly what you think?”

Joyce’s unhurried voice whispered gently in Welf’s ear.

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Seeing Welf remain silent, he continued, “It seems I have been too lenient with you all.”

Buzz—

Joyce placed the glass softly on the table, and suddenly, an intense, terrifying aura of power enveloped the captain of the guards entirely.

“Ughhhhh…”

Welf instantly dropped to his knees, pressing both hands firmly on the floor to support his trembling body. A wave of deathly fear surged through him; gasping painful breaths escaped his lips, yet he dared not take a full breath, feeling as though this overwhelming pressure would shatter him completely in an instant.

What… what is this?

Just the aura alone renders me immobile?

Am I… am I going to die here?

No, no, I was gravely mistaken. After my promotion to Golden Warrior, I thought I’d earn some standing before this being—but even this pressure is beyond my endurance!

This is no mere advanced professional; this is a life transcended, a being who has stepped into the realm of legend!

Such a figure is revered by kings as an honored guest, treated with utmost respect, and whose heroic tales echo across the continent. And yet, the frail old butler before me is one of them?

I’m going to die, die, die, die!!!

Plunged into helplessness and terror before death, Welf’s nerves stretched taut as endless regret overwhelmed him.

Just as Welf’s consciousness was about to fade—

“Remember your duty.”

Joyce’s fingers tapped the table rhythmically; each tap felt like a hammer striking Welf’s heart.

“Master Lys’s words are orders, even if they send you to your death!”

Stopping his tapping, Joyce looked coldly at the Golden Warrior sprawled on the floor, drenched in sweat.

“Otherwise, you will learn that death is the kindest mercy.”

Welf felt as if he were confronting hell itself; the profound murderous intent pierced through his skin into his very organs. He was frozen in place, his blood seeming to halt and congeal.

“Leave now!”

Without waiting for a reply, Joyce waved dismissively. Welf groaned softly as he was suddenly lifted and violently thrown out the nearby window.

After all this, the old butler remained as calm and composed as ever, as if the terrifying episode had not been his doing.

Joyce’s deep eyes gazed at the dark red wine flowing gently in his glass, savoring the intoxicating essence of Muge wine’s sunlit dew, lost in thought.

“An arcanist… hmm?”

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116 Fies Street

Unaware that his captain of the guards had just been harshly reprimanded by the butler for reporting on him, Lys was cheerfully exchanging gourmet tips with a food-loving young lady at the banquet.

This was a kindred spirit moment!

“So you see, golden threads can actually be prepared in many ways—shredded egg, shredded potato, even made from noodles. But my favorite is the shredded potato version—it perfectly complements the smooth, tender texture of the shrimp balls!” Lys spoke animatedly.

“Oh~! That must be delicious!” The young lady gazed at Lys as if he were glowing, lavishly praising him.

Glancing at the Bertich sweet shrimp salad on her plate, she suddenly found it less appetizing.

Her eyes rolling playfully, she extended her delicate, fair hand to Lys.

“Nice to meet you, I’m Yaer.”

Lys paid no mind to the obviously disguised pseudonym and, with a gentlemanly air, gently took her hand in his right, bowing his head to lightly kiss it.

“I’m Lys Cain. Pleased to meet you.”

Yaer looked surprised, then giggled softly.

“Dear Mr. Lys Cain, I’m not yet married. Has no one told you that lightly kissing a young lady’s hand is quite improper?”

Well, I was just trying to blend in and didn’t realize that.

Lys felt slightly embarrassed, but Yaer didn’t mind. Instead, she shifted the subject, pointing ahead at two figures approaching.

“My friend has come to find me. It was a pleasure meeting you. If there’s a next time, you’ll have to treat me to those golden thread shrimp balls you mentioned!”

After saying this, the figure arrived beside them, casting a wary glance at Lys before turning to Yaer.

“Miss Yaer, it’s time. We should go.”

“Mm, alright.”

With that, she waved goodbye to Lys and followed the man away from the ballroom crowd.

“Interesting!” Lys watched them leave, smiling to himself.