Chapter Three: The Pact

When Lando arrived at the blacksmith’s workshop to begin his day’s work, he was told he would no longer need to come. In the castle, apart from the baron’s wife and children, everyone else was required to work for their food and lodging, so this was a significant improvement in his treatment. Officially, it was a reward for his diligent training.

“I really envy you, Lando. You won’t have to toil anymore,” Meyer, the blacksmith’s apprentice, said to him with a wistful sigh, interrupted by a sneeze.

“What’s wrong, Meyer? Are you feeling unwell?” Meyer was his friend in the workshop. Lando had been weak when he first arrived, and Meyer had often helped him.

“It’s nothing, just a bit of a chill,” Meyer replied, dismissing the concern.

“A chill? You should be careful not to let it get worse,” Lando warned, a memory of his mother surfacing—she too had caught cold, dismissed it as nothing, and her condition worsened over several days until she passed away.

Seeing Meyer still unconcerned, Lando was about to say more when a large hand landed heavily on Meyer’s head. “Hmph, a blacksmith who catches cold? Your constitution is too weak. From today, you’ll double your forging quota,” Riley, the master blacksmith, grunted.

“No, please, Uncle Riley!” Meyer protested.

Watching the laughter and banter before him, Lando felt a tinge of envy. Though Meyer was an orphan, Uncle Riley had raised him as his own son. This kind of father-son affection was something Lando had never experienced, in either his past or present life.

Returning to his own room, he found that aside from not having to work, nothing else had changed. He took out the strengthening potion, ready to drink it and secure it within himself.

“Ugh, this tastes terrible! What kind of master alchemist is this? Couldn’t they add some syrup?” He resisted the urge to spit it out, forcing the entire contents down.

As he felt the heat spreading through his body, Lando began practicing the White Lion Combat Technique in the cramped room. After this period of training, he was already quite proficient and could execute it skillfully even without the Iron-blooded General’s soul armament—though he still had no clues about the Hundred Battles Aura.

He moved nimbly without bumping into anything in the room, and if one listened closely, there was even a faint hint of a lion’s roar.

The next morning, when Lando arrived at the training ground, everyone looked at him with envy and awe—even Kark was more reserved in his presence.

Drawing on his experience from his previous life, Lando quickly dispelled any awkwardness with a few words. Soon, everyone surrounded him, bombarding him with questions, asking for swordsmanship advice and training tips. Even Marl, whom he’d defeated the previous day, joined in, and Kark basked in the attention too, looking quite pleased with himself.

Lando found it hard to understand why protagonists in so many novels from his past life always seemed to attract enemies and trouble from all sides. With the intelligence of a normal adult, how could they possibly be outsmarted by a group of kids?

When Sir Mike entered the training ground and witnessed the scene, he swept a cold gaze over the group, and the boys scattered immediately.

“Lando, come with me,” he said.

Once they had reached a secluded corner, Sir Mike got straight to the point. “You’ve reached the peak of apprentice knight. You’re now qualified to attempt the breakthrough to full knight. There are some things you should know.”

Lando listened respectfully.

“You have two options now. One is to sign a contract with the baron, who will provide you with a secret potion and advanced sword art to help you become a true knight. The other is to participate in the ‘Winter Hunt’ organized by the neighboring lords—kill enough barbarians, earn merit, and exchange it for the same rewards.”

“What is the ‘Winter Hunt’?” Lando asked.

“Our lands are on the border, and there are many barbarian tribes nearby. As winter approaches, these smaller tribes often lack enough food to survive and raid villages, burning, killing, and looting. Every year, the lords organize a campaign to sweep through the barbarian tribes at this time, which has become known as the ‘Winter Hunt.’ This year’s hunt will be in three months.”

“I need some time to think it over.”

“Very well.” Sir Mike nodded, but couldn’t help adding, “Don’t worry, the baron won’t bind you with an unfair contract.”

Lando’s hesitation stemmed from two main issues. First, the nature of this contract—was it just a paper agreement or one with magical binding force? The second was simpler: he wanted to join the Winter Hunt, or more precisely, he wanted to see if killing intelligent beings would grant him soul essence.

“I hope it won’t; otherwise, I don’t know what I’ll become in the end.” If killing intelligent creatures—or people—could yield soul essence, Lando wasn’t sure what choice his heart would ultimately make.

That evening, Lando went to Scholar Carter’s study. He was now the only one remaining in these lessons; the others had either lost interest or had been told by Carter to stop coming after a period of instruction.

“Mr. Carter, I’ve run into some problems recently. May I ask for your advice?” After the lesson ended, Lando, instead of leaving as usual, hesitated and spoke.

“Oh? Let’s hear it.” Carter put down his book and looked at Lando kindly.

Lando then explained the choice he faced—though he left out his curiosity about killing.

“I see. Actually, you don’t need to worry about the contract. The baron is just being cautious. Your background is well-known, and the contract simply formalizes the lord-vassal relationship. It won’t restrict you. On the contrary, whatever your intentions, if you don’t sign, you’ll find it very hard to get by.”

“A lord-vassal relationship? Things will be difficult if I don’t sign?” Lando, no longer truly a boy, instantly understood Carter’s meaning.

Baron Moria had two sons and a daughter: the eldest was already named heir and was away studying with the higher nobility; the second son was at the Royal Academy in the capital; the youngest daughter stayed with the baroness. Although Lando was an illegitimate child, under certain circumstances, he could reclaim his family name and inheritance rights. But if he accepted the vassal contract, his status would shift to that of a retainer, meaning he would give up his claim to inheritance.

Just as Carter said, for whatever reason, if he refused to sign, the baroness and the eldest son’s supporters would make his life difficult.

Having sorted this out, Lando had made up his mind to sign the contract.

“Thank you, Mr. Carter. Your guidance has been invaluable.”

As he watched Lando leave, Carter murmured to himself, “A photographic memory? Interesting. To find such talent in a small place like this… It’s a pity I don’t have my testing device with me. I wonder what his full potential is. Still, there’s half a year left. I’ll see then.”