As Isaac spurred his horse onto the border of his family's fief, the dew on the grass blades was refracting the early summer dawn light. The silver armor, now stripped of the crest of Count Perez, still bore the dents of the battlefield, much like the complex emotions churning within the young knight—eager to break free from his family's constraints yet compelled to gather capital for the impending wanderings.
The torches on the stone walls flickered in the breeze as Baron Knox laid down the parchment, his gaze sharp as quenched steel. The ruler of the Villar family for two decades was now scrutinizing his third son: "The halo of topping the knighthood assessment is enough to secure you a fine position under Count Perez." His aged fingers drummed on the oak desk, causing the gilded inkwell to tremble.
From a young age, Isaac had been groomed by his family—trained in martial skills and then apprenticed as a knight under Count Perez for three years. The formal knighthood training usually spanned twelve years, a considerable investment indeed.
"Isaac, as the head of the Villar family, I do not approve of your choice. It would render our investment a waste. As your father... I also do not approve. The outside world is more dangerous and difficult than you can imagine.
"Let me confirm one last time: Are you ready to be a wandering knight?"
Isaac's fingers brushed over the hilt's wrapping, the bronze guards clinking against his chainmail with a crisp, faint sound. The training dummy pierced by a giant crossbow three years ago seemed to still hang above his head. At that time, his father had said, "A true knight must know how to assess the situation." Now, those words felt like the most grating mockery. "Thank you for your upbringing," he bowed, the joints of his armor creaking awkwardly, "but I would rather measure the world with my sword than dance etiquette in the banquet hall."
The air suddenly solidified. As Baron Knox grabbed the purse, his knuckles turned white. Fifty gold coins, each stamped with the family crest, slid across the oak table and piled into a small pyramid in Isaac's palm. "Remember, this is an investment, not a gift," the old man turned to gaze at the ancestral portraits above the fireplace, the flames licking at the faded ribbons, "if you do not repay within three years, the Villar family's ledger will have an interesting story to add."
Isaac smiled; wasn't this one of the reasons he had come back?
Without money, he couldn't move an inch, even in this world.
He unceremoniously opened the purse, the gleaming gold coins inside seemed to light up his eyes.
He counted them once, a full fifty gold coins.
Fifty gold coins was no small sum; an ordinary commoner might never save that much in a lifetime.
A full knight's armor was out of reach, but a decent half-plate suit was within his means.
If he lowered his expectations, a leather cuirass with iron plates would cost just one or two gold coins.
It was enough to sustain a team of fully equipped professional soldiers for a year. If things went well, he would continue; if not, he would return home and repay the debt.
"Thank you for your generosity, I will surely make a name for myself."
"I hope so," Baron Villar's voice sounded unconvinced.
Perhaps he thought his third son would either die outside or come back in disgrace.
Being a wandering knight was not easy.
Isaac, of course, understood. Without his data panel, he would definitely stay at home and find a position like his uncles.
"By the way, Father, I need to recruit a few soldiers from the family's territory," Isaac made the request again.
"Alright, I will have the constable cooperate with you."
After eating a few meals at home, Isaac couldn't wait to leave the castle.
Speaking of the Villar family, their fief included two villages and a castle.
Since it was located in the heart of the kingdom, the castle also attracted many residents outside, with its military role being less significant than its political one.
In addition to the two small manors and a few businesses in the nearby city, it could be said that they were quite powerful.
Meadow Village, this place was considered far from Villar Castle, at the northernmost end of the territory.
With the baron's writ in hand, Isaac strode directly into the constabulary.
The village had over a thousand inhabitants, and the constabulary always had a squad of regular infantry, plus twenty temporary militiamen on rotation, forming the basic security force.
As Isaac stepped into the constabulary, treading on the straw-covered floor, the militia's chainmail gleamed in the morning light. Uncle Silas's beer belly bulged from behind the oak desk, like a mobile granary blocking the doorway. "Look who's back!" The middle-aged constable's enthusiastic embrace carried the scent of roasted meat and aged ale, "My dear nephew, the steward was asking about you last month. I heard you completed your knighthood with distinction. You should have stayed there."
Silas was well aware of what an "excellent" grade meant—it was competitive.
Isaac was not surprised that his family had quickly learned of his performance. If your family was a local power, they would be just as well-informed.
He didn't say anything else, just casually explained, "You know the relationship between Knight Dylan and Father."
Silas, however, was not easily deceived. Having undergone knightly training, he knew that getting a passing grade wouldn't cause anyone to trip you up, but an "excellent" grade wasn't just for good performance—it wasn't something you could casually be given.
A smart person wouldn't pry, and he wisely skipped over that question.
The current Baron Villar was still called Knox, and Silas, by holding Isaac's hand and calling him "nephew," was displaying his status to others.
It was very opportunistic, but necessary.
The family's legacy was almost gone by his generation.
Isaac had many brothers, and the important positions were definitely reserved for them.
Silas needed to consider his own son.
"Isaac, I hope your choice is the right one. How many men do you need this time? I'll introduce you to the strongest young lads," Silas hesitated for a moment, but still suppressed the idea of pushing his son into Isaac's service. However, he generously said, "I've prepared some gifts for you. I hope you'll like them. You pointed at it when you were seven and said you wanted to be a brave knight. I still remember it very clearly."
"These are from my collection. It's a pity I can't wield it now. What do you think? Are you satisfied?"
The fine steel sword required at least ten days of repeated hammering by a blacksmith, worth between five and six gold coins.
Isaac was, after all, just the third son of a baron, and he had chosen to go out and make his own way. This gift was more about family bonds.
Otherwise, it would be a loss of face.
Seeing this, Isaac drew the fine steel sword with one hand.
The forged patterns were dense and looked very beautiful.
The gleaming blade showed that it was not just for show.
Isaac twirled the sword with one hand, displaying his exquisite swordsmanship.
Silas's eyes lit up: "This swordsmanship... is stronger than most of the family's knights."
After playing with it for a while, he smoothly sheathed the sword again, once again showing his proficiency with the sword.
"Thank you for your generosity, I really like it."