"Father!"

Hearing the footsteps fade into the distance, Dalko could no longer hold back. He frowned and asked,

"Why did you only give Roland one month to study it?"

"You know how difficult Flowing Slash is to learn! Forget one month—even with a year or two, Roland might not be able to master it!"

Baron Fosling didn’t immediately answer his son’s question.

He picked up his porcelain cup, took a light sip of black tea, and slowly exhaled a breath of warm air before speaking in a quiet voice.

"Dalko, what is your station?"

"Father, why are you suddenly asking...?"

Dalko froze.

"Answer me!"

The gentle smile on Baron Fosling’s face vanished, his voice suddenly turning stern.

Seeing his father’s cold expression, Dalko couldn’t help but lower his head and answer obediently.

"I am the eldest son of the Collins family, Dalko Collins..."

"I’m asking about your station! Your station!"

Baron Fosling rapped his fingers heavily on the tabletop. The sharp, rapid tapping made Dalko flinch.

"A noble! I am a noble!"

He quickly corrected himself.

"Hmph!"

Baron Fosling snorted coldly, his expression finally softening slightly.

He turned to the side, his sharp gaze fixed on Dalko.

"Then, what about that boy, Roland? What is his station?"

"A... a commoner?"

Dalko answered hesitantly.

"Correct."

Baron Fosling nodded slightly, then gestured to a nearby chair, signaling for his son to sit.

"But beyond that, you should add a few qualifiers."

Baron Fosling stroked the armrest of his chair, his gaze profound as he spoke slowly.

"He is a commoner with astounding talent for forging and remarkable skill in Swordsmanship."

"Did you know? Three months ago, he couldn’t even perform the most basic hammering techniques. He was so scrawny that the other apprentices bullied him every day. But now..."

The Baron paused, a hint of awe in his voice.

"His Forging Skills are so impressive that even Mr. Hawke is left speechless. As for his Martial Arts, he managed to fight his way out of a goblin-infested jungle while carrying you, a burden, and what’s more..."

"Father..."

Dalko tugged at the hem of his clothes and defended himself in a small voice,

"I wasn’t a burden, I was just careless at the time..."

"Silence!"

Looking at his disappointing son, Baron Fosling couldn’t help but press his hand to his forehead and sigh.

"Dalko, you’re already eighteen. It’s only a matter of time before you go to the Knight Academy for advanced studies. I understand that you’re starting to build your own retinue of knights, but..."

The Baron’s gaze was like a torch as he spoke earnestly.

"Do you really think a genius like Roland would be content to be your Military Blacksmith?"

"But... but we’re the best of friends! We’ve been through life and death together!"

Dalko argued frantically.

"I don’t have to make him a Blacksmith. He could be my Knight’s Attendant..."

"Friends?"

Baron Fosling sneered.

"Dalko, you listen to me. In this world, aside from the bonds of blood, no relationship is reliable unless it involves mutual interest. Do you understand?"

"I... I understand."

Dalko lowered his head, but a defiant light still flickered in his eyes.

Seeing his son’s expression, Baron Fosling wearily rubbed his temples.

"Never mind. In any case, first..."

His expression turned serious. "When dealing with a talent like Roland, you can try to win him over, but you absolutely must not use your noble status to oppress him as you would other commoners..."

"How could I ever do that?"

Dalko shot his head up, his eyes wide.

"Roland isn’t like other commoners! He’s my best friend!"

Hearing the word "friend," Baron Fosling’s mouth visibly twitched.

He suppressed his emotions and changed the subject directly.

"Second!"

He rapped his knuckles hard on the table, the sharp sound accompanying his stern lecture.

"You will remember this: no matter how outstanding Roland’s talent is, his station is ultimately just that of a commoner. And you are a noble!"

"With commoners, you can give alms, you can bestow rewards, but you absolutely..."

The Baron said, enunciating each word, "...cannot make promises lightly!"

"Promising our family’s Combat Skills as a bargaining chip without my consent... I don’t want to see something like that happen a second time. Understand?"

Baron Fosling’s voice turned sharp.

"But..."

Dalko muttered under his breath.

"Didn’t you still give the Combat Skills to Roland to study?"

"Dalko!"

Baron Fosling slammed his hand on the table and shot to his feet, his sharp gaze locking onto his son like a hawk.

"What is the ancestral creed of the Collins family?"

This question, which he had been tested on repeatedly since childhood, made Dalko straighten his back and puff out his chest reflexively.

"Our word is our bond!"

"Very good!"

Seeing his son answer without hesitation, the Baron nodded slightly.

Then he suddenly pointed to the door and roared.

"Now! Immediately! Take that wretched crutch of yours and get out! You are not to take a single step outside this manor for half a year! Do you hear me?!"

"Yes..."

Dalko hung his head and replied dejectedly, like a defeated rooster.

...

...

Roland, of course, was unaware of what had just transpired in the drawing room.

Following a servant’s directions, he had just stepped out of the main gate when a man and a woman approached him.

Upon seeing Roland, the two hurried forward. After a slight bow, the man spoke first.

"Greetings, Mr. Roland. I am the servant, Matthew, and this is..."

Matthew gestured to the girl beside him.

"Mary, a maid."

"Young Master Dalko has instructed her to take care of your daily needs. As for me, I am to help you relay messages to Young Master Dalko when you require it."

’Dalko really is thoughtful.’