Chapter 77: Value and Misunderstanding

The grand hall of Rose Manor was exquisitely elegant with a hidden opulence. The floor gleamed with polished red copperwood, a precious timber known for its dense texture and radiant luster—an expensive material that could last for centuries, used here merely for the floor.

Eight pillars, white as jade, stood tall in the hall. Neither metal nor wood, these columns were the leg bones of mammoth beasts. In the northern wilds, these colossal creatures stood fifteen meters tall and weighed forty tons; their enormous frames endowed them with unrivaled strength, and their bones were harder than steel.

What most astonished Victor were the intricate carvings adorning these massive bones. The designs depicted the tale of a lone human warrior hunting and slaying a mammoth. With his extraordinary eyesight, Victor noticed a subtle detail: the lines of the carvings were smooth and evenly deep, not etched with a blade but drawn by a human finger.

One could imagine that, long ago, a powerful knight of the York family hunted these mammoths and then painted on their bones with his fingers, honing his battle energy in the process. Victor surmised that this knight was likely a Golden Knight—only those who had reached the pinnacle of their art could accomplish such a feat.

Regrettably, the pillars were tinged with yellow, suggesting centuries had passed. Even though Golden Knights lived far longer than ordinary men, not even they could endure for centuries. Nevertheless, it was proof of the York family’s exalted bloodline, having produced a Golden Knight.

Though that ancestor had long since perished, his strength and will were immortalized in the artwork, filling Victor with awe and fervor—a reverence and yearning for power.

“My lord baron, this way please,” the old butler said to Victor, who was momentarily lost in thought.

As the butler led him towards the lounge at the rear, Victor’s expression turned slightly odd. Noble banquets typically invited many guests to dine together, yet Sylvia always invited him alone. He couldn’t help but wonder if the beautiful countess considered herself the main course, or perhaps Victor her dessert.

Upon entering the familiar lounge, Victor indeed found Sylvia.

The countess was impeccably attired, seated properly behind a square table. Her golden hair fell carelessly over her shoulders, her expression dignified and serene. Victor felt a sense of relief mingled with disappointment.

Sylvia, too, was appraising Victor. After several months apart, this young lord—once elfin and handsome—had shed much of his affectation and arrogance, growing more reserved and mature. She was pleasantly surprised.

“Victor greets Lady Sylvia, and wishes your beauty to last forever.” Victor bowed gracefully, then straightened—the perfect courtesy between lords.

Sylvia paid no heed to Victor’s formalities. Instead, she approached with languid steps, circled him, leaned close to his ear with rose-red lips, and whispered sweetly, “Victor, you’ve changed. You’re fresher and more natural now—it delights me.”

The countess’s fragrant breath set Victor’s heart aflame, almost beyond control. But before he could respond, she laughed melodiously, swaying her slender waist as she returned to her seat.

“My lord baron, please sit,” Sylvia gestured with her delicate hand, inviting Victor to sit opposite her.

“Thank you, madam.”

Victor sat calmly, but his mind was in turmoil. He suddenly realized that when Sylvia leaned in, she hadn’t triggered his blind sense.

Since awakening the Moon Elf’s gift, Victor’s perception had reached twenty-one points—higher than any knight he had ever met. Yet Sylvia had approached with such natural elegance that, though he could see, hear, and smell her, his body produced no instinctive reaction.

Victor scrutinized Sylvia. With his heightened senses, he noticed many extraordinary details—her figure perfectly proportioned, features delicate, skin flawless and smooth, her pores minutely even, and her golden hair lustrous, each strand nearly identical in width.

Sylvia struck Victor as flawless.

He had seen this sense of perfection in Bruce and Eskri—knights of varying height and appearance, yet each proportioned and harmonious. Especially after Nicole achieved knighthood, her transformation was striking. Though her facial features changed little, her complexion, form, and aura were all utterly renewed, like a gemstone dazzling after being cut.

Yet, none of those three knights possessed Sylvia’s absolute flawlessness; instead, they had a stronger sense of presence.

Victor quietly entered his hypersense and limit states.

Physique 10, Spirit 10, Perception 10, Life 10.

Sylvia’s elemental attributes startled him—he’d never seen such balanced elemental properties, with each at the human limit, but not exceeding it.

Not a knight! Victor felt a strange sense of relief. Though he was curious about Sylvia’s balanced attributes, it was only curiosity.

“Victor, you rejected my goodwill. I am disappointed,” Sylvia said crisply.

Seeing Sylvia’s half-smile, Victor shifted his gaze, feeling a pang of guilt. “Madam, please forgive me,” he replied.

No explanation, but unyielding.

“Victor, is your confidence in refusing me based on the purple cane? But you must know, if it can be harvested, it can be cultivated. Soon, all the lords of the Centaur Hills will plant it—you cannot monopolize it forever,” Sylvia said with a smile.

“Thirty years!” Victor replied gravely.

Sylvia’s elegant brows arched, but she said nothing. Victor continued.

“In the capital, I tasted the finest Doom wine, each bottle worth eight hundred gold sols. Its price comes from eighty years of aging. Grain loses value with time, but wine grows exponentially more precious. Lady Sylvia, for the lords to cultivate vast fields of purple cane will take at least thirty years—and that is a gap they can never bridge.”

Sylvia sighed softly, lifting a cup of coffee and sipping it.

“Victor, your coffee is my favorite. Bitter yet smooth, with a rich aroma that lingers. It also invigorates and relieves fatigue. I believe it will become all the rage among the nobility.”

Before Victor could respond, Sylvia’s tone grew serious. “But in my eyes, coffee pales in value compared to purple cane wine. Do you know why?”

“Because coffee is scarce?” Victor asked cautiously.

His domain didn’t have many Usser fruit trees—only about six hundred—but coffee was always a luxury commodity, prized for its rarity. Victor could also buy more from other lords, since only he knew how to detoxify the seeds.

Sylvia shook her head with a gentle smile.

“Doom wine is a specialty of the Borre United Kingdom, brewed from juniper berries of the Seven Isles. But they also make an unrefined version, juniper wine, which is a strategic resource sought by other lords.”

Victor was startled. Juniper wine, made from barley and juniper berries, tasted poor and was expensive, often out of stock. He hadn’t expected such a rough liquor to be a strategic material.

“The Borre United Kingdom is the only human realm with a fortress on the southern bank of the Goldenwater River. You’ve heard of the Siege of the Pioneer Fortress two hundred years ago?” Sylvia continued.

Victor nodded, acknowledging his knowledge of that storied war.

The Pioneer Fortress battle was humanity’s first pitched conflict against the barbarians on the southern bank of the Goldenwater. The Borre army was besieged for a full year. Only after the Church rallied the other human lords to send reinforcements were the survivors evacuated to the Seven Isles.

In the end, the fortress fell, marking the failure of mankind’s expansion south of the Goldenwater.

“In the latter days of the siege, food and water within the fortress were exhausted. The soldiers survived two months on juniper wine, until rescue arrived. Now do you see the value of purple cane wine?” Sylvia asked.

It dawned on Victor—this wine was a long-lasting, multi-purpose drink! No wonder, after Reno learned the Secret of the Stalwart Bull, a little purple cane wine could greatly ease hunger. The wine was rich in nutrients and energy, and even provided water.

“So, the purple cane is extremely valuable,” Victor said wryly.

“Exactly! What reason do you have to refuse becoming a vassal of House York? How will you protect your domain—those two fierce warriors?” Sylvia smiled meaningfully; House York would never allow such a strategic resource to fall to another family.

“You! So you do have spies among my people!” Victor said, displeased. Clearly, House York had marked Reno as a fierce warrior as well.

“What’s so strange? Don’t you have spies in Blackfort Town?” Sylvia replied in mock surprise, though her bright eyes couldn’t hide her amusement.

“I never meant to… Alright!” Victor flushed, wanting to protest, but gave up. It was, after all, a misunderstanding.

“My dear little Victor, I’ve read your proposal. You’re willing to grant us exclusive rights to your purple cane wine at eighteen copper sols per liter, in exchange for open access to grain and materials. That’s good. But how can I trust you’ll keep your promise?”

“Since you already have spies among my people, you must know that I’ve stopped clearing new fields to protect the purple cane. Without more farmland, I must rely on your support to feed my people and pay the kingdom’s taxes. You needn’t worry about my loyalty,” Victor explained with a bitter smile.

“Then how will you keep your domain safe from other families? The Chapman family is already mining silver on your land! Without strength, why not accept our protection? As our vassal, we could justly shield you, and you’d still keep half the purple cane—a better deal, isn’t it?” Sylvia pressed, fixing Victor with her gaze.

“There is law in the kingdom. Lords cannot attack each other at will,” Victor replied stiffly.

“Law? Law means nothing before the purple cane! The great lords of the capital will seize your lands, claiming your castle is illegal,” Sylvia mocked.

Victor fell silent, then said resolutely, “I will not become your vassal. I know you can shield me from other families and the senate, but if you cannot trust my sincerity, I’ll uproot the purple cane and plant grain instead.”

Victor would never become a vassal of House York. He knew that in times of upheaval, vassals of great lords were the first to be crushed. Besides, he had too many secrets.

“I really shouldn’t have given you fifty thousand gold sols,” Sylvia said with a sigh, pale hand to her brow, apparently forgetting she’d also taken ten thousand more from Victor.

A sudden thought struck Victor, and he blurted out, “Sylvia, why did you help me at first? Now that there’s an even more favorable agreement for you, why insist that I become your vassal?”

“Is it because of Sophia? You said you were friends.”

The atmosphere in the room instantly tightened.

After a moment, Sylvia said plaintively, “Dear Victor, mentioning another woman before me truly wounds my heart.” Then she added, “Is your refusal to become my vassal because of Sophia? Do you still harbor hopes for her? Don’t be naïve—what Enbis told you is true.”

“Hope? The young baron has long since changed,” Victor thought wryly.

Victor pressed the question only to confirm a suspicion: if Sophia tried to protect the young baron, it meant she knew he was in danger, perhaps even knew the culprit and their motive. Of course, no one knew the young baron was already dead, not even the killer.

Now, Victor had inherited the baron’s fate, and he didn’t intend to die in vain.

As for Sylvia’s misunderstanding, Victor was content to let it stand. So he remained silent, which only made him appear lonely and desolate in her eyes.

Sylvia spoke softly, “Victor, I admire your loyalty to Sophia, but as a lord, you cannot afford wishful thinking. You must choose a side, or you will be paralyzed.”

“Since you refuse to be my vassal, I won’t force you. I can agree to your exclusive agreement and provide necessary assistance. But we still have details to discuss—like the swift birds and the coffee,” Sylvia said earnestly.

“But first, dear Victor, you should take a bath. We can talk more at dinner.”

_________________

After Victor left, a hidden door in the room opened, and a striking woman emerged.

“Trisly, you saw it all. This is the man your disciple chose—what do you think?” Sylvia said excitedly.

Trisly was silent a moment before replying coolly, “The perception of one with Moon Elf blood is terrifying. Every time I look at him, he reacts. If I hadn’t kept manipulating the wind element, he would have noticed me.”

“You know that’s not what I’m asking! You sensed it—didn’t you?” Sylvia watched her Silver Grand Knight intently.

“Yes. The first time he examined you, both the wind and fire elements pulsed,” Trisly nodded. She referred to Victor activating his heightened senses and limit state to analyze Sylvia’s elemental attributes.

“I almost thought it was my imagination! Do you know whose bloodline Victor might bear?” Sylvia pressed, excitement mounting.

“You think he’s a descendant of Sword Saint Draven Wimbledon?” Trisly replied uncertainly.

“Ancient bloodlines with awakened Moon Elf gifts are rare, but not nonexistent—they’re always wind-aligned. Only Draven, the Sword Saint, had both wind and fire affinity,” Sylvia said, almost feverishly.

“Draven dominated an era. Though not a knight, both his children reached the legendary realm, one grandson became a legendary knight, and the others all achieved Golden Knight status,” Sylvia said happily, then mocked, “Poor Sophia, seeking an heir with noble blood, actually handed Victor to me. If she finds out, will she faint from regret?”

But Trisly shook her head. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. Moon Elf blood is always black-haired and black-eyed. Draven’s golden hair and eyes were unmistakable. The chance of Victor having the Sword Saint’s blood is slim.”

Sylvia paused, then said, “There’s no harm in trying.”

“You want Nicole to have his child?”

“No, I want to have his child!” Sylvia declared firmly.

“Don’t be foolish! Moon Elf blood already makes childbirth difficult. And you are… Never mind. In short, you’re dreaming—Nicole is more likely,” Trisly said, making a face but unwilling to dash her friend’s hopes, knowing Sylvia always longed for a child of her own.

Sylvia, however, was unmoved. She rolled her eyes and retorted, “How could a cold, old spinster like you understand? I advise you to find a man yourself and continue your family line.”

With that, Sylvia swayed her slender waist and strode out.

“Where are you going?”

“To bathe. Care to join me?” Sylvia thrust out her proud chest, full of allure.

“Drop dead!”