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Edward did not hear the words of the young nobleman, and his expectations could not be passed on to Edward.

Or, even if it did, Edward would not approve. (If you like this book, please bookmark biquge.info)

Staying in this village and slowly developing one's own territory, that might be a good fit for the young lord, but a hunter wouldn't do that.

This is the Western Fiefdom, the most barren land in the entire Tuminis Empire, even if the climate is as mild as this year, the harvest can still only be enough to fill the bellies of the people, although it can be relied on to bring some prosperity to Poplar Town, but so what? The viscount's territory is at best that large, and the surrounding noble fiefdoms have long been fixed. Even if Poplar Town can build a city and become the economic center of Xifengyi, it will only be a county if it survives...... And then what about yourself, content to become a nobleman's staff, and from then on slowly strive to turn this deserted place into a place that bears some resemblance to the memory?

It's boring and dangerous......

Even though he is close in age, he is no longer one of those optimistic secondary 2 teenagers...... The development of the territory may be rapid at first, but it will inevitably enter a bottleneck in the end—once it is noticed, will the majesty on the distant throne be able to sit idly by? Any nobleman with real power can easily take it into his pocket. In the end, a qiē and a qiē are just making a wedding dress for people.

In fact, even if some of them are really like a dream, then how can they use this as a basis for plotting the world?

Even if it is a little dreamy, what can it be if it really succeeds? Can the position of an emperor make one feel satisfied? In the end, the emperor's attempt to dominate the industry is nothing more than a piece of loess, and in the end it will inevitably be dug up by someone -- no matter whether it is a ghost who blows a lamp or a private person who flaunts the flag of the state.

In a world where human beings are the highest of the laws of nature, and can dominate a qiē, this may be a good choice, and it is a great choice to read, but here, the changed rules have reduced it to complete chicken ribs, all the precise calculations, ambitions and dreams, and personal will...... In the eyes of the transcendent beings who are above all beings, they are just dust that can be wiped out with a casual touch.

So, why can't Edward, the one who can erase all the qiē with his hand?

Why not?

Because in Edward's memory, the twenty-three years that did not belong to this world were ordinary, mediocre, helpless and at the mercy......

However, since he is so fortunate to have this coveted encounter by everyone, how can he be willing to be a background and spend his life in mediocrity?

Of course he wouldn't, and he couldn't want to repeat that ordinary day - it would be a waste of life.

This second life, he must at least spend it freely.

Living freely is not a simple thing either. Your own freedom will trample on the freedom of others, so freedom must have a strong guarantee, otherwise, it is just an illusion of the mirror, or the self-satisfaction of the weak in the heart.

There are many kinds of powerful.

Uniting the majority can be strong, mastering supreme power can be strong, remembering a lot of knowledge can be strong, having a lot of wealth can be strong...... But Edward knew an old proverb - if you become a lion, the fox will come and deceive you: if you become a lamb, the fox will come and eat you, if you become a fox, the lion will be suspicious of you if a liar denounces you, and if you become a liar, your stupidity will make you suffer, and you will not be a jackal's breakfast......

Therefore, there are levels of strength, and at a certain level, there is a unique requirement.

In this world, this world of swords and magic, only its own strength is the last and most reliable trump card in this world.

So Edward had to become stronger than most people.

Oh, it should be said, this is just the grandest dream in the heart of a teenager. And we know that a person always lives in a dream, and there is never only one......

Some are big, like scientists, engineers, pilots, or builders who wrote in essays when they were children, or bosses, governors, mayors, bureau chiefs, and section chiefs when they grow up, or lottery jackpots that are bought by themselves in hundreds of sets...... Some are small, such as a salary increase, a promotion, picking up a wallet, or even a big meal of braised pork or pork bones.

For these, some people call them dreams, some call them pursuits, some call them **, but for Edward, even if he puts aside the unattainable, unattainable, and too far away, he still has hope for what he can get—those things that appear before his eyes when he begins to systematically observe the world, which are not the same as the history in his memory, and are originally only imaginary.

It was a spellcaster named Old McGonagall, a magnificent temple with the flames, electric light, and changing pillars of light in his hands, so colorful, so mysterious...... It's not a deceptive effect simulated with props, it's not a fake image rendered digitally, it's a real magical world in front of you.

Or maybe it was at that time that the young soul in this body had been etched with the imprint of that mysterious and wonderful world.

He is different from most, if not everyone, in this world, and it is precisely because of this that he is deeply fascinated by the power of these original knowledge systems, which only exist in rumors and stories......

Although apart from the soul transfer with no memory at all, he did not receive any special favor, let alone the luck of being extremely gifted because he ate too much of a certain stem tuber...... However, since we are fortunate enough to come to this space, this wonderful world of iron and blood, sword and magic, wouldn't it be a great pity not to try to touch that mysterious door?

......

There was a soft sound from the wooden door.

Edward didn't look back, still intently examining each arrow in his quiver, using a small short knife to tidy up the slightly messy feathers.

For the footsteps of the other party were enough to tell him who he was—in fact, the only person who could enter the innermost room of the blacksmith was himself, the son of the lord, and the only one left was the owner of the blacksmith, his father.

Father in this life.

"How long will it take to go this time?" said the owner of the smithy.

"It's estimated that it will take about one to two ten-day days. Edward turned around, but didn't make contact with the middle-aged man's gaze.

But even so, he could see the black face, a layer of smoke dust covering his face, making a few burns and wrinkles deeply engraved in it less noticeable, but it could not hide the gray hair peeking out from under the original tan. It made him look like a piece of iron ore - dry, hard, yet smoothed out of all the edges.

The face is already familiar, but it always seems unfamiliar.

“...... I've heard that it's dangerous. ”

"Just a spin outside...... The mage was looking for something small, and because it was scarce, he hired a few more people. However, the price is very high, and it is enough...... I went to the School of Magic's tuition. ”

"You must go to the Academy of Magic?"

"It's almost time for the age limit. ”

The next conversation is very simple, but when the blacksmith has been looking at the young man in front of him, he feels for a while that what he is facing does not seem to be his son who has been with him for more than ten years.

Academy of Magic...... This word, which sounded very distant, made the old blacksmith suddenly have a realization.

Or, this child, named Edward, could not have belonged here......

Not of this big house, of this blacksmith's shop, of this town, not even of this county—he must not be bound by the surrounding moors, the rushing rivers, the deep forests, or anything in this small mountain village, and the child will eventually step out of the land in which his ancestors depended for their livelihoods and were imprisoned in it.

Looking at the young figure who was sorting out his equipment, Old York seemed to see the shadow of his youth.

How long has it been, twenty years, or twenty-one years?

At that time, the Whispering Forest had not yet become the object of admiration of the cave bears, but it was a peaceful and quiet place facing the woodland, occasionally harassed by goblins and wild beasts...... In the land of Xifengyi, as soon as the man reached the age of twenty, he inherited the craft of his father, farmer, craftsman or merchant...... Although I don't know when and from whom, this unwritten rule has been strictly observed.

So in the eyes of the others around him, York was lucky—if nothing happened he would have taken the hammer from his father, and would have become the only blacksmith in the village, one of the centres of the town.

However, York, who had grown up in this way by the sound of the fire and the beating of the stove since he was a child, had thought that he was different in his teens—the restlessness and restlessness peculiar to young people had made him, and a group of friends who were not willing to waste their lives in iron and furnaces—and several friends made a pact with each other to leave here and venture out into the outside world.

Although they have been in this town since they were born, they have only wandered the nearby forests at the farthest, and at most they have speculated about the outside world through their imaginations and the words of adventurers outside...... But he had long been obsessed with the outside world told by the old adventurer behind the village—the fire-breathing dragon sleeping on the pile of gold coins, the beautiful mermaid who bewitched the sailors with her song, the corpse that could move herself, the clay figurines, all kinds of sub-humans, the strange customs of the country that believed in the elements of nature, and the infinite blue sky with the slightest white clouds, the mysterious and boundless sea, and the prairie that could not reach the end even after three days and three nights of galloping.

The glamorous and lonely noble ladies who live in the mansion will quietly invite the warriors they like to be their guests, and if they are lucky, they may even be favored by some noble women and become one of the high-ranking people.

Old York once felt that that was the real life, the world that really belonged to him, so he began to learn a knowledge of the outside world from the old adventurer. How to survive in swamps and deserts, how to identify various plants, various habits of various subhumans, how to fight, how to set traps.

He exercised his body every day, fought with people much older than himself, practiced his sword skills, and at the age of fourteen, he also went into the periphery of the forest, fantasizing that it was a magical world outside, and practicing his survival skills inside.

The days passed like this, and the dream seemed to be getting closer and closer.

Until he was hit by that arrow in the knee.

The kobolds' arrows were smeared with strange poisons extracted from the creatures of the forest, something that even the strongest warrior could not withstand...... In fact, York, who always prides himself on good luck, was indeed very lucky, or rather blessed by the god of life, that the humble arrow did not kill him, and after a few days of fever, he finally survived.

But on the other hand, the arrow eventually took a lot of things from him.

Not just the leg, but the strange fantasies in his head, his sharp teeth and youthful impulses, his ambitions, his pursuits...... He became reticent, immersed himself in the work of a blacksmith, married the neighbor's village girl, and guarded the little shop like a caretaker, and at the same time was guarded by the shop—he became the most boring character in his youth, a copy of his father.

......

However, at this moment, the old York also knew very well that this child could not be a copy of him.

This child would have been different...... His intelligence, his depth, and his rebellion were different from himself. He's not a mischievous kid, and he's not been as frivolous as everyone else, so he won't come back into life after a setback like he is. He is not rebellious in life, but in the whole of life from the beginning.

That's for sure.

Because this kid ...... Better than him, who is a father.

This is not just because he has accurate bow and arrow skills and strange combat methods, but because he has actually controlled the entire town's garrison at this age, and almost every adventurer who has been in Poplar Town for a while looks at this little imp with a real awe in his eyes, which York could not have imagined when he was young.

This kid ...... It's much better than him as a father.

It's not just that he comes up with strange methods from time to time, but because he makes things that York never imagined and didn't dare to imagine.

It's like the blade in his hand at the moment...... York could say without boasting that he was the best blacksmith in the hundreds of miles around, but he was certain that he had never seen a weapon of the kind in his life—a piece of wrought iron that had been scrapped by being beaten too much, but which, after the child's countless foldings and forging, and the addition of charcoal powder, had turned into a fine piece of steel, and then into this sword-like weapon, but with a blade on one side and a finger thick.

It even possesses a sharpness that is not inferior to that of any magic weapon, and can easily slice through the iron blade of the test knife...... Especially after the child's several trips to the forest, a faint blue-green light mark had condensed on the blade - as a person who once aspired to be a mercenary, York knew that it was a killing mark that could only be carried after drinking countless blood plasma, and it would not have been possible for mortal iron to glow with such a luster without thousands of interactions with flesh and blood.

Although the boy only said lightly each time, he only took a turn around the outer edge of the forest.

This kid ...... It's much better than him as a father.

It's not just that he's smart and studious, but because his dreams, or ambitions, are very different.

He wanted to become a mage, so he learned the language of the nobility, learned to write, the official language with subtle transliterations, even the lords who had been in the capital could not speak so fluently, and the cumbersome words he often wrote page by page, known as Rodriguean's flower script, made York's head hurt when he looked at it.

So, York knew it clearly. His own words could no longer have any influence on this child—when he made the decision, the sparkle in his eyes was so wise, not like a fourteen-year-old boy, but more like an old man who knew everything, understood everything, and saw through the world.

"Then you can go...... Sanda Cole Majesty bless you with a smooth journey. ”

After a long silence, old York could not say anything, or time had taken away all his words, leaving only those heavy sighs.

......

But travel always seems to start between anticipation and uneasiness.

This may be because the god of death in this world, Kai Lanwo, also holds a part of the priesthood of travel.

The lobby of the Hilton was as noisy as ever, but it wasn't the usual conversation about wine or trophies - thirty or so people were walking past a table and signing their names on a piece of parchment, but there were still an equal number of people who could only gather around and talk about something.

Edward frowned, knowing that they were signing a pact—a pact in this world that was far more binding than he remembered, because it was the gods on high who were responsible for ensuring its execution.

While this piece of parchment, which is worth a lot of money, is a complete guarantee that there won't be any disappointing questions like traitors along the way, it's a little uncomfortable compared to the adventures of spontaneous teaming up into the woods...... But after a little hesitation, he walked up and reached for the quill.

Syllable.

Before Edward could reach the pen, a beautifully patterned iron glove grabbed his arm, and the cold, muffled voice rang out.

"You are not welcome to join. ”

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