Panlong's Worton

Chapter 16 The Heart of Revenge

The main house door was ajar. He pushed it open; the living room furnishings remained the same. Hogg's usual high-backed chair sat by the fireplace, an open account book casually resting on the armrest, as if the owner had only temporarily left. The kitchen stove was cold and devoid of any warmth. On the long dining table, however, two sets of bowls and chopsticks were neatly arranged, covered in a fine layer of dust—a habit Ciri had stubbornly maintained even when living alone.

Wharton silently glanced around, then walked up to the second floor and went straight to Hogger's study. He grasped the doorknob, paused for a moment, and then pushed it open.

The study was filled with the smell of old paper and ink. The desk by the window was a bit messy, with several yellowed maps spread out, marked and connected with charcoal pencil. Scattered around were a few notebooks and several letters, some opened and some unopened.

Wharton walked over, his gaze falling on the familiar handwriting on the top envelope. The envelope was addressed to "Linley and Wharton," in Hogg's handwriting, strong yet with a slight, almost imperceptible tremor.

He picked up the letter, its cold touch seeping through his fingertips. He didn't open it immediately, but held it tightly in his hand before turning and going downstairs.

Ciri stood in the middle of the living room, wiping away tears with her sleeve, at a loss for what to do.

"Grandpa Ciri," Walton asked, "has my brother...come back?"

"He came back," Ciri sniffed, trying to calm her tone, "Young Master Linley came back and stayed for a few days, locking himself in the ancestral hall and the master's study... and then, then he left. Before he left, he left you a letter, saying he left it in the ancestral hall."

Walton nodded and walked toward the older, more solemn building at the back of the mansion—the Baruch family ancestral hall.

Pushing open the heavy wooden door, an even stronger aroma of incense and old wood wafted out. The light was dim, with only the faint flickering of the ever-burning lamp. Directly in front, on the tiered shelves of memorial tablets, a brand-new tablet had appeared at the very front.

The ebony base and gilded lettering were somewhat dazzling in the dim light: Hogg Baruch.

Two things were placed quietly in front of the memorial tablet.

On the left is an unsealed letter, written on ordinary paper. On the right…

Walton's pupils suddenly contracted.

It was a knife. The blade was longer and narrower than an ordinary battle knife, with a graceful yet dangerous curve. The edge wasn't gleaming, but rather shimmered with a deep, dark red luster, like dried blood. Even in the dim light, it exuded a chilling sharpness. The hilt was pure black, the leather binding worn away, revealing the dark wood beneath. The grip bore obvious marks from years of use, shaped to fit the hand.

The Baruch family's heirloom, lost for centuries, is the sword "Slaughter," a symbol of the glory and shame of the Dragonblood Warriors.

In Wharton's memory, this knife was something Linley had painstakingly retrieved and brought back to his father's grave to offer solace. But now, it lay there silently. Was it Linley... who had done it beforehand?

Wharton reached for the letter first. It was Linley's handwriting, more steady and more...sharp than he remembered.

"Wharton, it's like seeing you in person."

The beginning is simple and direct.

"Father is gone. Three months ago, he went to Fenlai City to investigate the truth behind Mother's disappearance. He stumbled upon some people's secrets, was discovered, and escaped with serious injuries. Three days later... he died. Before he died, he revealed part of the truth he had uncovered: Mother did not die in childbirth, but was taken away by a group of people, led by Duke Padson, the younger brother of King Clyde of the Kingdom of Fenlai. Father suspects that there is an even deeper hand behind Padson."

"While I was training away from home, I unexpectedly activated the Dragonblood Warrior bloodline within me at a critical moment, and now my magic and warrior cultivation have both reached level seven. In addition, a stone sculpture I carved, 'Awakening of the Dream,' sold for a high price in Fenlai City, and I used that money to buy back our family's 'Slaughter.' I originally planned to bring it back to surprise my father, to tell him that his son has grown up and can reclaim what belongs to the family..."

The handwriting here shows a small, blurred smudge, like the mark of a water droplet.

"But when I came back, there was only my father's memorial tablet in the house."

"I leave 'Slaughter' to you. The family's heirloom should rightfully be inherited by Baruch's descendants. I have entrusted Uncle Hillman to send most of the family's current funds to the O'Brien Empire. Judging by the time, they should arrive soon. Use this money for your future cultivation and life; don't be stingy."

"I will avenge my father. I will continue to investigate my mother's whereabouts. I will personally reclaim the lost glory of the Baruch family, bit by bit."

"You're still young, you're the younger brother. These things shouldn't be your burden. Don't come back, don't get involved in the mess in Fenlai City. In O'Brien, at the Imperial Military Academy, train hard, live well, and become stronger. That will be the greatest comfort to your father, and to me as well."

Brother: Lin Lei.

The letter was short, but every word was like a red-hot branding iron, searing into Wharton's eyes and searing into his heart. He could feel Linley's immense grief, boundless self-blame, and the suppressed, impending, resolute anger behind those seemingly calm words.

He carefully folded the letter, placed it in his bosom, and kept it close to his body. Then, he reached out and grasped the hilt of the "Slaughter" sword.

It was incredibly heavy, far exceeding its apparent weight. The icy touch went straight to his heart, but then, an indescribable sense of resonance followed. Wharton subconsciously activated the latent Dragonblood Warrior bloodline within him, and a dark red, scorching aura rose from his dantian, flowing along the meridians of his arm and slowly into his right hand holding the sword.

hum-

The blade of "Slaughter" suddenly emitted a deep, clear, resonant hum. Its dark red luster seemed to come alive, slowly flowing and shimmering across the blade like ripples on water. The worn leather at the hilt also seemed to warm slightly, becoming even more in harmony with the lines of his palm. A few seconds later, the hum gradually subsided, and the blade returned to its calm state, but within its cold touch, there seemed to be a newfound gentleness and acceptance, a connection to one's bloodline.

Walton picked up the equally antique black leather scabbard beside him and slowly sheathed "Slaughter." With a soft "clang," the scabbard closed perfectly.

He gripped his sheathed longsword, turned, and walked out of the ancestral hall.

Ciri was still waiting outside, her eyes red and swollen like peaches, looking at him with concern.

"Young Master, in Young Master Lin Lei's letter..."

“Brother,” Walton interrupted him, his voice clear and certain, “he’s gone to Fenlai. He’s going to avenge Father and find out what happened to Mother.”

Ciri trembled violently, her face turning deathly pale: "Then...then young master, you..."

"I'll go too." Walton's gaze passed over Ciri, landing outside the mansion, towards the direction of Fenlai City, where the sky was low and the clouds were thick. "But not now, and not like my brother thinks, hiding behind him."

Ciri's lips trembled as she tried to say something, but she didn't know where to begin in offering comfort.

Walton didn't explain further. Gripping his knife, he strode towards the training ground outside the mansion. Six years had passed since he last returned, and the training ground was much more orderly than he remembered. The wooden stakes used for practicing chopping had been replaced with thicker new timbers, the sandy ground was flat, and a ring of low stones had been built around the edge.

Hillman was in the middle of the field, instructing a dozen or so teenagers on the most basic weapon-holding stances and footwork. His back to the entrance, his voice loud and stern, said, "Straighten your back! Keep your stance stable! Grip that wooden stick tightly; it's your weapon, not a fire poker!"

A sharp-eyed child spotted Walton approaching and paused involuntarily. Hillman turned his head following the child's gaze, and when he saw who it was, he froze, his dignified expression freezing on his face, turning into incredulous astonishment.

"Walton... young master?" He strode over, looking Walton up and down, seemingly trying to find the shadow of the thin, silent boy from six years ago in him. But the boy before him was tall and straight, with a deep and composed aura, especially his eyes, which were calmer than those of a twelve-year-old child. "You... why did you suddenly come back? Weren't you in the Empire...?"

"I graduated and came back." Walton said succinctly, his gaze sweeping over the curious children watching from the training field before returning to Hillman's face. "Uncle Hillman, did you deliver the thing my brother asked you to take to O'Brien?"

Hillman, realizing what was happening, waved to the children, "Keep practicing, no slacking off!" Then he gestured for Walton to walk to a tree a little further away on the sidelines before lowering his voice to say, "It's been delivered. I just got back three days ago. The items were delivered directly to the Imperial Military Academy. A familiar instructor took them, saying your mentor had instructed me to do so. Young Master Linley said in his letter that the money was for your training, and that you shouldn't be stingy with it."

Walton nodded. "Thank you for your hard work, Uncle Hillman."

"Young Master..." Hillman looked at Walton's calm, expressionless face, then at the longsword in his hand, whose extraordinary aura shone even when sheathed. He hesitated, then let out a heavy sigh. "About Master... Young Master Linley... In the days since he returned, he's barely spoken, staying mostly in the main hall and Master's study. I could sense that he took all the blame upon himself. He felt that if he had been stronger, if he had returned sooner, perhaps Master would have..."

"It's not his fault." Walton's voice was firm, interrupting Hillman. "Father's choice was for Mother, and for this family. The ones who are wrong are those who hurt them and hid the truth."

Hillman stared blankly at Walton. The boy before him was only twelve years old, even younger than Linley had been when he left home, but his calmness, decisiveness, and the suppressed, icy sharpness deep in his eyes sent a chill down the spine of this veteran of countless battles. He suddenly realized clearly that this young master, whom he had watched be born and grow up, whom he had once thought needed more care, had, in a distant place unknown to them, grown at an astonishing speed into a true warrior, a man of the Baruch family.

"Young Master," Hillman's voice was hoarse, "what...do you intend to do?"

“Find my brother first,” Walton said. “I’m worried about him being alone. But before that, I need to know everything, every single detail. How did Father find the clues? How did he infiltrate the Duke’s mansion? Who discovered him? Who laid a hand on him? Where was he injured? What did he say when he came back? Everything you know, I need to know.”

Hillman took a deep breath and slowly exhaled, as if trying to release all the pent-up emotions and sorrow in his chest. He glanced at the sky, then at the children on the training field who were looking at him absentmindedly.

"It's not convenient to talk here," he said in a deep voice. "Come to my room. I'll tell you everything I know."

As dusk fell, the setting sun painted the sky a poignant, blood-red hue. Walton went alone to a hillside not far from Wushan Town, where the view was expansive, offering a distant view of the heart of the Kingdom of Fenlai. The twilight was so thick that nothing could be seen clearly.

From Hillman, he heard more detailed and even more brutal details.

For the past six years, Hogg had never given up his covert investigation into Lina's disappearance. He used every opportunity to travel to Fenlay, ostensibly for shopping or visiting friends, to carefully gather information and piece together fragmented clues. His investigation was cautious and lengthy, until recently, when all the suspicions finally began to vaguely point to a suffocating target—King Clyde's younger brother, Duke Parderson.

Three months ago, Hogg believed the time was near. He disguised himself and infiltrated Fenlay City under a new identity. After careful planning, he managed to sneak into Duke Parderson's mansion, hoping to find more direct evidence or make contact with key personnel involved in the operation years ago. However, the mansion's security was far greater than he had anticipated, and he was discovered by sentries while attempting to steal a crucial list.

"Master fought his way out with his life on the line," Hillman said in a hoarse voice, his eyes red-rimmed. "He was attacked by three level seven warriors. Master was at the peak of level six at the time. He escaped with serious injuries only because of his familiarity with the terrain and his ruthless, death-defying spirit. He didn't dare to go directly back to Wushan Town for fear of being followed. He took a long detour, changed his clothes twice, and dragged it out for almost two days before struggling to return... When he came back, he was almost completely drained of blood."

Hogg did not die immediately; he held on for three days. During those three days, he endured excruciating pain, leaving letters for Linley and Walton, explaining all his final arrangements to Hillman and Ciri, arranging his funeral, and instructing them to keep it a secret from Walton until Linley returned to make a decision.

"The master said in the end..." Hillman's tears finally rolled down his cheeks, and the tough man sobbed uncontrollably. "He said he was sorry to Master Linley, sorry to you. He didn't protect your mother, and he couldn't... couldn't see the day when you brothers truly stood tall and proud... He said the future of the Baruch family is in your hands."

After listening, Walton sat silently, his fingers unconsciously stroking the cold sheath of "Slaughter," remaining silent for a long time. Hillman's sobs sounded particularly oppressive in the simple room.

Standing on the hillside, the evening breeze, carrying the chill of late autumn, ruffled his short hair. Level eight. In his Dragon Blood transformation state, he could reach the threshold of a level nine mid-level warrior. This strength was terrifying among the younger generation, enough to earn him a prominent position in the empire. But what about Duke Parderson? A duke with real power in the kingdom, his guards were definitely not weak, and there might even be hidden experts. Moreover, Parderson had even more terrifying forces behind him: King Klein, the assassin, the Holy See, and even...

We mustn't act rashly and storm the Duke's mansion alone. That would be suicide, and it would betray the sacrifices and protection of our father and brother.

But they couldn't wait any longer. Linley had already gone to Fenlai, filled with grief and anger, to face the enemies lurking in the shadows alone.

Walton turned and walked down the hillside.

By the time they returned to Baruch's mansion, it was completely dark. Shiri lit a lamp and prepared a simple dinner: a dish of pickled vegetables, a bowl of clear soup with a few specks of oil floating on top, and a few coarse wheat buns. The old man sat at the table without touching his chopsticks; the dim light cast his hunched figure long against the wall, making him appear exceptionally lonely.

"Grandpa Ciri," Walton said, sitting down opposite him.

"Young Master, the food is ready. Eat it while it's hot." Xili quickly pushed the steamed buns over.

Walton picked up a bun, broke it in half, but didn't eat it. "I'm leaving for Fenlay early tomorrow morning."

Ciri's hand trembled, and his chopsticks fell to the table with a crisp sound. He looked up, his aged face filled with terror and pleading: "Young Master! You can't go! It's too dangerous there! Young Master Linley repeatedly warned me..."

"My brother is my brother, and I am me." Wharton's tone remained calm, yet carried an undeniable firmness. "He told me not to get involved because he was worried about my safety; it was out of kindness. But I can't watch him take risks alone. I am his brother, not a fledgling who needs his wing to protect me forever. I will decide which path to take."

Ciri opened his mouth, looking into Wharton's eyes, deep and unfathomable under the lamplight, but all his words of persuasion stuck in his throat. He knew this young master too well; he was usually taciturn, but once he made up his mind about something, his stubbornness was exactly the same as his father Hogg and his brother Linley.

"But...but if Master knew that you two brothers..." Ciri's tears welled up again, the cloudy tears sliding down her deep wrinkles, "How heartbroken he would be..."

"Father will feel even more sorry for my brother who has to shoulder everything alone." Wharton picked up his chopsticks, took a piece of pickled vegetable, and chewed it slowly, the salty taste melting in his mouth. "Grandpa Hillary, I'm entrusting this house to you from now on. Stay here and wait for my brother and me to come back."

Ciri tried to wipe her face with her sleeve, but she couldn't dry her tears. She could only sob and nod heavily, unable to utter a single word.

After dinner, Wharton returned to his room, which he hadn't lived in for six years. Ciri had kept the room spotless, and the bedding smelled of sunshine. He began packing his few belongings: the "Slaughter" sword on his back, a short knife tucked into his boots, two sets of sturdy dark coarse cloth clothes, a few pieces of dry rations wrapped in oiled paper, and a leather bag filled with water. Finally, he took out two letters from his pocket—one left for him by Linley, and the other Hogg's unopened will. He carefully wrapped both letters in waterproof oilcloth and placed them close to his body in his inner pocket. He wanted to keep Hogg's letter so that the two brothers could open it together when he saw Linley.

The next day, just as the sky began to lighten, the morning mist still shrouded the quiet streets and rooftops of Wushan Town.

Wharton was all ready and stood at the gate of the mansion. Ciri saw him out. The old man's eyes were red and swollen, but this time he didn't cry out. He just pursed his lips tightly, his aged hands gripping the door frame so tightly that his knuckles were white.

"Young Master," his voice was terribly hoarse, "you must...you must be careful. Find Young Master Lin Lei...you all...must be safe."

"I will." Walton nodded, patting Ciri's thin, veiny hand. "Take care of yourself, Grandpa Ciri."

He turned away from the rising morning light and strode along the main road outside the town that led south to Fenlai. His boots made a soft sound on the dew-covered flagstones and dirt. The grass and trees on both sides of the road were withered and yellow, covered with glistening frost.

After walking about ten steps, Walton stopped and turned around.

Ciri still stood at the door, her figure appearing so small and lonely in the thin morning light and milky mist, like a frozen statue, watching him leave.

Walton raised his hand and waved it forcefully.

Then, he never looked back. The "Slaughter" emblem on his back swayed slightly with his steps, and the short sword at his waist rested lightly against his leg. The boy's figure quickly blended into the dissipating morning mist and the end of the newly awakened road.