Panlong's Worton

Chapter 15 News of Death

As we left the palace, dusk was approaching. The afterglow of the setting sun cast a dark gold hue over the brick walls of Crimson Flame City, softening its daytime grandeur and adding a touch of twilight's desolation. The streets were still bustling with people and carriages, and the stoves of the roadside eateries were already lit, their smoke mingling with the aroma of food, drifting gently in the increasingly cool air.

Ciri waited at the agreed spot outside the palace gate, next to her was a slightly worn passenger carriage with some faded black paint, pulled by ordinary brown dwarf horses, looking out of place among the ornately decorated noble carriages around her.

"Young Master," Ciri greeted him, her face showing the weariness of a long journey, but her eyes remained respectful, "Shall we depart now?"

Walton's gaze turned westward. The last rays of golden-red on the horizon were fading. Wushan Town lay in that direction, separated by thousands of mountains and rivers.

"Let's go." He nodded, his voice calm.

The carriage drove out of the grand gate of Crimson Flame City and headed south along the official road it had come from. Six years ago, he had walked this road with a mix of trepidation and hope; now, returning, his feelings were completely different.

Inside the carriage, Ciri was much more talkative than usual, seemingly trying to fill the long journey with words, or perhaps to dispel some unease in his heart.

"Young Master, the Master mentioned in his last letter that Young Master Linley has made rapid progress at Ernst Academy and is already a Level 6 dual-element mage. That's truly remarkable." Ciri rubbed his somewhat dry hands. "The people in town are saying that the Baruch family is about to produce a great figure."

Walton grunted in agreement, his gaze fixed on the withered grass whizzing past the window.

"By the way, Hillman sent word last time that Old John's shop at the east end of town has been sold and a new blacksmith shop has opened. The blacksmith is from out of town and I heard he's quite skilled. He makes very sturdy farm tools and the prices are reasonable."

"The master has been thinking about the mansion. Last summer there was a lot of rain, and the roof of the old room in the northwest corner was leaking. The master personally supervised the repairs and replaced it with new blue tiles. The master said that these tiles are sturdy and will last at least ten years, and then..." Ciri paused here and didn't continue.

Wharton turned and glanced at Ciri. The old man noticed, shifted uncomfortably, changed the subject, and continued his rambling about the trivial matters of Wushan Town: whose child was getting married, which grove had a good harvest of wild fruit this year, and how many new wooden stakes had been added to the training ground…

Wharton mostly listened quietly, occasionally offering a brief response. But Ciri's deliberately maintained normalcy, and the occasional evasive glint in her eyes, made Wharton increasingly tense. In particular, Ciri mentioned Linley, the renovation of the manor, and many changes in the town, but never brought up Hogg's recent situation. Every time Wharton asked, the old man would vaguely say, "The master is well, just very busy and has many things to worry about," and then quickly change the subject.

This is not normal. In Wharton's memory, although his father Hogg was stern, whenever Ciri mentioned him, there was always something specific to say, such as what he had found in the ledgers, or a new arrangement for a lad in the training team. Not this empty "very good".

A clear timeline he had tried to avoid for six years suddenly crashed into his mind. According to the "story" he knew, it was around this time that Hogg, relentlessly pursuing the truth behind his wife Lina's disappearance, stumbled upon the secrets of some powerful figures, was ultimately discovered, and succumbed to his injuries. Meanwhile, Linley returned from the Monster Mountain Range, facing his father's memorial tablet and the cold, hard truth, thus embarking on a path of revenge and relentless pursuit.

He cultivated desperately, yearning to become stronger. Deep down, he harbored a sliver of hope that he could change something, or at least... perhaps catch up? But at this moment, Ciri's evasive words pierced his faint hope like cold needles.

He subconsciously summoned the panel that only he could see in his mind; the simple data was displayed silently.

Age: 12

[Warrior Level: Level 7 (Normal) / Level 9 (Dragon Blood Transformation)]

[Magic Power Reserve: Level 5 Fire Element (Untrained Magic Model)]

Level 7 in normal state, Level 9 Dragon Blood Transformation. This is an astonishing achievement among his peers, and the title of "genius" at the O'Brien Imperial Military Academy is well-deserved. But is this power enough? Can it change what has already happened or is happening?

"Grandpa Ciri," Wharton suddenly spoke, interrupting the old man's rambling, "what exactly did Father say in his last letter? Was it about the family, or... about himself?"

Ciri was visibly taken aback, her fingers unconsciously tightening around the hem of her clothes: "Master... Master said everything was fine, and told you, young master, to focus on your studies in the Empire and not to worry about home. He also... he asked about your cultivation progress."

"Didn't you mention anything else?" Walton pressed, his gaze calm yet carrying an undeniable force.

"No...that's all." Ciri avoided his gaze and looked out the window. "Young Master, it's getting late. Would you like to rest for a while? The road ahead is still long."

Walton didn't speak again, turning his gaze back to the window. Silence fell over the carriage, broken only by the rolling wheels and the clatter of hooves. Ciri seemed to realize her mistake, falling silent and leaning wearily against the carriage wall, closing her eyes to rest, though her brow was slightly furrowed.

An uneasy shadow, like the deepening night outside the car, loomed over Wharton's mind.

For the remainder of the journey, Walton instructed the driver to travel as fast as possible, day and night. He paid extra for the fare and requested to change horses at post stations instead of changing carriages, minimizing stop times. Hilly, being older, was finding the continuous travel tiring and often dozed off during the carriage's jolting. Walton didn't wake him, but instead stayed alert, keeping a close eye on the road and the direction.

On the tenth day, the carriage crossed the border marker and entered the Kingdom of Fenlai. The dry, crisp air was replaced by a warm, humid atmosphere, and the scenery gradually changed from the open and expansive autumn landscape of the north to the crisscrossing fields of the south. Although it was already autumn, there was still a lot of greenery to be seen.

The closer Walton got to Wushan Town, the heavier his sense of melancholy became. The villages and fields outside the window seemed to be shrouded in a gray hue.

On the fifteenth day, at dusk, the carriage arrived at the last post station before Wushan Town. It was a small roadside inn that offered basic food, lodging, and a change of horses.

Ciri took her water bag and went down to fetch water from the well, while Walton stayed in the carriage, packing his simple belongings. He carefully put his graduation badge from the O'Brien Imperial Military Academy and the small token of an Imperial Guest Officer into his inner pocket; these things might come in handy, but there was no need to show them now. Finally, his hand rested on the hilt of the short sword at his waist.

This was a knife his father, Hogg, had given him six years ago when he left home. Its lines were simple, without excessive ornamentation, but it was made of solid materials and was exquisitely forged. Over the years, whether training at the academy or venturing into the wild, this knife had never left his side. He had polished the scabbard to a warm luster, and the blade remained gleaming with a sharp edge.

When Ciri returned, she was carrying a water bag full of water, but her face was unusually pale and her steps were slightly unsteady.

"Grandpa Ciri, what's wrong? Are you feeling unwell?" Walton jumped out of the car and helped him up.

"N-nothing," Ciri steadied herself and forced a smile, but it looked somewhat strained. "I guess I'm just a little carsick from traveling all day. I'm getting old, I'm not as good as I used to be. Don't worry, young master, you'll be fine after a night's rest. Tomorrow... tomorrow we'll be home."

Seeing the old man's evasive eyes and slightly trembling hands, Walton didn't press further, but simply nodded: "Then get some rest."

That night, in a guest room at the inn, Ciri was clearly exhausted. After a quick wash, she began to snore softly as soon as her head hit the pillow, but her brow remained furrowed even in her sleep.

Wharton lay on another bed, wide awake. The wooden plank bed in the inn was a bit hard, and the intermittent chirping of insects outside the window only amplified the stillness of the night. He listened to Ciri's even breathing, and after a moment, quietly got up, put on his coat, and tiptoed out of the room.

A dim oil lamp still shone in the hall of the inn. The owner, a middle-aged man with a plump build, was using the lamplight to work on an abacus behind the counter, checking the day's accounts.

Wharton walked over, his footsteps startling the shop owner. The owner looked up, a professional smile on his face: "Young sir, what would you like to order so late?"

"Boss, I need to ask you something." Walton's voice was exceptionally clear in the quiet night.

"Go ahead," the boss said, putting down his abacus.

"Wushan Town, the Baruch family, any news lately?" Walton tried to make his tone sound like a casual inquiry.

The shopkeeper's smile faded slightly as he scrutinized Wharton, lingering for a moment on the short sword at his waist and his composed demeanor. A hint of inquiry and hesitation flickered in his eyes: "Young guest, are you from the Baruch family...?"

"A distant relative," Wharton said without changing his expression, "My elders asked me to pay a visit to Lord Hogg when I pass by."

"Oh, a distant relative..." the shopkeeper drawled, glancing around before lowering his voice, "The Baruch family... well, not so good. If you were to visit Master Hogg, you probably wouldn't be able to see him."

Wharton's heart sank, his fingers tightening slightly on the edge of the counter: "Can't see him? Has Master Hogg gone out?"

The boss shook his head, his voice even lower: "He didn't go out. He... he left. It happened three months ago."

Although he had expected it, when these words were actually spoken aloud by someone else, Walton still felt as if he had been struck hard in the chest by a sledgehammer. A dull pain instantly spread, and he could hardly breathe. He gripped the counter tightly, his fingertips turning white from the effort, his knuckles bulging.

"...Gone?" His voice was a little hoarse. "How...did you leave?"

"They say it was a recurrence of an old injury, but we outsiders don't know the specifics," the shopkeeper sighed, a genuine sense of regret on his face. "The funeral was quite simple, but almost all the prominent figures in town who had received favors from Lord Hogg attended. Alas, Lord Hogg was a good man. He always collected the lowest taxes among the surrounding towns, and in years of famine, he even paid his share for the kingdom out of his own pocket. He never mistreated his subjects. How could such a good man pass away like this... What a tragic fate."

"Where's his son?" Walton forced himself to calm down and pressed on, "Has his eldest son, Linley, returned?"

"Young Master Lin Lei?" The shopkeeper recalled for a moment, "He seems to have come back, but left again after only a few days. According to the gossip in town, he might have gone to the royal capital, Fenlai City? We don't know exactly where he went."

Wharton took a deep breath, the cold air filling his lungs and slightly suppressing his turbulent emotions. He took a gleaming gold coin from his pocket and gently placed it on the counter: "Thank you for informing me, sir."

The shopkeeper stared at the gold coin for a moment, then quickly waved his hand, "This... young sir, it's just a matter of a few words, not worth it..."

"Of course." Walton said no more and turned to leave the hall.

Back in the room, Ciri was still fast asleep, breathing steadily. Wharton sat quietly by the bed for a while, watching the old woman's curled-up back in the faint moonlight streaming through the window, her gray hair stark against the pillow.

Ciri knew. He must have known all along. His unusual rambling, deliberate concealment, evasive words, and the unease hidden beneath his weary expression... everything made sense. He wanted to keep it from him, perhaps as his father's dying wish, perhaps as Hillman's instructions, wanting him to return safely to Wushan Town, or perhaps even wanting to keep it a secret forever, fearing his youthful impulsiveness might affect his future cultivation path.

Walton closed his eyes.

Father is dead. The man I always remembered, with his straight back, a heavy brow, silently bearing the burden of the family and the pain of losing his wife for over a decade, is gone. All those six years of arduous training in the north, the sweat he shed, the injuries he sustained, the desperate efforts to raise his level… in the end… he still couldn't catch up?

No. A voice echoed in his heart. Perhaps you couldn't change the outcome, but at least you're no longer that helpless child who needed protection. You have power now, though it may not be enough, but at least you can do something.

He reopened his eyes, the initial intense turmoil in them subsided, replaced by a cold calm. The sorrow remained, like a heavy stone weighing on his heart, but he wouldn't allow it to breach the dam of reason. He was Wharton, a time traveler, the son of the Baruch family, and Linley's brother. He had long known this world wasn't a fairy tale; death and separation were the norm.

The next morning, just as dawn was breaking, the carriage set off again, heading towards its final destination—Wushan Town.

The town's outline gradually came into view, seemingly unchanged from six years ago. Familiar cobblestone streets, low but sturdy houses, and early risers sweeping their doorways. From the direction of the training ground came a series of synchronized shouts; a group of children were likely doing their morning exercises under Hillman's guidance.

But as the carriage drove through the street, Walton keenly sensed something different. Some townspeople who recognized it as the Baruch family carriage no longer cast the simple respect or friendliness they once did; their gazes were now mixed with pity, sighs, and a somber sense of things having changed. They whispered among themselves, pointed, and then quickly looked away, as if afraid of disturbing something.

The familiar wrought iron gate of the manor was tightly closed, and even the door knocker was covered with a thin layer of dust.

Ciri got out of the car, his steps a little unsteady. His hands trembled as he pulled a bunch of keys from his pocket, trying twice before finally finding the right key. With a soft click, the lock opened. He pushed open the heavy door with force, the hinges creaking softly.

The courtyard was spotless; the fallen leaves had clearly been cleared recently, and there were no weeds on the stone path. However, this cleanliness carried an air of deliberately maintained stillness. There was no Hogg sitting in his usual spot reviewing the accounts, no whispered instructions to the servants, and no brief burst of life brought by Linley's occasional return. Only the rustling of the wind through the bare branches and the hollow echoes of their footsteps.

"Young Master..." Ciri turned around, her aged face finally breaking down in tears. "Master... he... passed away three months ago..."

His voice choked, and his shoulders slumped, as if the support that had been supporting him had suddenly been taken away.

"I understand," Walton said, his voice unusually calm. He stepped across the threshold and went inside.