Panlong's Worton

Chapter 19 Patience

After Lin Lei finished speaking, a tense silence fell over the training ground. Only the faint voices coming from the distant mansion and the rustling of the wind through the treetops could be heard.

Wharton stared at the blueprints his brother had laid out on the stone platform; the red circles were glaringly blood-red. He knew how long Linley had waited for this day—from the day he learned of their father's death, revenge had become the fuel that kept his brother alive. But he also knew that following this plan wouldn't lead to successful revenge, but rather to the dungeons of the Inquisition.

"Brother," Walton began, his voice as steady as possible, "the plan is very meticulous."

Lin Lei looked at him, a hint of surprise in his eyes—he thought his younger brother would directly support him.

"However," Walton changed the subject, "there are a few problems."

He walked to the stone platform and pointed to a red circle on the map: "You said you'd fake an injury and send someone to the palace for medicine. Brother, what's your status now? A genius magician from Ernst Academy, a stone carving master who just finished 'Awakening of the Dream,' the entire city of Fenlai is watching you. You suddenly 'get injured,' and conveniently, the day before your scheduled visit to the palace, what will Clyde think?"

Lin Lei frowned: "I can fake it as a cultivation accident."

"What kind of accident could seriously injure a level seven mage and level seven warrior to the point that he needs to seek medicine from the royal palace?" Walton shook his head. "Brother, you're too hasty. This excuse is too far-fetched. If Clyde were even slightly suspicious, the person sent to investigate wouldn't be a royal physician, but a court mage—they have plenty of ways to determine the true nature of the injury."

Lin Lei paused for a few seconds: "I can really get hurt."

"No way," Walton said firmly. "To injure yourself for a plan is the worst possible strategy. And even if you were injured, would Clyde necessarily come? Brother, he's a king, not a philanthropist. What special value do you have to him that would warrant his personal visit?"

"I am the kingdom's youngest genius—"

“That’s just a title,” Walton interrupted. “In Clyde’s eyes, you’re at best a promising young man, not yet at the point where he’d lower his guard and come to your door in person. Besides…” He took a deep breath, “Brother, have you considered what if he sends someone to deliver the medicine but doesn’t come himself? Where would he put the poison? In the medicine that’s delivered? That would only alert him.”

Linley's brow furrowed deeper and deeper. He stared at the blueprints, his fingers tapping unconsciously on the stone surface. He hadn't completely overlooked these flaws, but his obsession with revenge led him to selectively ignore them.

"Then let's try another approach." Linley's voice lowered. "I'll request an audience directly."

"And then?" Walton pressed. "In the palace, under the watchful eyes of everyone, how did you manage to get Clyde to drink poison? Brother, the royal family has special poison testers; every dish and every cup of tea undergoes three rounds of testing. Even if the hemolytic poison isn't detected, how could you be sure that cup of tea actually reached Clyde's lips and wasn't switched halfway through?"

Lin Lei fell silent. He clenched his fists, his knuckles turning white.

Walton looked at him, a pang of sorrow gripping his heart. It wasn't that his brother couldn't think of these things; he simply didn't want to. Hatred had blinded him, allowing him to see only the goal of "killing Clyde," ignoring the thorns and traps lurking along the way.

"Brother," Walton softened his tone, "I'm not saying we won't get revenge. We must get revenge, but not now, and not in this way."

"When will that be?" Linley suddenly looked up, his eyes red. "Until Clyde dies of old age? Until the forces behind him take over Mother—"

He stopped abruptly, his chest heaving violently.

Wharton's heart tightened. His brother had guessed correctly; there was a bigger force behind their mother's affair. In the original story, it was the Church of Light, meant to be sacrificed to the Lord of Light. But he couldn't say that now.

"When we're absolutely certain," Walton said, emphasizing each word. "Brother, you're seventeen, and I'm twelve. We have plenty of time."

"Father doesn't have time!" Linley growled. "He died three months ago! His body is already cold!"

The sound echoed across the training ground, startling birds in the distant trees.

Bebe squeaked uneasily, jumped off Linley's shoulder, and rubbed against his leg.

Lin Lei gasped for breath and closed his eyes. When he opened them again, the bloodshot in his eyes had faded somewhat, but the deep pain was even clearer.

“Walton,” his voice was hoarse, “do you know how I’ve spent these past three months? Every night when I close my eyes, I see my father lying in the ancestral hall. The wound on his chest… it was from a spear, piercing through his back to his chest.”

He choked up.

Walton walked up to him and placed his hand on his shoulder. The twelve-year-old boy's hand was small, but very steady.

“I know, brother,” Walton said. “I dream about it every night too. I dream about the day my father took me to O’Brien. He was standing at the door, not saying a word, just standing there. I thought I had plenty of time, that I would come back stronger and show him how successful his son was… but it’s all gone, all gone.”

Lin Lei looked at his younger brother. Twelve-year-old Wharton's eyes were also red, but his gaze was firm.

"That's precisely why we can't rush things," Walton said. "Brother, we're the last men of the Baruch family now. If something happens to us, who will avenge Father? Who will find Mother? Who will rebuild the family?"

He released his grip, took a step back, and suddenly began to take off his shirt.

Lin Lei was stunned: "What are you doing?"

Walton took off his training clothes, revealing his upper body. At twelve years old, his body already had the outline of a warrior, with well-defined muscles, but what was more conspicuous were his scars—a dark scar on his left shoulder, a burn mark on his right rib, and several bruises of varying ages on his back.

"This was left at O'Brien Academy," Walton said, pointing to the scar. "I was sparring with an eighth-level instructor in my junior year, and he didn't stop. If this scar were half an inch deeper, my left arm would be ruined."

He pointed to the burns: "Last year in the academy competition, my opponent was a level seven fire mage. My battle aura defense was a second too slow, and I got burned like this."

Lin Lei looked at the wounds, his lips moved, but he didn't say anything.

"I trained like crazy, like my life depended on it." Walton put his clothes back on. "Because I know that only by becoming stronger can I have the right to talk about revenge. Brother, I'm currently at level eight in my normal state, and I can reach the advanced level nine in my transformation state. Give me another three years—no, two years—and I can break through to level nine, and even touch the threshold of the Saint Realm."

He stared into Linley's eyes: "And you? Brother, you're a level seven dual-elemental mage, and your Dragonblood Warrior bloodline has awakened. Give you two more years, what level can you reach? A level nine mage? A level nine warrior? By then, if we brothers join forces, let alone Clyde, even if he has some kind of backing, we can take him down together."

Lin Lei remained silent for a long time. The wind blew, stirring up the fallen leaves on the ground, making a rustling sound.

"Two years..." he murmured, "That's too long."

“Not long,” Walton said. “Brother, Father waited his whole life for a chance at revenge because he was alone. We’re different. We’re brothers, we’re young, and we’re ten or a hundred times more talented than Father. Why rush into gambling on an uncertain outcome in the most dangerous way?”

He walked to the stone platform and picked up the formula for the hemolytic poison.

"Lord Hise gave you this to give you options, not to make you gamble everything," Walton said. "Brother, think it over carefully. If we act now and fail, the Baruch family will truly be wiped out. If we wait another two years, until we both break through to level nine, then..."

He paused, then lowered his voice: "Then we can do it even more cleanly. No need for poison, no need to infiltrate the palace, we can intercept and kill him directly. Two Holy Domain Dragonblood Warriors, and even the Holy See of Light, won't turn against us for his sake."

Lin Lei's eyes flickered.

Walton knew he had persuaded him and pressed on: "And brother, have you forgotten about Mother? Clyde was just the executor; there must be someone else behind him. If we kill him now, the trail will go cold. Whether Mother is dead or alive, who captured her, and why—these secrets may never be found out."

These words struck Lin Lei like a heavy hammer blow.

He looked up abruptly: "You mean...?"

"I mean, revenge is not just about killing," Wharton said, emphasizing each word. "Revenge is about bringing everyone who is responsible to justice, about uncovering the whole truth, about letting Father and Mother—whether Mother is still alive or not—rest in peace."

Lin Lei closed his eyes and took a deep breath. When he opened them again, the fervor in his eyes had faded, replaced by a profound calmness.

"You're right," he finally said. "I was too hasty."

Wharton felt a weight lifted off his shoulders.

"However," Lin Lei changed the subject, "we can't do nothing. We can't just bury ourselves in cultivation during these two years of waiting."

“Of course,” Walton nodded. “We can do three things. First, continue to improve our strength—that’s fundamental. Second, secretly investigate Clyde and the forces behind him. Third…prepare for future actions.”

The two brothers exchanged a glance, both seeing a certain unspoken understanding in each other's eyes.

"There's one more thing," Lin Lei said. "Yun Ling's bounty has already been issued, and withdrawing it now would be suspicious. But we can say something else—that I'm researching a new stone carving technique and need this rare material to make special pigments."

"Brilliant," Wharton smiled. "This way, we won't alert them, and we can continue gathering information. If we do find something, it'll be useful in the future."

Lin Lei nodded and began tidying up the blueprints and formulas on the stone platform. His movements were much more composed than before; the desperate gamble had vanished, replaced by a thoughtful and steady demeanor.

"Brother," Walton suddenly said, "I'm sorry."

Lin Lei paused, his hand still: "Why are you apologizing?"

"I... I was a little harsh just now." Walton lowered his head. "I know you're upset, and I shouldn't have argued with you like that."

Linley looked at him for a long while, then reached out and ruffled his younger brother's hair. He hadn't done this in a long time; the last time was before Walton went to O'Brien.

"You're right," Lin Lei said. "I should be thanking you. If you hadn't woken me up, I might have really gone down a dead end."

He withdrew his hand, his voice soft: "Father is gone, and an elder brother is like a father. Logically, I should be the one taking care of you and guiding you. But instead, you're the one who's reminding me... I've been a terrible brother."

"You've done a good job," Walton said immediately. "Without the money you sent back, I wouldn't have survived in O'Brien. Without you buying back 'Carnage,' the family legacy would have ended. Brother, you've done more than enough."

Lin Lei smiled, a smile tinged with bitterness, but also with a sense of relief.

"Then let's do it together," he said. "Let's become stronger together, uncover the truth together, and take revenge together."

"Um."

Night had completely fallen. Lanterns were lit on the training field, casting a dim, yellowish glow that illuminated a small patch of ground. The two brothers stood side by side, their shadows stretching long and intertwining on the ground.

"Oh, right," Linley suddenly remembered something, "how did your magical training go during your six years in O'Brien? Did you continue to study the theories left by Grandpa Delin?"

Walton scratched his head: "Warrior training took up the majority of the time, as for magic... he only accumulated magical power, but didn't learn any specific spells. Right now, his fire magic power is probably at level five, but he can't cast a single spell."

"Level 5?" Linley was somewhat surprised. "Reaching Level 5 in six years just through meditation is quite fast. Do you want to learn magic? I can teach you some fire magic. When I found out you had fire talent, I specifically looked for someone at the school, but unfortunately, they only had fire magic below Level 7."

"Then I want to learn," Walton said without hesitation. "Warrior skills are fundamental, but magic is the trump card. If in future battles, my opponent thinks I'm just a warrior and suddenly unleashes a fire spell..."

He didn't finish speaking, but Lin Lei understood and smiled: "Cunning."

"I learned it from you," Walton laughed.

The atmosphere lightened somewhat. The suffocating grief and hatred were still there, but they were no longer burning recklessly; instead, they had sunk into the depths of the heart, transforming into a flame that tempered the will.

"Let's start tomorrow," Linley said. "I'll teach you magic in the morning, and you'll spar with me in the afternoon to practice your warrior skills. You have more combat experience than I do, and I need to hone my skills in real battles."

"it is good."

"Brother," he suddenly said, "after we get our revenge, let's renovate Wushan Town. Father has always wanted to expand the family estate, but we've never had the money."

Linley paused for a moment: "Alright. Once everything is over, we'll take back everything the Baruch family has lost."

The mansion lights drew closer. Ciri stood at the door, lantern in hand, her hunched figure appearing thin yet warm in the light.

"Young masters, dinner is ready," the old man called out.

"We're here," the two brothers responded simultaneously, quickening their pace.

Wharton walked beside his brother, silently calculating in his mind.

Two years. If I can break through to level nine warrior, and with the Dragon Blood transformation and magical assistance, my brothers and I can easily take down a peak level nine warrior, and Grandpa Delin won't become Linley's eternal regret.

More importantly—two years from now will be "the day of destruction".

Dilin led his monster army to sweep through Fenlai City. The Holy See was preoccupied with its own problems, and the entire Holy Alliance was thrown into chaos. It was the perfect opportunity to fish in troubled waters.

He can't say these things right now. But that's okay, he can guide him slowly and prepare gradually.

As I pushed open the door and entered the house, the aroma of food wafted out. It was a simple meal of three dishes and a soup, but the presentation was exquisite, showing that Ciri had put her heart into it.

"Sit down quickly, the food is getting cold." Ciri was busy serving rice, a smile on her face, but the wrinkles at the corners of her eyes hid an inescapable worry.

The two brothers sat down and began to eat. They chatted about light topics—Linley talked about interesting things at the academy, Wharton talked about the local customs and culture of O'Brien, and Ciri occasionally chimed in with a few words about the recent situation in Wushan Town.