"I'm back."
Stepping down from the luxurious carriage and looking around at the familiar surroundings, Locke felt, for a moment, the strange sensation of a prodigal son returning home after many years.
"Uncle Furin, I'm home. Please take this carriage back to Lord Ross."
The man Locke called "Uncle Furin" was the driver who had been transporting him for the past two months.
In terms of driving skill, Furin was the best driver in Ross's guild, with over forty years of experience.
Otherwise, Lord Ross would never have entrusted him to drive for Locke.
Yet upon hearing Locke's words, panic flashed across Furin's face.
"Lord Locke… have I done something wrong? Am I… unsatisfactory? If you tell me, I will certainly change."
"No, Uncle Furin, I'm very satisfied with you."
"Then why, Lord Locke, are you letting me go?"
"Oh?" Locke raised an eyebrow.
"Uncle Furin, I'm only asking you to return to Lord Ross. You're not my employee, so when have I ever dismissed you?"
"Lord Locke, you don't understand…"
Furin bent forward, his face twisted with worry.
"Lord Ross told me that ever since I started driving this carriage for you, it completely belongs to you. He even paid me ten years' wages in advance. If you send me back and I no longer serve you, Lord Ross will fire me and demand the wages back."
"Lord Locke… please don't abandon me. I've already used that money to find a wife for my son. If you don't keep me, and I have no way to return the money to Lord Ross, our whole family will be ruined…"
Hearing this, Locke frowned.
Honestly, he despised such manipulative moral obligations.
What? The wages were paid by Ross, and the benefit is yours—why should I pay for a gain you already have?
Even if Ross fires you, fine. Why should it become my fault? I treat you with courtesy because I have decency.
But if you take my courtesy as leverage to pressure me… sorry, when I stop showing decency, don't regret it!
Locke's tone turned slightly cold.
"Uncle Furin, I said I'm home. Take the carriage back, that's all."
Furin lifted his head, about to speak, but when he saw the icy sharpness in Locke's gaze, a chill ran down his spine.
This master… was unlike anyone he had served before.
This was the mage who had killed nearly a thousand people in mere minutes!
For the past two months, because Furin was Locke's driver, all the masters he had served had greeted him with smiles.
Unknowingly, Furin had forgotten his place.
Now, Locke's words knocked him from the clouds.
Furin thought back to his previous behavior, almost laughing at his own foolishness.
He had just insulted such a pillar of power?
"Yes… yes, Lord Locke. I'll return immediately."
Grim-faced, Furin quickly turned the carriage around and retraced their path, as if fearing that being late would mean Locke's wrath.
After watching the carriage disappear into the distance, Locke slowly walked into the village.
This was Locke's homeland in this world: Pu'er Village.
The village was named after the "Pu'er" herb, which grew exceptionally well here. This herb was highly effective at stopping bleeding and dispersing bruises—a favorite among warriors.
Whether for training or battle, warriors were prone to injuries.
Having access to such a high-quality herb meant quick recovery, something no warrior could refuse.
Thanks to this trade, the villagers of Pu'er lived fairly comfortably.
Of course, with the "Pu'er" herb, the villagers all practiced cultivation.
While there were no warriors above level seven, there were still many at level six.
Upon entering the village, Locke's presence as a mage was reported immediately to the village guard.
Locke walked on, recalling and searching for the direction of his family home.
After all, Locke had left when he was only seven.
Sixteen years had passed, and the village had changed somewhat—its layout, its buildings. It would take a little time to find his old home.
"Honored mage, I am Captain Carlet of the Pu'er Village Guard. Welcome to our village. How may we assist you?"
As Locke sought his old home, a middle-aged man approached him and asked politely.
"Ah… you're Captain Carlet?"
Locke's eyes lit with recognition, and after a brief moment of memory, he spoke.
"You recognize me, mage?" Carlet asked, slightly puzzled.
Locke smiled.
Carlet had been one of the most talented warriors of Locke's father's generation.
By the age of twenty-seven, he had already reached level six, becoming the youngest captain in the village guard—a formidable force.
Before Locke discovered his water-element affinity, he had idolized Carlet, hoping to join Pu'er Village's guard and become strong like him.
Over a decade later, Carlet was nearing fifty, his aura even more imposing and mature.
But he had not joined the Frostsnow Empire's army and had not acquired the Dou Qi technique. Though stronger than he had been, he had still not crossed the threshold from level six to level seven.
"It's me, Captain Carlet—Locke of the Manra family."
"Manra family?"
Hearing this, Carlet immediately remembered who Locke was.
Although there had been many mages during the battles against the Frostsnow Empire and the Temple of Light, the numbers were barely sufficient to cover the Wakanda plane.
The Wakanda plane was contested between Phylos, the Water Main God, and Augusta, the Light Main God. Currently, only water and light mages existed there.
Formal mages on the Wakanda plane were extremely rare.
Fourteen years ago, Pu'er Village had discovered a young boy with a water-element affinity—a topic still fondly discussed among villagers.
Mages were far more prestigious than warriors.
Warriors without Dou Qi techniques could only reach level seven if they had extraordinary bloodline power.
(End of Chapter 13)