This was the first time Murphy had seen Yor since returning from the Twilight Mountain Range.
The once spirited, middle-aged follower was now confined to a simple wooden wheelchair, his legs covered by a threadbare blanket.
His face was gaunt and the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes had deepened, but his gaze still held the characteristic sharpness of a follower.
Pushing the wheelchair was his nephew, Linus, a young man of about seventeen or eighteen, an apprentice Copyist in the castle's scriptorium.
"Sir Yor."
Murphy put down the pitchfork in his hands and bowed respectfully.
Yor raised his hand slightly, gesturing for him to rise. Murphy noticed several new scars on the back of the follower's hand.
"Sir Yor, you…"
There was an unconcealed sadness in Murphy's voice.
"It's just a pair of legs. At least I'm still alive," Yor said with feigned nonchalance. "I'm better off than Walter and Jimmy. They didn't even leave a whole body behind."
Murphy was silent for a moment, then asked softly, "What are your plans, Sir Yor?"
"I'm going to Green Shade Manor in the South to be its Steward." Yor looked toward the south, in the direction of Baron Duval's personal manor. "It's about fifty kilometers from the castle. The Lord Baron, in consideration of my many years of service, has given me this place to live out my days."
The Duval Baron's Domain covered a total area of about eight hundred square kilometers, with over forty villages and a dozen or so manors scattered throughout the territory.
Green Shade Manor was located in the domain's Southern Territory, famous for producing high-quality pasture grass and wheat.
The journey there would pass through five villages and a hilly region, a trip that would normally take two days.
"It must be quiet there," Murphy said.
"Yes, very suitable for retirement." Yor smiled, but there was an indescribable loneliness in it. "I'll be in charge of the manor's daily operations, inspecting the fields, and supervising the tenant farmers. Though I can no longer ride, watching the waves of wheat and the herds of cattle and sheep will be a comfort of its own."
Silence fell between them.
"Murphy," Yor said suddenly, "I hope you can make up for George's regrets and become the Stable Master. You have more talent than he did, and more determination."
Murphy looked up in surprise. "Sir Yor, you knew my grandfather, George?"
A hint of nostalgia flickered in Yor's eyes. "George and I were just like you and Carter."
"We were childhood neighbors. We were recruited together, got chewed out together. Later, limited by his talent, he chose to become a Groom, while I was lucky enough to become a follower."
Murphy understood immediately.
In this world, the average lifespan was short, and people often married and had children in their teens, so it wasn't strange that Yor was of the same generation as Murphy's grandfather, George.
Yor's voice softened. "And you, today, have more talent than George did back then. You can definitely become an even better Groom than he was."
Murphy lowered his head, a wave of complex emotions washing over him.
In truth, after Murphy became a Groom, Yor had never paid him any special attention. Whenever they met, it was always just Murphy bowing to him.
But now, at this moment of parting, Yor was…
"Alright, it's time to go."
Yor signaled to his nephew, Linus.
Linus gave Murphy a polite nod and began to push the wheelchair.
"May Oriane's starlight guide your Path." Yor said to Murphy, his voice regaining its usual steadiness. "Remember, Murphy, whatever you do, be steadfast."
Watching Linus push the wheelchair gradually into the distance, Murphy stood rooted to the spot for a long time.
The morning light slanted down, stretching the wheelchair's shadow long across the flagstone path as it moved slowly, finally disappearing around the corner of the stables.
A few birds chirped in the distance, making the stables, now empty of warhorses, feel even more vast and silent.
In the afternoon, Murphy received a notice from the Steward's office. He was assigned to remain at the main stables—the section for the followers' warhorses—to continue tending to the horses.
The result was expected, but when he actually received the notice, an indescribable feeling welled up inside him.
Murphy stopped his work, looked toward the southern sky, and murmured, "Sir Yor…"
...
Murphy was the only one to remain at the main stables. Hank still had to transfer to the public stables.
When Hank heard the news, a complex expression flickered across his face.
He thought of how he had worked for Sir Yor for twelve years, only to be outdone by a rookie who had been here for just one.
A flicker of resentment toward Yor rose in his heart, but he immediately shivered and stamped out the dangerous thought.
In the evening, Hank was packing his belongings in the dormitory, and Murphy silently went over to help.
"Congratulations," Hank said, forcing a smile. "You get to stay at the main stables."
Murphy took the bedroll from his hands. "There'll be other chances. When the new warhorses arrive, the main stables will need more hands."
Hank paused, the bitterness in his heart growing. 'My aunt even gave the Stable Master lavender just to get me out of that mission. And what was the result? Not only did Murphy come back alive, but his performance in the Twilight Mountain Range must have shown Sir Yor his courage and ability. That's why Yor looked out for him before he left. If only I had gone instead… maybe I'd be the one staying in the main stables now. No! That was too dangerous. I probably wouldn't have made it back. If only Murphy could have…'
He finally shook his head, casting aside those messy thoughts.
He was, after all, a good-natured man, and felt guilty for even thinking such things.
Hank couldn't help but say, "I worked under Sir Yor for twelve years and never made a single mistake."
Indeed, although Hank's hair was already graying and he was an old Groom, he was actually only in his thirties, not from the same era as Murphy's grandfather, George.
Murphy placed the tied-up luggage to the side. "There'll be a chance. As long as new warhorses come in, a veteran like you will definitely be transferred back."
Hank gave a bitter smile. "Tending to warhorses is a good job. Remember the recruitment? Besides you and Carter, the other four all went to the public stables. It's not that easy to get transferred back. Besides, the Northern Trade Route…"
Murphy recalled the situation. 'Carter probably got to stay because his father, the Sheriff, pulled some strings,' he thought. 'I stayed because of Yor. As for the Northern Trade Route… that's not something I can influence.'
Murphy was silent for a moment, then said softly, "I'll try to keep an eye out for an opening in the main stables for you."
Hank was stunned for a second, then a sincere smile spread across his face. "Thanks."
He patted Murphy's shoulder. "Work hard. Don't let Sir Yor down."
As the two of them were carrying the luggage to the public stables, Bart happened to be coming out with a bucket to fetch water.
Bart looked at the luggage in their hands and immediately understood the situation. "Hank, you're here too?"
Hank said with a bitter smile, "Looks like we'll be working together from now on."
Bart glanced at Murphy, then at Hank, and sighed. "The main stables don't have many horses left anyway. It's not as lively as the public stables."
Hank shook his head but didn't reply.
The sun was setting as Murphy helped them settle the luggage. Hank stood at the entrance to the public stables and said to Murphy, "You should head back. It's getting dark."
Bart nodded as well. "Go on back. Someone needs to look after things at the main stables."
Murphy looked at them, the twilight glow stretching the three of their shadows long.
He turned and walked toward the main stables, the public stables growing dark behind him.
The twilight, as dark as ink, divided the area into two different worlds.