Chapter 47: The Corrupt Avenger (Please Recommend, Please Add to Favorites)

Bourne never expected that his next encounter with Uncle John would take place in such a manner; it was both comical and surprising. The two embraced, joy lighting their faces. The reason Bourne had been using invisibility in the manor was left unspoken—the knight commander was tactful enough not to mention it, and neither discussed the matter, as if by mutual understanding.

Uncle John’s presence signified that Bourne’s father, Viscount Gordon, had also returned. The two walked together, exchanging laughter and stories of amusing experiences from the past years.

It was perfectly normal for a spellcaster to multitask; outwardly, Bourne conversed pleasantly with the knight commander, but inwardly, he was analyzing John’s information. In the moment of contact, the chip had already gathered data.

“John: Profession—Knight; Gender—Male; High-level; Strength greater than 10, Agility greater than 12, Constitution greater than 18.”

Bourne understood this was not the knight commander’s true strength. The knight’s code contained such a principle: “A knight will never attack an unprepared opponent!” It even permitted giving the enemy time to prepare.

When John had struck at Bourne earlier, he had calculated precisely that Bourne could defend himself.

‘Qi’ could sense the life energy within living beings—even as a ‘Dossier Scholar,’ Bourne could vaguely sense the immense power hidden within himself. Yet, walking beside the knight commander, he could detect nothing at all, as if John’s presence was merely air.

At that moment, Bourne felt utterly bewildered.

Was this still the inept knight he remembered?

On Faerûn, warriors and knights were regarded as cannon fodder, professions that required no mentor—just a little talent, perseverance, and relentless practice to easily achieve the lowest ranks.

Among professionals, warriors and knights were the most numerous, and stories of prodigies defeating higher-ranked foes as mid-levels abounded; most of these fallen high-levels were warriors or knights.

Unconsciously, Bourne had begun to believe that among high-level professionals, warriors and knights were the weakest.

He took a deep breath, recalling a classic saying from games in his previous life:

“There are no useless professions, only useless players!”

In fact, Bourne’s intuition told him that Uncle John’s strength was not much less than Rodney’s!

When Bourne finally saw Viscount Gordon again, he was astonished.

Gordon, clad in scale armor, was practicing swordsmanship in the manor’s rear, accompanied by a young girl training alongside him.

What surprised Bourne was that Gordon’s aura was akin to the instructors at the academy.

High-level!

Unlike John, who had been high-level for years and whose presence was undetectable even by the chip, Gordon was just entering high-level, but it was enough to shock Bourne.

In his last memories, Gordon was merely a low-level, incompetent knight. Yet after several years apart, his father had ascended to high-level.

Even the young girl beside him possessed mid-level strength.

Gordon and the girl paused their practice when they saw the knight commander approaching with someone. Gordon instantly recognized Bourne, now grown, and his face broke into a smile. Both sheathed their swords and hurried toward him.

Meeting his father’s gaze, Bourne bowed, “Father!”

Gordon’s eyes reddened slightly; he patted Bourne’s shoulder and drew him into a warm embrace.

…

That night, the old steward Walker prepared a sumptuous feast.

Goose liver, caviar, roast chicken—delicacies filled the table. Even without Count Iolum present, the mood was undampened.

Seeing his grown son, Gordon felt a mix of guilt and excitement, seemingly full of questions for Bourne, fussing over him since their afternoon reunion.

Bourne answered each inquiry with a smile, never showing impatience.

The knight commander, seeing father and son communicate so happily, was pleased. In his memory, the Iolum family’s father-son relationships had always been strained, much like Gordon’s with the count.

The meal was lively and cheerful. Bourne learned that the young girl beside the knight commander, who had been staring at him, was his guardian.

Cecily!

He could hardly believe the snot-nosed child who once trailed behind him had grown so tall.

Girls matured early, but ten years old and already so tall—it was as if she’d been dosed with hormones!

The chip measured Cecily, three years younger than Bourne, at nearly one meter seventy—Bourne couldn’t help but marvel at the unnatural growth.

After this joyful exchange, Bourne turned to the knight commander and asked, “Uncle John, has something happened in the countryside?”

John paused, glanced at Gordon, then smiled bitterly. “The rural castle has fallen!”

“What…?” Bourne was shocked.

In his memory, this period should have been free of war.

As John explained, Bourne gradually understood.

Goblins had begun to plague the land, now organizing and launching raids and assaults on human settlements.

Bourne recalled, years ago, traveling with his grandfather to Sevenden and encountering a band of goblins—at that moment, a thought flashed through his mind.

Establish a base to defend against goblins—Unity Town!

He hadn’t expected that, after a few years, the goblin numbers would explode, swelling enough to attack villages directly.

He still remembered the rural castle, built as a defensive fortification.

For goblins, so small and cowardly, to overwhelm a castle guarded by a dozen warriors and the knight commander—their numbers must have been immense.

Though two or three days had passed, Bourne could see from the still unhealed wounds on their exposed skin just how fierce the battle had been.

He felt a headache coming on—troubles kept piling up, even Sevenden seemed unsafe.

“Father, Uncle John, high-level arcanists often spend months, even half a year, on experiments. Grandfather probably won’t emerge soon. For now, let’s contract the Iolum family’s personnel and assets.”

“Is something wrong?” John asked, sensing a connection to Bourne’s return.

Bourne nodded and explained the infection of ‘evil pollution’ and his suspicions.

Though both found it hard to believe, they trusted Bourne.

The method was so simple to verify—one test would suffice. Bourne had no reason to fabricate such a story.

“Is the Lehmann Chamber of Commerce yours? Isn’t that managed by Lehmann Yvantov?” Gordon was astonished, uninterested in how Bourne handled his subordinates, but more concerned about the Chamber.

Bourne touched his nose and replied, “It’s managed publicly by Lehmann Yvantov, but I’m the actual owner. Of course, Lehmann owns shares as well.”

“Father knew?”

“Yes!”

“Knew from the beginning?”

“Yes, from the beginning!”

Both Gordon and John were stunned. Even in the countryside, they’d often heard that a new Chamber had risen in Sevenden, always at odds with the Iolum family.

After all, Iolum was their own. Gordon would occasionally inquire about it.

Who would have thought the rival was his own son—and that his father knew!

What an absurd situation…

“For the details, ask Steward Walker—he understands.” Bourne glanced at the time, unwilling to explain further, and called Walker over.

“Did you receive news from the Lehmann Chamber today?”

“Yes, young master,” Walker replied.

“Good. Tomorrow, coordinate with Father to gather the family’s core members for inspection, then prepare to implement protective isolation. Shift business to peripheral staff; losses are acceptable for now…”

Bourne quickly instructed Walker.

Then, after brief farewells to Gordon and John, he swiftly departed.

The sudden goblin outbreak, combined with evil pollution, was too coincidental. Bourne would not sit idly by, trusting only a timeline, waiting for events to unfold—he had to prepare thoroughly.

Night had fully fallen; few people remained in the streets, as curfew was imminent.

Bourne cast enhancement spells on himself and moved swiftly through shadowy, inconspicuous alleys.

Suddenly, he stopped abruptly, his nostrils flaring as he turned toward a nearby alleyway.

His expression shifted; gritting his teeth, he darted into the alley.

At a corner, he encountered a corpse sprawled in a pool of blood.

Beside the body stood a man, drenched in blood, muttering to himself and repeatedly mutilating the corpse with a longsword.

Bourne hid in a concealed corner, and the chip quickly projected information before his eyes.

“This is… a Corrupt Avenger!”

…