As Merlin soaked in the warm water, he closed his eyes, not to sleep but to quietly observe the changes in his body.
"My strength has improved a bit, and I feel more relaxed, although my limbs are slightly sore, as if I've done an intense workout. Is this the effect of those strange postures?"
Merlin clenched his fist lightly, noticing a faint increase in strength. Though it wasn't significant, the sensations were undeniable. Just by holding those odd positions from the relief, he'd broken into a heavy sweat, almost as if he'd undergone rigorous physical training.
Overall, it seemed the postures were guiding Merlin's body toward improvement. Though he didn't understand the relief's origins, its beneficial effects gave him no reason to stop practicing.
After soaking in the bath to wash away the day's sweat, Merlin dressed, glanced at the relief on his desk, and traced the carvings with his fingers. With the postures committed to memory, he no longer needed to look at it directly. Merlin stowed it securely by his bedside and headed downstairs.
At the dining table, May Snow sat with her chin resting on her left hand, idly doodling on the table with her right. The butler stood nearby, and when he saw Merlin, he respectfully bowed. "Young Master Merlin, dinner is ready."
"Sorry to keep you waiting," Merlin said, feeling content as he sat down, carving a piece of roast lamb and sipping a glass of milk. The meal quickly warmed him, filling him with a pleasant sense of comfort.
Leaning back in his chair, he unbuttoned his coat slightly and relaxed, watching the large snowflakes drift down outside the door.
"It's freezing out there. I wonder how Father is doing?" May Snow said, her face etched with concern as she gazed out at the falling snow.
Old Wilson had gone to collect taxes from the estate. Usually, he returned within three to five days, and by Merlin's count, he should be back soon.
Suddenly, urgent knocks echoed through the hall, causing both Merlin and May Snow to look toward the front door.
The butler hurried over to open it, and a gust of cold wind filled the room, carrying a scent that made Merlin's face go pale—a thick, unmistakable smell of blood.
"Commander Pula! What happened to you?" The butler exclaimed, surprised at the sight of the man standing in the doorway—Commander Pula, Old Wilson's loyal bodyguard.
Merlin's memory quickly conjured up details of Pula. As the commander of Wilson's knights within both the castle and the estate, Pula held tremendous authority, second only to Old Wilson himself. Even Merlin addressed him as "Uncle Pula."
"Uncle Pula, you're back? Does that mean Father's returned too?" May Snow asked eagerly.
Pula had accompanied Old Wilson to the estate for the tax collection, so his presence implied that Old Wilson might have returned as well.
But Pula shook his head solemnly. "The baron hasn't returned yet."
A chill settled over the room as worry flickered in everyone's eyes. Had something happened to Old Wilson?
"Come in from the cold, Pula, and tell us what happened," the butler urged, shutting the door behind him. The room grew warm again, but Merlin's attention was fixed on Pula.
The commander's towering frame was clad in a silver-white armor stained with streaks of blood. His brown hair was tousled, and his sword bore nicks, clear evidence of recent combat.
"What happened, Uncle Pula? Where's Father?" Merlin asked, his concern growing.
Pula offered a reassuring grin. "Nothing to worry about. We encountered a small band of bandits on the way. The baron led us to drive them off. But he's concerned they might return and threaten the estate, so he sent me back to gather a hundred heavy cavalrymen from the castle."
Merlin exhaled, relieved. Encountering bandits was no small matter, but Old Wilson's battlefield experience gave him an edge. He knew how to handle threats like these, especially with a force of heavily armored knights—an elite force in the castle numbering around 150.
"Uncle Pula, since the castle is secure, take all 150 heavy cavalrymen with you to ensure Father and the estate are fully protected," Merlin suggested.
After a brief pause, Pula nodded. "Understood, Young Master Merlin. I'll take them all. These bandits are nothing. Back in the day, under the baron's command, I cut down countless Eastern heretics. These bandits won't be a problem."
Pula's confidence was evident. He had once served as one of Old Wilson's soldiers, fighting in the brutal campaign against the Eastern heretics. When Old Wilson was granted a title, he brought Pula back with him.
Unlike the baron, Pula was a soldier through and through—loyal, ruthless, and deadly. Many servants in the castle feared him.
"Uncle Pula, you must be starving after such a long journey. There's still half a roast lamb on the table. Help yourself," Merlin offered.
Pula didn't hesitate. After a day of travel through the snow, he was famished. He grabbed the lamb and tore into it, then quickly went about mobilizing the knights. Soon, he led all 150 of them out of the castle.
Watching them disappear into the night, Merlin's brow furrowed slightly. He turned to the butler. "Blackwater City has always been safe. Why are we suddenly dealing with bandits? Judging by Uncle Pula's state, these bandits must be formidable, or Father wouldn't have sent him back to fetch reinforcements."
The butler hesitated but finally replied, "Blackwater City was indeed secure until recently. No one knows why, but a fierce bandit gang has surfaced, raiding several villages outside the city. The City Guard has tried several times to catch them but without success. Don't worry, Young Master. With the baron, 150 heavy cavalrymen, and the estate's guards, they'll be safe."
Merlin nodded thoughtfully, reassured by the butler's words. With Old Wilson in command, he trusted that any threats to the estate would be well handled.