Going Home!
The first stop on Arthur's journey as a Knight-Errant was his family's estate.
Even though he had no intention of relying on his family's protection to make his way in the world, as a member of the Ashford family, he knew he could at least count on some support from them.
For example… money.
At this moment, he stood in the Ashford family's study, facing his father, Lysander—the current Baron of Ashford.
The room was heavy with tension. Father and son locked eyes, silently testing each other's resolve.
In Arthur's memory, his father had always been a stern and pragmatic man. From a young age, the family had poured significant resources into his training—honing his combat skills and sending him to serve as a knight apprentice under Count Avington for three years.
To put it in perspective, a full knight's training typically took twelve years. Such an investment was no small matter for the family.
Lysander's gaze was sharp, like an eagle's, and his voice was low and commanding, leaving no room for argument. "Arthur, as the head of the Ashford family, I must tell you—I do not approve of your decision. Leaving the family to become a Knight-Errant will waste the years of investment we've made in you."
He paused, his tone softening slightly. "As your father, I also don't support this. The world out there is far more dangerous and unforgiving than you imagine. I'll ask you one last time—are you truly ready to live such a wandering, uncertain life?"
Arthur's eyes were resolute. Without hesitation, he replied, "Yes, I've made up my mind."
Lysander was silent for a moment. Then, he stood, reached behind his desk, and pulled out a heavy coin pouch, tossing it to Arthur.
The pouch arced through the air before landing on the desk with a crisp thud.
"This is my support for you. If you can't make it out there, come back and work for me to pay off the debt." His tone carried a faint trace of resignation, almost imperceptible.
Arthur smiled faintly and, without hesitation, opened the pouch. The gold coins inside gleamed in the sunlight, and his eyes seemed to light up along with them.
He quickly counted them—fifty gold coins in total.
This sum was significant to Arthur. Fifty gold coins were enough to hire a fully equipped squad of soldiers and sustain them for an entire year.
To put it in perspective, a professional soldier's annual salary was just one gold coin, and an ordinary peasant might not earn this much in a lifetime.
Of course, this amount wasn't insignificant for the Ashford family either. The family's annual income—including head taxes, estate profits, and other ventures—barely reached two thousand gold coins. After covering the costs of maintaining the family's guard and other expenses, there wasn't much left over.
Fifty gold coins were the absolute limit of his father's support.
Arthur tied the pouch securely and spoke with a hint of gratitude in his voice. "Thank you for your generosity, Father. I'll make something of myself, bring honor to the family, and expand the Ashford name in the noble ranks."
Lysander snorted, his tone tinged with skepticism. "We'll see." It was clear he didn't have much faith in his third son's future. In his eyes, Arthur would either die on some distant battlefield or come crawling back to repay this debt.
The life of a Knight-Errant wasn't for the faint of heart.
Arthur, of course, caught the doubt in his father's words, but he didn't mind.
Without the help of the Data Panel, he might have chosen to stay with the family, settling for a stable position like his uncles. But now, he had far greater ambitions.
"Oh, one more thing, Father," Arthur said suddenly. "I'll need to recruit a few soldiers from the family's lands."
Lysander raised an eyebrow, unsurprised by the request. He nodded. "Fine. I'll have the sheriff assist you. Stay a while longer and train your men properly before you leave."
Arthur gave a slight nod, feeling a sense of relief.
Recruiting soldiers from the family's lands was indeed the safest option. The local militia was well-trained, familiar, and generally more loyal. Most importantly, they would respect Arthur's status and be less likely to betray him.
Arthur stayed at the family castle for only a few days.
He shared a few meals with his family before leaving in a hurry. He knew he couldn't linger here for too long.
The Ashford Family's Lands
The Ashford family's domain wasn't small. Beyond the castle, it included two villages and several estates. Situated deep in the heart of the kingdom, the castle's military significance had long since diminished, now serving more as a symbol of the family's political standing.
Outside the castle walls, a small settlement had formed, home to a modest population of residents.
Arthur's destination was Stonefield Village, located at the northern edge of the family's lands. Armed with a writ from his father, he headed straight for the village's constabulary.
Stonefield Village and Its Constabulary
Stonefield Village was the crown jewel of the Ashford family's northern holdings, with a population of about a thousand.
The village's constabulary housed a small security force: ten professional infantrymen and twenty rotating militia members, tasked with maintaining order in the area.
Arthur was no stranger to this place. He had visited many times before, and even without the writ, no one would have stopped him. After all, the constable was his uncle—Walter—a middle-aged man who had undergone knight training but had barely scraped by with a passing grade.
When Arthur saw Walter again, he couldn't help but feel a twinge of envy at his uncle's round belly.
In an era where hunger and war were constant companions, managing to grow a belly like that was no small feat.
Walter's waddling gait was a far cry from the agility he'd once possessed in his youth, a clear sign that his days of nimble swordplay were long behind him.
Despite his laziness, Walter was still an Ashford by blood and had received a proper education. In this era, that alone made him a rare talent.
When Walter saw Arthur, he immediately spread his arms wide and pulled him into a warm embrace.
"Arthur, my dear nephew!" Walter's voice was filled with genuine joy. "I heard you graduated with 'distinction' from your knight training. You should've stayed there and continued your career as a knight!"
Walter clearly understood the weight of the word 'distinction.'
It wasn't just a grade—it was a mark of excellence, a testament to Arthur's exceptional abilities. For a knight apprentice to graduate with such an honor meant they were highly competitive in the world of knights.
Arthur wasn't surprised that his family had learned of his performance so quickly.
The Ashfords were the undisputed lords of this region, and news traveled fast under their watchful eyes.
He offered a simple explanation: "You know how things are between Knight Edmund and my father."
Walter squinted, clearly unconvinced by the vague excuse.
Having gone through knight training himself, he knew how difficult it was to achieve 'distinction.' A passing grade was easy enough—no one would deliberately make life hard for an apprentice. But to earn 'distinction,' one had to excel in every aspect.
Still, a wise man knew when to let things go, and Walter quickly moved on.
Grabbing Arthur by the arm, he spoke with a tone of familial affection: "Arthur, my dear nephew!" He repeated the phrase again, clearly playing up their relationship for the benefit of those around them.
This kind of ostentatious display might seem tacky, but in the world of noble families, it was a necessary performance.
The Ashford family's influence had dwindled by Walter's generation.
Arthur had plenty of brothers, and the family's key positions were obviously reserved for them. Walter, meanwhile, had to think about securing a future for his own son. Arthur's arrival might just be the opportunity he needed.
"Arthur, I hope you've made the right choice," Walter said, his tone carrying a hint of complicated emotions. "How many men do you need this time? I'll make sure to pick the best lads for you."
He paused, as if debating something internally, before ultimately deciding against pushing his son into Arthur's team.
Instead, he added generously, "And I've prepared a gift for you. I hope you'll like it."
Arthur raised an eyebrow, already guessing what the gift might be.
Money? That would be too direct.
Walter was his uncle, after all, and handing over coins would feel a bit too transactional.
Sure enough, Walter reached behind him and pulled out a finely crafted iron longsword, presenting it to Arthur. "This is from my collection. Sadly, I can't swing a sword anymore. What do you think? Satisfied?"
Walter patted his belly with a rueful smile, as if lamenting his lost youth.
The iron sword was no ordinary weapon. Its craftsmanship was excellent, likely requiring a blacksmith several weeks of meticulous work. Its value was easily five or six gold coins.
For Arthur, this gift wasn't just practical—it carried a deep sense of familial affection.
After all, he was only the third son of Baron Ashford, and he had chosen to leave the family to forge his own path. This gift was already a significant gesture of support.
Arthur took the longsword and drew the blade with one hand.
The intricate forging patterns covered the blade, dense and exquisite, and the edge gleamed coldly under the sunlight. It was clear this wasn't just a decorative piece—it was a weapon of true craftsmanship.
With a flick of his wrist, Arthur spun the sword in a graceful flourish, his mastery of swordsmanship on full display. The blade carved an elegant arc through the air, producing a crisp, sharp whistle as it cut through the wind.
Walter's eyes lit up instantly, and he couldn't help but exclaim, "That level of skill… it's better than most of the knights in the family!"
Arthur smiled faintly, sliding the sword back into its scabbard in one smooth, fluid motion. The ease and precision of his movements once again demonstrated his deep familiarity with the weapon.
He looked up, his tone carrying a hint of genuine gratitude. "This is an excellent gift. Thank you, Uncle."