"Have you hurt soone's family?" Mr. Kesma asked.
Julian wanted to lie and say no, but Mr. Kesma's strict upbringing had left a significant impact on him. After a mont's hesitation, he nodded. "Yes, Father. I once hard a man's wife, skinning her and crucifying her."
To Julian's surprise, Mr. Kesma didn't react with fury or anger. Instead, he seed calm, wise even, like a serene elder.
"I don't see any remorse or fear on your face. Was that skinned woman a Guar?" Julian nodded, and Mr. Kesma's lips curled into a barely discernible smile. "If she was a Guar, then I won't bla you. Anyone who has betrayed the bloodline of King Audlero must pay the price and face judgnt."
"Did that family trick you, causing you significant loss or trouble? Were they Guar?" Julian first nodded, then shook his head. Yet, Mr. Kesma understood imdiately. He patted Mason on the shoulder. "Go pack up.
Tomorrow, leave town with this scoundrel!"
Julian was genuinely shocked by Mr. Kesma's ability to extract and understand vital information using his own unique wisdom and thods. He also felt the profound sense of responsibility and love Mr. Kesma had for him, Mason, and the entire family—sothing he had never experienced before.
Mr. Kesma's agreent to let Mason leave with Julian for Ternell wasn't because Julian had beco wealthy and could provide a luxurious life for his eldest son. It was because Julian was in danger and needed soone behind him, soone who could support him wholeheartedly.
This person couldn't be a stranger, friend, or even a close companion; it had to be family—blood relatives who could be completely trusted.
Simultaneously, it was a ans of protecting Mason and the Kesma family mbers.
Mr. Kesma, though a farr, possessed his own wisdom. He knew that only if Julian continued to grow stronger would the entire family achieve true safety. Rather than hoping enemies would put down their weapons, it was better to send them to hell before they had a chance to strike!
Grasping Mason's neck, Mr. Kesma suddenly felt a wave of exhaustion. He shook his hand and drove the two troublemakers out of his "palace." He then tidied up the room, placed the wooden box containing the gun into his "secret treasure vault"—which everyone knew about—and locked it away.
Dinner had a peculiar atmosphere. Beneath Mr. Kesma's expressionless, authoritative face, waves of intense emotions simred. The children were already aware that Mason would be leaving with Julian for the big city tomorrow, and the idea filled them with a temptation they had never experienced before.
No one doesn't yearn for freedom, especially when soone close to them has already attained it!
The children exchanged glances, occasionally kicking each other under the table. Mrs. Kesma shot a glare at Mr. Kesma, who pretended not to notice.
It had taken so long for the family to gather together again, only to have the atmosphere ruined by Mr. Kesma's stoic face.
Enough was enough!
Dinner was simple, with ingredients sourced from the farm and a tiny ranch that had just two cows, four sheep, a dozen geese, and twenty or thirty chickens... Oh, and an old dog too feeble to run, who watched its descendants roam the pastures.
As they ate the familiar al and shared urban anecdotes, the atmosphere finally began to warm up. Surrounded by the envious, jealous, and expectant eyes of his siblings, Mason's last family dinner ca to an end.
After clearing the table, Mrs. Kesma took the children out of the dining room. She had a feeling Julian and Mr. Kesma had sothing to discuss.
The tense atmosphere felt almost tangible, and it lasted for a while before Julian pursed his lips and took out the money from his pocket.
Aside from the thousand dollars he had given Mr. Kesma earlier, he had five thousand more, all in fifty-dollar bills—a hundred in total.
"What good is this money?" Mr. Kesma asked, neither taking it nor putting it away, but posing a question instead.
Julian nodded. "I need your help with sothing small."
Sotis, Mr. Kesma was truly fascinating, as he didn't act at all like a simple, honest farr. Using the word "honest" might create so misunderstanding, but that's the truth.
For example, when the now "high-flying" Julian pulled out five thousand dollars and asked Mr. Kesma for a "small favor," Mr. Kesma, who probably hadn't seen such a large sum of money in his life, didn't show the slightest excitent.
His hands didn't even tremble, as if the stack of money on the table were not five thousand dollars but rely fifty or even five dollars. His eyes lingered on the money for only about half a second before returning to Julian's face without a hint of longing.
"What does a farr like need to do for you?" Mr. Kesma adjusted his position, pressing his back more firmly against the wicker chair.
Julian was organizing his thoughts. His ti in the city had taught him that the word "reason" encompasses more than its literal definition. Simply put, everything that can translate into tangible benefits—money, subordinates, power, status, reputation—can be described as "reason." When two people are on an equal footing socially and in terms of influence, "reason" can be communicated verbally.
But when there is an imbalance of power or status, "reason" is often not sothing to be spoken but to be acted upon.
How could one elevate their level of "reason"?
Julian had considered various avenues, such as becoming a white glove for a powerful figure like Wood or Gador or serving as a cleaner who handles dirty work.
However, these paths not only required him to have greater strength and influence but also took ti to build. Trust is not built in three or five days or with a few words; it takes years to establish and can be destroyed in an instant.
What Julian needed was a solid foundation, not a castle built on water.
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