The White Glove

Hearing this, Matthew immediately realized—

This was no down-and-out exile fleeing his family. He was clearly a “white glove” carefully deployed by the Fiery Lion family.

Banished on the surface, he had actually slipped into the grasslands to become a bandit chief. This allowed him to reap massive profits for the family while using the guise of banditry to cover their tracks. If necessary, he could be discarded at any moment without leaving a trace.

At the same time, Matthew felt a hint of surprise. After all, choosing to become a horse bandit and plunder others was ultimately Nathan's own choice. Why did he harbor such intense hatred for his family?

Before Matthew could ask, however, Nathan took the initiative to reveal the reason.

“The family would often send people to ‘inspect’ us, under the guise of ensuring the plan's smooth execution.”

Nathan panted, long-suppressed humiliation and resentment surging in the depths of his eyes. “But the people who came were often not even Class holders. They were just useless trash relying on their direct-line status and carrying family tokens.”

“When they arrived, they would flaunt their authority in front of me, ordering me around and even calling me a ‘wild dog’ at every turn... I, a proud Silver Rank, actually had to take orders from these trash who hadn't even touched the threshold of the Black Iron Rank.”

His voice was raspy, but every word cut like a knife. “Once or twice, I endured it. But it was like this year after year, time after time...”

Hearing this, Matthew understood.

As a fellow Class holder, he knew well how many life-and-death trials one had to endure to reach the Silver Rank. Nathan had been “banished” in name, but in reality, he was used as a hidden blade. He was already being exploited.

What was even more detestable was that the family didn't even bother to show him superficial respect. They dispatched powerless family members to humiliate and monitor him, as if he were lower than the lowest servant.

The contempt accumulated over the years was far more painful than direct blades.

However, such a bloodthirsty transformation probably had some connection to the environment Nathan lived in.

Nathan coughed up another mouthful of bloody foam but laughed softly, his laughter filled with self-deprecation. “But what could I do? As a family servant, I was controlled by the family with drugs early on, making it hard to resist... Not to mention, that Cogan still has the ‘Blood Rage Badge’ in his hands...”

Matthew listened in silence. The doubts in his heart about why the man could endure such humiliation were now resolved.

The so-called “drug control” was clearly a secret method kept within the Fiery Lion family, so it made sense that outsiders knew nothing about it.

And this “Cogan” was likely the yellow-haired youth.

As for the details of the “Blood Rage Badge,” he was equally clueless.

He shook his head slightly, sighing inwardly. But who could have known?

Matthew was about to press for details—asking about the background of Cogan and the Blood Rage Badge—when he saw Nathan suddenly break into a violent fit of coughing. Dark red bloody foam welled from the corner of his mouth again, and his breathing grew incredibly faint.

After panting for a moment,

Because of the backlash from the secret technique and the continuous bleeding, Nathan's terminal lucidity was coming to an end. Squeezing out his last ounce of strength, he haltingly gasped out a specific address in the county seat: “In the county seat... under the old tree in the courtyard of No. 7 Shizhong Road... there is a wooden chest I buried. Inside... is some gold and silver wealth.”

His unfocused eyes turned toward Matthew. Struggling to gather his final trace of strength, he said in an almost pleading tone, “I beg... you... give twenty percent of it to my wife and daughter...”

Before he could finish, another violent fit of coughing suddenly struck, cutting off his already weak words and snuffing out his last breath.

Having heard Nathan's final plea, Matthew stood silently in place, his face devoid of any expression.

He did not nod in agreement, nor did he shake his head in refusal. He merely looked down, quietly watching Nathan's rapidly fading vital signs due to intense pain and blood loss, like a cold bystander.

Only when Nathan's chest completely stopped rising and falling, and the last glimmer of light in his eyes went out entirely, did Matthew slowly crouch down and begin to carefully search the corpse.

His movements were swift and efficient. His fingertips glided rapidly through the linings of Nathan's clothes, the inside of his belt, and the shafts of his boots, searching every corner where something might be hidden.

Money pouches, badges... items were pulled out one by one and sorted away.

But his physical efficiency did not hinder the calculations in his mind.

“Twenty percent of the gold and silver...” Nathan's deathbed entrustment left Matthew completely unmoved.

He did not care whether Nathan still possessed a shred of humanity, nor did he care whether this entrustment was genuine or fake.

What he cared about was whether a trap lay behind it—how could a bandit chief with blood-soaked hands suddenly set aside his grievances on the brink of death?

Moreover, Nathan's true identity was a “white glove” secretly kept by the Fiery Lion family, specializing in murder, robbery, and plundering merchant caravans.

How credible could the words of such a person be?

Matthew was unwilling to believe that a ruthless, sin-laden man would suddenly show pure goodwill before dying.

Therefore, Matthew merely listened coldly, without a single thought of sympathy or commitment rising in his heart.

He could not be certain, nor did he want to believe easily.

However, if this money truly existed, it would be extremely important to him.

Once he reached the county seat, his expenses would be much higher.

For instance, repairing his staff and purchasing magical beast meat every month to replenish his life energy would require a significant amount of funds.

If he could obtain the treasure accumulated by a fierce bandit over several years, it would be well worth a try.

“They are all gold bars. What difference is there between this one and that one?” as the famous merchant Xie Ruolin once said.

In Matthew's eyes, gold and silver coins were the same. Whether they were stolen or not had nothing to do with him.

By the time his thoughts reached this point, he had finished searching the corpse.

Matthew delayed no longer. He swept all the acquired items into the cloth pouch at his waist, then mounted his horse and galloped back toward the caravan.

The wind whistled past his ears, but he couldn't help but think:

The thought flashed by, and he shook his head, pushing it out of his mind. After all, the relationship between him and Regg was nothing more than an exchange of mutual benefits.

He spurred his mount, carving a straight line of dust through the deepening twilight.

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