Young Master? Young Master!

After walking a while longer, the outline of the Marquis's estate appeared at the end of his line of sight.

Ethan paused in his tracks.

His family's residence in the Imperial City looked quite different now.

Lush green vines climbed the grey stone walls of the main castle, dotted with pale gold flowers—clearly ornamental varieties imported from elsewhere at great expense.

The original Thorn Crest on the castle roof was still there, but its base had been replaced with a silver-grey stone platform, a privilege permitted only to a Duke's estate.

Even the stone path in front of the gate had been widened to twice its size, lined on both sides with two neat rows of newly planted purple-leaf shrubs, meticulously trimmed.

“Heh.” Ethan's lips curled slightly. “It seems while things have been going smoothly for me all these years, you've been promoted too, Father.”

He lifted his foot and walked toward the main gate.

Two guards stood before the entrance.

The one on the left was quite young, with a touch of boyishness still on his face. He wore a brand-new dark blue surcoat, carried a standard-issue longsword at his waist, and stood straight as a board.

The one on the right looked to be in his early forties, his stubble clean-shaven and his armor polished to a bright sheen—clearly a veteran soldier of the estate.

Before Ethan even reached the steps of the gate, the young guard took a step forward, his right hand resting on the hilt of his sword as his gaze swept over him.

Ethan's current appearance indeed did not look like someone coming to visit a noble.

He was dressed in grey travel attire, with no family crest, no retinue, and not even a horse.

He was just a lone man, walking up the stone path.

“My young lord,” the young guard's voice was relatively polite. After all, working in a Duke's estate, he had been taught on his very first day who he could offend and who he could not. “This is the ducal estate of Duke Leo. May I ask who you are?”

Ethan stopped, his gaze sweeping across the faces of the two guards.

He didn't recognize the younger one, likely recruited sometime over the last ten years.

The older one looked familiar, but Ethan couldn't recall his name at the moment.

“Is Ford still the steward of the household?” Ethan didn't give his name, only asking casually. “Could I trouble you to announce me?”

The young guard froze.

Announce him?

A stranger who hadn't declared his identity, presented a calling card, or even brought a retinue, and the first thing he wanted was to announce himself to the chief steward of the Duke's estate?

His brow furrowed slightly. He was just about to refuse when, before he could speak, the body of the older guard beside him suddenly went rigid.

His rigid posture made him look as if he had been frozen in place by something, his entire body tensing inch by inch from his feet to the crown of his head.

Then, he shoved the young guard aside.

The movement was swift and fierce, sending the young guard stumbling two steps to the side, nearly crashing into the gatepost.

Before the youth could even steady himself, the veteran guard had already dropped to one knee, his knee striking the stone floor with a dull thud.

“Greetings, Young Master!”

These four words, though spoken in a low voice, utterly dumbfounded the young guard.

He looked down at his senior kneeling on the ground, his mouth opening, closing, and opening again.

While his brain struggled to process the scene before him, his mouth moved first.

“Young Master? How is that possible? Didn't the Young Master just return from the academy?”

The moment those words left his mouth, the older guard's kneeling body visibly stiffened.

The muscles in his back tensed like a fully drawn bowstring, fine beads of sweat breaking out on his forehead, while only one thought echoed repeatedly in his mind.

He had served House Leo for nearly twenty years.

Who was the person standing before him?

He was the eldest son of the Duke, the true Young Master Ethan Leo.

As for the one who had just returned from the Imperial Academy, that was the Lord's bastard son, Young Master Colin. They were not the same at all.

How could they even be compared?

Wesley wanted to speak up to cover for Jack, but just as he opened his mouth, a gentle yet utterly irresistible force supported his body, steadily lifting him up from his kneeling position.

He instinctively wanted to resist, but the moment his arm muscles tensed, he realized the force held absolutely no hostility, merely making him stand up straight.

Then, he heard Ethan's voice.

“Ah, I remember now. Your name is Wesley, right?”

Wesley shuddered, all the chaotic thoughts in his head instantly wiped clean.

He stopped wondering how the Young Master could lift him up without even touching him, quickly straightening himself as he replied, “Yes, Young Master, I am Wesley.”

“Mm, very good.”

Ethan pulled a gold note from his breast pocket and casually flicked his finger.

The gold note, worth a hundred gold coins, drifted over light as a feather. Without any visible support, it hung perfectly still right in front of Wesley.

“Good discipline. Split these hundred gold coins between the two of you.”

Looking at the gold note hovering in midair, Wesley's mind went blank once again.

He had been a soldier for twenty years; he had seen the terrifying momentum of a Great Knight's full-on charge, and he had witnessed the Duke cleave through thirteen layers of iron plate armor with a single strike. But he had never seen a piece of paper float in midair all on its own.

He reached out, and the gold note gently drifted down into his palm.

As for Jack, his mouth had remained slightly open since a moment ago.

His simple mind was still trying to piece together the young master who had just returned, the young master standing at the gate, Old Wesley kneeling, Old Wesley being lifted up, and the gold note flying on its own; the loading bar in his head had been stuck for a while now, and the progress wheel was still spinning.

Judging by the looks of it, he wouldn't snap out of it for an hour or two.

Just then, a familiar voice echoed from inside the gate.

“Wesley, what's all this racket about? Don't you know today is an important day?”

Heavy footsteps thudded against the stone floor as a tall figure clad in full plate armor strode out from the gate.

The man was of massive build, with the Thorn Crest of House Leo carved onto his breastplate and a two-handed greatsword slung at his waist.

A look of displeasure was written on his face, clearly disturbed by the commotion at the entrance.

Blake had just stepped over the threshold, his gaze sweeping past Wesley and the still-dazed Jack before landing on the young man at the gate.

His footsteps suddenly froze, nailing him to the spot.

The soles of his plate-armored boots scraped harshly against the stone, and his entire body went rigid, as if slapped by a petrification spell.

His eyes went wide as saucers, his pupils reflecting a face he hadn't seen in ten years, yet knew all too well.

Seeing Blake's reaction, Ethan's lips curled into a wide grin.

“Yo, Blake. Ten years, and you've gotten even bulkier.”

Blake dropped heavily to one knee, his steel-clad knee shattering the stone tile and sending stone chips flying in all directions.

He looked up, staring intently at Ethan's face, his lips quivering twice before he managed to force a voice from his chest.

“Young Master!”

The roar was so loud that dust cascaded down from the gateposts.

Wesley almost dropped the gold note in his hand.