An elderly old man walked on the slightly mottled cobblestone avenue. Marquis Barton, with his identity concealed under a hat, moved through his city, observing the clean and tidy streets and the leisurely paced pedestrians. This thought involuntarily popped up in his mind.
——An old dog inspecting his own domain, occasionally taking a stroll.
His gaze lowered, Marquis Barton heard the melodious sound of an organ not far away. On the street by the sea, a ballad poet had set up his platform and hung his sign, at this moment fully absorbed in his performance.
He was quite a talented ballad poet. Over the years, Marquis Barton often concealed his identity to inspect the various cities of the South Ridge. Yet, only a handful of ballad poets could, one, play different tunes with different instruments every day.
The platform was somewhat rusty. Passersby stopped to admire, and the old marquis also paused to listen to the other’s performance for a while, then silently left.
A dog is not a derogatory term.
In Terra’s culture, a dog symbolizes loyalty, responsibility, friendship, stability, and intimacy.
The Durimbo Hounds, the Eastern Border’s Sharp Tooth Knight, the Guardians’ Watchdog... People praised Barton Hennil for his loyalty and acuteness; nothing unusual could escape his senses.
He could always accurately catch every spy sneaking into the South Ridge, always able to see firsthand who was not ’loyal.’
Yes, he could see it.
He could see that the handsome white-haired lad had nothing to do with loyalty.
A descendant of the exiled Cheharlowa Family, the knight of the exiled Harrison Port, had never received any education related to The Empire from childhood to adulthood. To say he was loyal to The Empire would be blind and dumbstruck to utter,
But he still pushed that young man upward, exerting his utmost power to do so.
Because he could see that the boy possessed extraordinary abilities.
The old dog caught the scent.
The scent of [accomplishment and renown].
The moist summer sea breeze swept through the streets, and an old dog lying in front of a house shook its head and stared hazily at the street corner.
It was old, its duties fulfilled, its accomplishments achieved. Its masters adored it, crafting a special, cozy and warm kennel enough for it to enjoy its twilight years.
It had its food, its abilities still present. If there were robbers, it could surely bark fiercely like in its younger days, alerting its masters and protecting its home.
But it was about to die. Or rather, it had seen its end, smelled the scent of danger... The old dog was a bit afraid.
Of course not. If it were afraid of death, how could it not be nestled in its kennel but continued lying at its doorstep?
What it feared was ’disgracing in old age.’
At this point, with the worsening environment and outsiders attempting to invade its household recently, coming in full force—it was fortunate it had prepared in advance to lure the thieves into the courtyard for a decisive capture—but that was just once. It was old, unable to perform at full capacity multiple times.
It wasn’t going to make it.
As of now, it was still manageable. In a few more years, if there were further invasions, would it still be able to move? Could it still knock people over, bark, and protect its family? Content orıginally comes from 𝓷𝓸𝓿𝓮𝓵⟡𝓯𝓲𝓻𝓮⟡𝓷𝓮𝓽
The old dog had no other excess thoughts. It had always been loyal, brave, stable, and reliable. It just wanted to ensure it could have a respected twilight...
A successor strong and smart enough.
As for loyalty, that had nothing to do with it. It had fulfilled its loyalty to its lord, anyone else’s lack of it was not its concern.
"After my death, what will my name be turned into?"
Gazing at the old dog before him, Marquis Barton couldn’t help but laugh silently: "Hennil’s White Flame, or just another ordinary Governor of the South Ridge?"
"Without Ian, probably my fate would be just that. Securely overseeing the Empire’s border as a Governor, retiring and passing away without leaving much of a name, everything forgotten, yet all in all, it would be a peaceful retirement."
He still wanted a slightly more resonant title engraved on his tombstone.
Quickly, the marquis arrived at the seaside.
He stood upon the sand, looking up at the high sky above the blue sea.
There, in the far reaches of the sky, a skyship was slowly approaching—Canaan Moore and The Empire had opened a skyship route, signaling increasingly frequent and normal exchanges between the two nations in the future.
But now, its arrival signifies only one thing.
The young man he had chosen, the leader of the South Ridge Mountain People whom he covertly supported, the Inspector Knight, the Emissary of the Dragon God... that Lord of Xiawei Territory, Silver Peak Earl, the Prophet of South Ridge was about to return.
——Could he understand the meaning behind my actions? He is so young, could he truly comprehend why I supported him, and why I would even have my son step back so he could advance?
——Could this clever little fox, the eagle soaring in the sky, understand the deeper meaning of this watchdog?
——Could this ambitious White Folks truly understand the future he is about to face?
Marquis Barton did not know.
He couldn’t see through Ian, just as he couldn’t see through his own Majesty.
An old dog could only see through those with clear intentions and obvious interests—when invaders came, he could smell hostility; when there was internal corruption, he could detect greed.
But his Majesty, the Princes and Princesses, and this Prophet... they were all complexities beyond measure.