As Breson passed through the courtyard, he saw the tiny leaves of the Tree of the Four Seasons in Golan-Elsen scattered all over the ground. In the legends of Erune, each leaf of the Tree of the Four Seasons is said to carry the heroic spirit of those slain in battle. This is why such trees are often planted in military camps to symbolize the enduring spirit of the warriors.
He looked at those leaves and couldn’t help but think of the faces of his fallen comrades in the war. So much so that he barely heard the words of his father, Sir Habuki, the municipal councilman of Brags, who was speaking to him.
"When the commendation from above comes down this time, I’ll see if I can arrange for you to be transferred back to Brags. Would you like to join the Security Cavalry? I still have some influence at the city hall."
"If you want to stay in the Guard Team, that’s also possible. There’s a patrol team on Pine Forest Avenue that isn’t fully staffed. But they belong to Anzek’s organization, which might be a bit tougher."
"Actually, my idea is that once you are officially knighted, you should seek a stable position in the Noble Council. What do you think, Breson?"
"Speaking of which, what are your thoughts?" Sir Habuki looked at his young and energetic son, and couldn’t help but sigh. This son was almost identical to him in character when he was young—confident, but overly proud. Sometimes, this wasn’t a bad thing, but it wasn’t necessarily a good thing either—
In the proverbs passed down among the nobles, being too proud makes one susceptible to setbacks.
Sir Habuki was sixty-two years old this year, which was considered middle-aged in Vorn, though he seemed a bit old. Strands of silver hair sprang out from his meticulously styled hair, whitening his temples. When he was young, he was known as a radical in the southern Golan-Elsen, but he grew increasingly conservative and slick as he aged.
Sir Habuki wore a blue, floor-length coat typical of councilmen, with a white vest and black trousers underneath. He held a cane in one hand and looked at his only son with a kind gaze.
Breson glanced at his father and answered, "I think I might go to the Bastia Royal Cavalry Academy."
"What?" Sir Habuki was surprised.
"I’ve heard from Walter. There are a total of four spots. The Guard Team might recommend me, and the White Mane Legion also has some ideas. But, Father, please don’t mention this to the nobles just yet." Breson replied, referring to Walter, the twenty-three-year-old Deputy Commander of the Silver Winged Cavalry, who held his position thanks to his father’s influence and shared a close personal friendship with Breson.
"The news is pretty tightly sealed. Those military goons! The Noble Council hasn’t heard a peep about it. But such commendations shouldn’t be handled by the Royal Family. Is there some kind of change?" Sir Habuki frowned and asked.
"Hard to say, but I’ve made up my mind this time." Breson replied.
"Alright, learn as much as you can. But remember, our Vicofield family’s political views have always leaned local. When you get to the Royal Academy, don’t clash with the Royalists. Of course, don’t worry too much about them either." Sir Habuki thought for a moment and changed his mind.
Breson looked towards the courtyard and replied, "Who would care about a little fish."
"I don’t like hearing that. Everyone in the Vicofield family is a heroic figure. Your grandfather was once the president of the Brags Noble Council, and I was known throughout the southern Golan-Elsen in my youth. You are my son and will not be inferior to them." Sir Habuki scolded.
Breson’s face remained expressionless. But suddenly, both father and son stopped their conversation as they saw a young man approaching. The man wore a dark blue military uniform, with a cavalry sword of the 32-year standard at his belt. His long silver hair hung straight over his shoulders, and his lips were pursed, his features possessing a somewhat delicate beauty.
"Viscount Test." Sir Habuki quickly pulled his son aside and greeted.
The man addressed as Viscount Test paused for a moment. He raised his head and, with eyes like purple crystals, looked at the father and son, nodded, and intended to pass them. But his gaze fell on Breson, and he suddenly stopped, smiled, then continued walking past them.
"Strange?" Sir Habuki watched the young man walk away and couldn’t help but mutter to himself.
"What’s the matter?" Breson asked.
"Isn’t that guy the Duke’s illegitimate son? He always has his eyes down on everyone. Why does he seem a bit off today?" Sir Habuki replied.