You were made to farm, and now you're the emperor of an empire?

Has Chapter 76 changed?
Dick brought Gweil and Sanna to Garin's cabin.

The dirty doctor had a large, filthy, and bushy beard, and he had a strange herbal smell. No one knew his exact age.

But Garin will certainly outlive the great thief Borg; such skilled healers are highly respected wherever they go.

Dick and Jet knew Garin's identity in the past, and Dota and the hunters do now do too.

They simply tacitly avoided mentioning it to Gweiller, perhaps out of concern that it might frighten her.

"Grandpa Garin, I've come to see you."

Gweil peered inside from the doorway.

Garin's face was half-covered by his beard, but his eyes were kind and bright.

He made Gweil stand in front of him and then squeezed her arm.

"I've grown taller and I'm healthier. That's great, that's very good."

The dirty doctor nodded repeatedly.

With a beaming smile, Gweil took the cloth bag from Dick and said, "I brought you some food. You eat first, and I'll go call Brother Jet over."

"No, I'm here."

Sanna was startled. Why hadn't she heard any noise?
Jeter was like a apex predator, appearing silently behind her.

His leather armor was so tattered that it was unrecognizable, he was of medium build but had a sharp and capable look, and his eyes were filled with indifference, which inexplicably reminded Sanna of a profession called butcher.

His cold, indifferent expression, disregarding life and death, made her take a step back in fright.

Jett only glanced at the little girl that Gweill had brought.

He went to the doorway, squatted down, opened the cloth bag, took out a leg of lamb, took a big bite, and tore off a large piece of meat.

Jet eats very quietly, chewing and swallowing very seriously, like a ruthless eating machine.

Dick and Garlin didn't stand on ceremony either.

The three of them sat on the ground and began to feast on the beef chunks and pork knuckles from the cloth bag.

Gweil bustled around, pouring wine for them from a wooden bucket.

The cool, clear beer rippled gently in the glass. Jet and Dick tilted their heads back and downed it in one gulp. Even the dirty doctor Garin couldn't resist the temptation of the beer—but Gweil always felt that those bearded men had drunk at least half of the beer.

The mountains may not lack meat, but they certainly lack various seasonings, and staple foods are also hard to find; people can only eat mountain produce and wild game.

Not to mention beer.

They were previously able to obtain certain essential supplies through their relationships with hunters.

But with the hunters gone, they became isolated and helpless again, like a lonely island in the sea.

Gweil has come over four or five times recently, returning once a month.

Each time, she brought them a lot of food—Geviel could take a lot, but it was still too little compared to what they needed.

Only Garin's life was not affected much. Every now and then, farmers would still seek his help and bring him grain or other items as payment.

"Did Roman send you this time?" Dick asked after they had eaten and drunk their fill.

Gweil was taken aback, then shook her head and said, "I came out secretly."

Dick was somewhat skeptical; these things would be considered a high-class meal for any nobleman.

In the past, Gweil would only bring white bread, slices of meat, and salt. Judging from the hardness of the bread, it was food that Gweil had saved up. The salt was also something she had taken from others.

This time, they even moved house, so the contents were quite substantial; they even brought beer.

“There are so many things at the celebration, no one will notice if I steal some,” Gweil explained.

"What celebration?" This was Jett's second question, as he looked up and asked.

"A celebration of the summer harvest."

Has the summer harvest been completed?

The three "wild men" of unknown age exchanged glances.

They were so out of touch with the outside world that they only felt that it was the height of summer, while the mountains were still very cool, and they had little impression of the fact that sowing and harvesting were approaching.

Gweil chattered excitedly in their ears, like a lively and lovely thrush, or a blue tit in the forest.

She spoke of the changes Roman had brought, of the dozens of kilometers of flat roads built by hundreds of laborers over months of toil and sweat, and of the continuous transport of salt; of the people of the Wandong Plateau and Sanna, who were from the northern coast; of the dense wheat fields that resembled a golden ocean, and of the hundreds of thousands of kilograms of grain; of the countless delicacies at the celebration, which could not be eaten in an endless stream… She had often talked about these things when she visited them long ago. Dick and Garin had not paid attention before, but now they listened intently, somewhat lost in thought.

"You guys should go and take a look too," Gweil added at the end.

“I think Gavial is right,” Garin said to Dick.

Dick gave a wry smile.

"Jett, what do you think?"

Jet leaned quietly against the door frame.

He gazed at the quiet and cool mountain forest.

"You can't just let your hard-earned martial arts skills go to waste in the deep mountains, can you?"

"Why not?"

Jet glanced at Garin.

“I took up a sword at the age of five, and by eighteen I had mastered swordsmanship. Among my peers, there were very few who could fight me to a draw. I believe in the gods, have the Pope’s testimony, pledge allegiance to the King of the Divine Mystery, and swear to punish evil and vanquish demons. Yet now I have come to this end. Do you think I have only myself to blame?”

Garin coughed lightly: "You're not wrong, Jet, but... um... I mean, but..."

“I have not betrayed the gods, I have not betrayed the Pope, I have not betrayed the King of Divinity! They betrayed themselves and they betrayed me. It is a disgrace for me to shed blood for them! If the Holy Light Sword Technique is a bloody sword technique that only slaughters the innocent, then I would rather never wield a sword!”

His tone was as cold and hard as stone.

“Roman wouldn’t do that…” she whispered.

Jett glanced at her. "You get what you pay for. There's no such thing as a free lunch. You'll eventually face what I faced. You'll be forced to convince yourself, but you can't deceive your own heart. In the end, you'll realize you've made a mistake, your hands will be stained with blood, and you'll want to make amends but find it's too late..."

“So Roman wouldn’t do that!” she glared at Jett defiantly.

"Do you think he keeps you as a pet that can only sing and dance...?"

She was heartbroken, her voice trembling with tears: "Why can't what Roman wants to do be what I have to do?"

“Jett!” Dick warned him with a grim expression.

“It seems you’re doing quite well in your noble estate,” Jett said calmly.

At least so far, the lord has not forced her to do anything she doesn't want to do.

He thought that once the Witch of Misfortune was taken away, she would never come back.

……

But Gweil returned soon after.

She wore a beautiful long dress, and her health improved.

She said Roman was building a livestock shed and wouldn't let her near it, so she told her to go plant vegetables instead.

She found an opportunity to sneak out.

He could tell at a glance that Gweil had not been abused or harmed.

Jet thought to himself.

so what?

The conqueror used virtue to restrain barbaric violence.

He instilled chivalry in knights, taught them the importance of dedication and sacrifice, and set an example for all nobles, making them elegant and benevolent.

But what happens after the conqueror dies?

The knight remains a violent force, only capable of chanting praises of virtue, yet never fighting for virtue.

Nobles remain nobles, aloof and ignorant of human suffering, and utterly devoid of true compassion and kindness.
Has it changed?

Has nothing changed?

Has it changed?

Has nothing changed?

Jeter constantly, repeatedly, and cyclically questions this era.

(End of this chapter)