I'm not a Witcher anymore.

Chapter 182 Semi Manor

After two days of bumping along muddy dirt roads, the dull sound of horseshoes striking the ground finally changed.

As the setting sun once again painted the sky a drunken crimson, the outline of the Troski region finally appeared on the horizon.

The rolling hills stretch into the distance like green waves, and the vast wheat fields, though now barren, still ripple with golden hues in the wind.

"This is Trossky."

Zieg pulled on the reins, and the warhorse snorted, exhaling a cloud of white mist.

At this moment, the dark blue velvet hunting suit that symbolized his noble status was nowhere to be seen.

Instead, she wore a well-tailored, finely stitched, dark gray woolen short coat.

It was covered by a well-maintained studded hard leather armor, each stud polished to a shine, gleaming with a cold, hard metallic luster in the setting sun.

He wore a wide belt around his waist, made of high-quality leather but without any jewels, and his boots had been changed from the soft-soled boots suitable for court carpets to sturdy and durable cowhide riding boots.

His attire made him look like one of the most valued attendants in a large family.

However, even though he deliberately concealed his brilliance and was willing to play the supporting role, he remained humble and unassuming.

But when he sat upright on horseback, the composure and calmness that emanated from his very bones was like a famous sword hidden in a simple scabbard, faintly radiating a cold light that could not be ignored.

"Matosh, Hinek," Zieg turned his head. "See that smoke rising over there? There should be a village there."

The two guards whose names were called immediately rode forward.

"Go there and find out the exact location of Semi Manor," Zieg ordered.

"Yes, sir."

Matos and Hinek bowed on horseback, then spurred their horses and galloped toward the rising smoke.

Before long, Hinek and Matos rode back.

"My lord, it's in the southeast. Just follow the old road that's been dented the deepest by the wheels of vehicles."

Matos pointed to the dark shadows in the distance that were gradually being swallowed by the twilight.

Zieg nodded, said nothing more, and gently shook the reins.

The others followed closely behind, and the group disappeared into the twilight once more.

As the moon, like a bitten silver coin, hung above the treetops, the imposing silhouette of Semih Manor finally came into view.

"Halt! In the name of God and the Lord!"

Two long halberds, gleaming coldly in the firelight, crossed together, blocking the path of the troops.

Several manor guards, dressed in worn chainmail and holding halberds, stood at the manor gate, watching the uninvited guests warily. Their fingers gripping their weapons turned white with tension.

In those chaotic times, a stranger visiting late at night usually meant only two things: a robber, or worse, a defeated soldier.

"If you don't back down, we'll fire our arrows! This is Semi family territory; vagrants are not welcome here!"

Faced with the guards' hostile warning, Ziegler stopped his horse and shielded Hans Capon in front of him.

Now it's time for the real "loudmouth" to make his appearance.

"tramp?"

Captain Robard spurred his horse forward.

He simply looked down at the guards, a contemptuous sneer on his weathered face befitting a professional soldier.

"Open your eyes, you idiots, those eyes that've been ruined by cheap beer!"

Robard's voice boomed like a muffled thunderclap at the manor's gate.

"Look at the quality of these horses, look at the emblems on this armor! Do you think any vagrant could afford such fine armor? What bandit could ride a priceless warhorse?"

He swung his hand sharply, his armor clanging with a chilling sound: "Go tell your master, old Master Semi! Tell him that young lord Hans Capon of Rattay has come to pay his respects to his family! Tell him to open the gates immediately, if he doesn't want his distinguished guest to be left out in the cold!"

The guards were stunned by the harsh reprimand.

By the light of the torches, they hurriedly looked at the group of people in front of them.

The magnificent, well-built horses, the exquisite armor clearly not something an ordinary person could afford under the firelight, and the young nobleman at the head, Hans Capon, who, despite looking young, was clearly impatient, all rolled his eyes in a fitting manner.

This overwhelming aura of wealth and status cannot be faked.

"Young Master Kapong of La-ratai?"

The leading guard swallowed hard, his attitude instantly undergoing a complete 180-degree turn.

He sheathed his halberd, hastily removed his helmet, revealing a face covered in cold sweat. His bowing was as servile as a frightened quail: "Please—please wait a moment, gentlemen! I was blind—I'll go and report right away! Right away!"

After saying that, he scrambled through the side door and even lost a shoe in the process.

The crowd didn't have to wait long in the cold wind; the heavy oak door finally opened slowly to both sides.

A large group of servants and guards carrying torches poured out, illuminating the originally dim courtyard as if it were daytime.

As the crowd parted, the head of the Semi family finally stood in the firelight.

This old man, who has been rooted in this land all his life, looks like an old oak tree that, despite its cracked bark, still stands stubbornly upright.

Although his hair and beard were completely white, like winter frost and snow, his broad shoulders were still visible beneath his somewhat faded velvet robe.

The thick calluses on his hands proved that even at this age, the old knight was still capable of wielding a sharp blade and beheading any bandit who dared to invade his territory.

However, deep within those still sharp eyes, there lingering shadows.

That's anxiety.

Clearly, in order to prepare for their son's upcoming wedding and to maintain the last vestiges of dignity for the ancient family, the Semi family's treasury was probably already so empty that rats could starve to death.

"I am Jan Semih."

Old Semih scrutinized Hans Capon on horseback, maintaining politeness but not entirely letting his guard down.

"On this night when wolves roam, what brings you, young master Kapong of Rattay, here?"

Hans Capon straightened his back on horseback.

Although this young master was usually a playboy, in this formal social setting, his innate aristocratic manners allowed him to instantly switch into character.

He bowed slightly, his movements impeccably elegant, a perfectly measured, upper-class smile on his face: "Lord Semi, please forgive our intrusion. However, in these terrible times of war, the joyous news of the Semi family's upcoming wedding has arrived. It's like a ray of sunshine breaking through a cloud-covered sky, impossible to ignore."

"As neighbors, we didn't want to miss out on this joyous occasion. So, I brought a small gift to personally congratulate your son and his happy bride."

Upon hearing the words "wedding" and "congratulations," old Sammy's tense lips seemed to relax slightly, but the worry in his eyes did not dissipate; instead, it became even more complicated upon hearing the word "gift."

In this era where everyone would rather split a Grossen in half to make money, a gift from a distant lord often means an insurmountable debt of gratitude.

Just then, Henry, who was behind Capone, moved.

The former blacksmith's son dismounted with swift and steady movements.

He held a drawstring purse made of fine tanned deerskin in both hands. Although the purse looked only the size of a palm, it felt heavy in Henry's hands.

Henry neither handed it to the butler who was reaching out his hand, nor to the guards who were staring blankly at the bag.

He walked straight up to old Semi in full view of everyone.

"Lord Sammy."

Henry held up the deerskin bag with both hands and presented it to the old man, his voice filled with an irresistible sincerity: "This is a small token of Young Master Capone's appreciation, to add a touch of sweetness to the newlyweds' mead."

Old Semi reached out his hand, covered in age spots and calluses, and took the deerskin bag from Henry.

The moment the bag landed in his palm, the old knight's eyebrows twitched violently.

The unexpected weight made him subconsciously straighten his slightly hunched back.

With a hint of confusion, and perhaps a hint of expectation that even he himself was unwilling to admit, old Semi's somewhat stiff fingers untied the leather drawstring tightly binding the bag.

By the light of the torch held aloft by the servant, a flickering orange-red flame pierced deep into the bag's opening, illuminating the secret that lay dormant inside.

The old man's pupils contracted to the size of pinpoints in that instant.

Lying beneath that soft deerskin were several irregularly shaped, gray-black rocks. They looked rough and ugly, but they were actually pure treasure buried deep beneath the Skaritz earth for thousands of years—a high-grade silver mine.

As a nobleman who had lived on this land for most of his life, old Semir knew all too well the significance of this thing.

This was just a small bag, but it was enough for anyone familiar with ore to realize that if it were put into a crucible, the silver it could be exchanged for would not be a small amount like a few Grossens, but a fortune enough to fill the gap in a wedding and even move a minor lord.

Old Semih slammed the bag shut, as if afraid the light inside would scorch the greedy eyes around him.

He raised his head, his once cloudy eyes now unusually sharp, staring intently at Hans Capon, who sat calmly on horseback.

Shock, confusion, and a profound sense of absurdity washed over the old man's reason like a tidal wave.

This person's name was definitely not among the invitations he sent out.

But now, this young master, whom we've never met before, has not only appeared like a ghost in this cold night, but has also casually tossed out a generous gift that would move any baron.

Old Semi's fingers gripped the heavy bag tightly, his knuckles turning slightly white from the force.

In the end, all the suspicions turned into a very complex sigh. Whether the other party was an angel or a devil, at least for this moment, he held real wealth in his hands.

The old man took a deep breath and bowed deeply to Hans on horseback.

This time, he bowed much lower than before, a sign of genuine awe for wealth and power.

"Young Master Capone—your generosity is like a summer downpour, catching even this old body of mine off guard."

In the past, in the warm bathhouse of Rattay or at a noisy banquet, Hans Capon would have raised his chin like a proud peacock in the face of such heartfelt gratitude and praise.

He would accept all of this as a matter of course, and might even casually utter a few fancy words he had learned from bards to highlight the nobility and generosity of the Capon family.

But at this moment, in the cold night wind of Troski, old Semina's back, trembling slightly with excitement, made Han...

Si felt as if the saddle under his buttocks had thorns growing on it, making him extremely uncomfortable.

The gaze that usually evokes the image of a distinguished guest now felt more unbearable than the cheapest sour wine.

Hans subconsciously pursed his dry lips, his eyes involuntarily glancing behind him.

There, the true VIP—Zieg of Gerlitz—sat quietly on horseback behind him, like a dutiful valet.

That heavy bag of silver ore was brought out by Zieg from the mines of Skaritz:

This seemingly absurd yet incisive visit was orchestrated by Zieg.

Even the current glory of "Young Master Ratai" is nothing more than borrowing Zieg's brilliance.

"Damn it—"

Hans cursed under his breath, both for the awkward situation and for his own uneasy state of mind.

He suppressed the shame that welled up inside him, a feeling of having stolen someone else's armor, and forced a stiff smile as he nodded to old Semi. "Lord Semi, you flatter me. Rattay is never stingy with his friends. But the night wind is indeed a bit biting. I think we could find a warmer place to talk?"