Chapter 79: Father's Teachings

  Clovis went home.

  If there was any place in the world he truly disliked and was unwilling to stay, this was definitely one of them.

  The gates of the Marquis's mansion were gloomy, stained and scarred by the passage of time. The scene seemed even more shabby than when he last returned. Clovis walked into this home, which was a completely different world from the Duke's magnificent, grand, and resplendent mansion, feeling extreme disgust. Ever since he started following Duke Mrak three years ago, he had grown to loathe this place more and more.

  But he had no choice but to return once. Even someone as profound and wise as Duke Mrak, or as discerning as Commander Roland, would find it beyond their power to extract any clues or discern any meaning from a few strands of thread from a woman's dress. The capable are not necessarily omnipotent; a general may not know how to butcher a pig, a politician certainly doesn't understand how bread ferments, and trivial matters require seeking out those adept at handling them.

  The more intelligent, accurate, and experienced a person was, the more they could discover from those few threads. Therefore, Clovis now needed a master of the boudoir, a man who understood women better than women themselves. He naturally knew where to find such a person. Although he disliked this person intensely, for the sake of his mission and duty, he came.

  Clovis met his father in the living room. He wore a stern expression but still performed the proper greeting due a noble: "Father. I come to pay my respects."

  The Marquis seemed somewhat surprised by his son's sudden appearance, but his smiling words still made Clovis feel uncomfortable: "No need for formalities. Let's spare each other the pleasantries, shall we? Your face clearly says two words: disgust."

  Even facing his own son, the Marquis remained unfettered and casual, pulling over a chair for Clovis. "I should have left long ago. My friends have urged me many times. But some unexpected matters arose here, so I stayed to handle them. Before I leave, I was actually thinking of having a talk with you about some things. However, I imagine whatever brought you back to find me must be quite serious, so you should speak first."

  Although such direct speech irritated Clovis, it undoubtedly saved a lot of tedious pleasantries and wasted time. He sat down. The redwood chair had no velvet cushion, and it retained the same worn-out feel from his childhood memories. And this house, the floor, everything here, like the man before him whom he was forced to respect, exuded an air of decay and decline – this lack of ambition and self-indulgent decline was what he hated most, the shadow of his childhood.

  Father and son sat facing each other. Similar faces, but the father's was always casual and indolent, while the son's was stern, gloomy, even a bit murderous.

  Emotions were emotions, work was work. Clovis carefully took out a small packet from his robe, opened it, and produced the few strands of thread.

  "Father," Clovis struggled to force out the word that felt extremely awkward. "Please take a look and see if you can discern anything from these threads."

  "A woman's dress," the Marquis smiled, barely glancing at them, as if he knew by instinct alone. For the first time, Clovis felt a glimmer of hope for this father.

  The Marquis's fingers were slender, his skin smooth, appearing younger than his son's. He picked up the strands of thread, rubbing them gently between his fingers. A faint smile touched his lips, instantly understanding the background of these small things completely. "Silk produced in Tatalia in the West. Mid-grade quality. Over twenty years ago, before the western trade routes were opened, this was considered high-end goods. The colors are gorgeous, and crucially, rarity made it valuable. Noblewomen back then took pride in owning a dress made from such fabric."

  "Can you tell what kind of person wore the dress?"

  He had originally meant to ask if the range could be narrowed down further. But the moment the words left his mouth, even Clovis himself felt it was nonsense. Trying to determine the original owner of the dress from these few threads would likely be impossible even for a legendary master of prophecy magic.

  But the Marquis didn't disappoint his son. His calm, effortless demeanor was utterly beyond the reach of any musty, old mage; it was akin to Duke Mrak discussing power and strategy, or Commander Roland speaking of the sword – not merely an expert, but transcendent.

  "In recent years, with the flourishing trade between the West and here, the price of this has dropped significantly. True nobles wouldn't wear something so passé anymore. But making a dress from it would still cost several silver coins, so it wouldn't be worn by the poor. Wanting to use this outdated elegance to elevate one's status, while also wearing both pink and bright red – the wearer's personality is glaringly obvious: frivolous and shallow, practically shouting for others to look at her. Faint traces of perfume still cling to these threads, visible even to the naked eye. She must use 'Dunes' very heavily. It's not a cheap perfume, but it absolutely shouldn't be used like that." The Marquis lifted the strands to his nose, sniffed lightly, sighed, and concluded. "This woman is young, flirtatious, probably has some looks. Not poor, but absolutely far removed from noble status or taste."

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  "Young... flirtatious... not poor, not noble..." Barely recovering from his astonishment at his father's deductions, Clovis repeated these traits, filtering everything he knew about Ethan through his mind. Finally, he settled on a small rumor. "Could it be... a prostitute?"

  "Yes. That prostitute." The Marquis smiled, confirming his son's deduction.

  Clovis froze for a moment, immediately sensing something very strange about that statement. But he couldn't pinpoint what was strange, or rather, from any angle or possibility, this person shouldn't have been able to say such a thing.

  "Alright, the important official business is done. Let's set these trivial matters aside for now and talk about the issues between us father and son." The Marquis looked warmly at Clovis, showing a father's kindness to his son.

  "I'm sorry, I have work to do," Clovis replied coldly, rising to leave. He always rejected any display of warmth, feeling it weakened one's will and fighting spirit. Especially warmth expressed by this man; he found it as repulsive as a dead rat in a garbage dump.

  The Marquis gestured with his hand, saying calmly, "Sit down. It won't hurt to wait a little longer. That prostitute isn't in the capital, but she absolutely couldn't have gone far. She should be easy for you to capture."

  Clovis slowly sat back down, but certainly not out of obedience. His face was filled with astonishment as he looked at his father as if he were an unimaginable monster.

  "I'm leaving very soon. There are probably many matters waiting for me to handle, and I don't know how long I'll be delayed. I don't know when I'll return next time. Before that, I think it's necessary for us father and son to have a proper talk." The Marquis revealed a slightly awkward, wry smile. "From your birth until now, it seems we've never really had a good talk, have we?"

  "I know you've never liked me much as a father. I understand. I truly was an incompetent father, only concerned with my own indulgences, abandoning my entire family, loved ones, and your mother. As the head of the household, I completely ignored its affairs, causing you to suffer连带 consequences, growing up subjected to disdain within the family and enduring many grievances. The reason you're so competitive, so obsessed with fame and fortune, is largely because of this, isn't it? That was my responsibility."

  No amount of curiosity could suppress the anger and impatience welling up from the depths of his soul. Clovis abruptly stood up.

  "Sit down." The Marquis glanced at him, his voice not loud, just carrying a hint of paternal authority.

  Clovis immediately sat down with a thud. Like the most obedient child.

  After sitting down, Clovis's first reaction was bewilderment. He knew he absolutely didn't want to sit, absolutely couldn't sit to show submission. But it seemed unrelated to his thoughts; it was his body's direct reaction.

  Realizing this, his shock and disbelief only grew. As a warrior, he knew this kind of physical reaction usually only occurred between two people with a vast difference in power, where one's aura could completely envelop and suppress the other, like a tiger paralyzing a rabbit with just its scent. But the man before him was merely a dissolute bon vivant with no strength to bind a chicken, at most knowing a little magic. If he wanted, he could draw his sword and behead him instantly. Yet Clovis stared at his father's familiar face, straining to find something unfamiliar in it.

  But the Marquis still wore his usual expression of casual indolence. He looked at his son, his gaze tinged with a slight heartache as he continued: "You're still too young, yet you've been too deeply bewitched by the murky things of this mortal world. Power, fame, fortune – do you truly understand what these are? Do you truly need these things? Do you understand how this world works? You don't. The world in your eyes is one given to you by others. Others envy power, fight for status and money, and you follow suit, even coming to believe in it. Everything you do is merely to make others worship you, affirm you. You live for others. Life is fleeting, how can one squander it on such trivialities?"

  "Precisely because life in this world is so fleeting, one must not waste it on frivolous matters like romance and inexplicable things. One must establish immortal achievements, make this world, this history, every person under heaven remember your name!" Clovis suddenly glared at Marquis, retorting vehemently.

  This was the first time in his life he had spoken his mind to his father. Before this, he felt it unnecessary to say such things to a man indulging in wine and women, a good-for-nothing who refused to improve. He disdained it, believing the other would surely be incapable of understanding his grand ambitions, just as maggots writhing in dung cannot comprehend the greatness of an eagle surveying all living beings. But now he had to speak. Because he vaguely sensed that this father he had always despised might not be the man he thought him to be; something emanating from him seemed to truly qualify him to disdain the faith Clovis held sacred. Now, this was less a confession than a defense of his own values.

  The Marquis looked at Clovis and smiled, as if helplessly at a child insisting on going out to play. He shook his head and said, "There's no need to argue with me. The value of life is never found in debate. Do whatever you want to do. Go ahead, throw yourself into your beliefs with all your might, see what you ultimately gain."

  "The harder you strive, the higher you climb. The higher you climb, the harder you fall. And the harder you fall, the more awake you become." The Marquis's smile deepened, a strange light beginning to flicker in his eyes. "After you awaken, I will take you to see the true, real world. I've even made preparations for you. By the way, you haven't practiced magic, have you?"

  "No..." Clovis shook his head. Although learning magic would be simple for him, he hadn't. His master, Commander Roland, had said one must choose between the sword and magic. There are no true masters who excel at everything. Only by dedicating everything, tempering all spirit and soul into the craft, can one reach the pinnacle.

  "That's good." The Marquis nodded, taking a book from his robe and handing it to Clovis. "This book should be very useful to you. Find time to practice what's in it. Heh, I was recently inspired by a... friend, I suppose, and realized that what's inside should be meant for those who haven't practiced magic. No wonder so many mages died studying it before. Who would have thought the notes left by the greatest mage would actually contradict magic itself."

  "Remember, never lose this book, and don't let anyone else see it. This is a book that will guide you onto the path of truth. You must practice diligently and treat it well. Understand?" As the Marquis spoke, a small but dazzling light seemed to flash in his eyes. Clovis stared, transfixed, and answered, "Yes." Unconsciously, his consciousness fell into a strange haze. His father's words seemed to become muddled the moment he heard them, hard to recall clearly, yet they also seemed branded deep into the core of his mind.

  "Alright." The Marquis sighed deeply, stood up, and clapped his hands. "Go attend to your business. I should be leaving too; matters over there are waiting for me."

  It wasn't until long after the Marquis's figure disappeared down the corridor that Clovis suddenly snapped back to full awareness.

  Thinking that he had actually wasted precious time talking nonsense with this person he had originally despised so intensely, Clovis felt it was a complete waste. But the conversation had also given him a very strange feeling. He waved the book in his hand, about to toss it aside casually, but a sense of unease suddenly welled up from a corner of his heart. So he carefully tucked it inside his robe instead.

  He took a deep breath, deciding not to let these inexplicable events disrupt his focus any longer. He needed to concentrate his energy on the proper task. He walked out, heading towards the Royal Capital Guards' command post.

  "That's how it is. This matter must be kept absolutely secret. Understand?" Clovis found the commander of the Royal Capital Guards, told him the details of the search, and added with a stern expression and polite tone: "I apologize for the trouble. Handle it as quickly as possible."

  "Not at all. As fast as possible, definitely as fast as possible." The commander nodded repeatedly. In terms of rank, Clovis had no authority to mobilize the Guards, but he had immense backing: he was a captain of the Paladin Order, the Duke Mrak's son-in-law, etc. These titles all strongly indicated that even if it was troublesome, it had to be tackled with the enthusiasm of picking up a bargain.

  Leveraging their local advantage, the Royal Capital Guards spent just half a day questioning other prostitutes and learned the target's situation and whereabouts. With large forces scattered and riding fast, by the next morning, this crucial witness was locked in a cell in the Guards' barracks.