"Finally, I'm back, cough cough..."
As the dusk spread across the sky like molten lead, Steven, riding a poor horse bought at a high price from a caravan, finally saw the outline of the ancestral residence of the Burns Clan after a jarring month-long journey home.
The family crest on the iron gate was so rusted it no longer showed its former glory, leaving only a few twisted iron bars stubbornly upholding the dignity of the Burns.
"Tsk, damned dignity."
When he arrived at the manor, no one came to greet him, nor did anyone notice him.
Nowadays, the Burns Clan no longer had the capacity to hire guards to watch the gates—after all, there was nothing worth stealing anymore.
Steven dismounted, reached to push the gate, and found that his fingers were still embedded with moss from the Misty Mountains.
He paused, then raised his hand to his collar, touched the token given by that lord, and finally felt at ease.
"Thanks to that lord, I was able to return here by a stroke of luck."
