The nobles of the Golden Valley Kingdom would naturally not stay at the Sea Pearl Hall like King Morne, but their accommodations were by no means shabby.

It was a luxurious inn near the port named Fog Island.

As a private inn, there were no Guards stationed at the entrance, so Roland walked through the main doors with ease.

Just as he was about to ask a lobby attendant about Dalko’s whereabouts, a fierce argument suddenly erupted from upstairs.

"Hmph! You country bumpkin from Black Water Territory, where’s your father?"

"To actually send a greenhorn who hasn’t even inherited his title to have an audience with His Majesty Morne, it seems that old codger Fosling doesn’t respect His Majesty in the slightest!"

"Don’t you insult my father!"

Hearing the familiar voice, Roland gave the attendant a nod of thanks before quickly ascending the stairs.

On the second-floor corridor, a haggard Dalko was facing off against a middle-aged man with a handlebar mustache, dressed in luxurious silk robes.

The middle-aged man held his head high, sneering as he watched Dalko’s trembling hand move toward his sword hilt.

"What, the country bumpkin wants to start something?"

The middle-aged man taunted, deliberately emphasizing the insult with every syllable.

The relentless humiliation and slander against his father finally shattered the composure Dalko had been struggling to maintain for days.

Just as he was about to draw his sword, a broad, powerful hand gripped his wrist firmly.

Dalko instinctively struggled, but he couldn’t break free from the vise-like grip. Burning with rage, he whipped his head around.

But the moment he saw the newcomer’s face, the fury in his eyes receded like a tide, replaced by incredulous joy.

"Roland..."

His voice trembled slightly.

"Calm down, Dalko."

Roland replied in a low voice, steadily pushing the Iron Sword—already drawn half an inch—back into its sheath.

"Ha!"

Seeing Roland’s plain attire, the middle-aged man raised an eyebrow, his tone dripping with mockery.

"What’s this? Our little young master from Black Water Territory now takes orders from a ser—?"

"That is enough, Marshall... COUGH, COUGH, COUGH..."

A hoarse voice suddenly cut him off.

Looking toward the source of the voice, they saw an old man with a stooped back and sparse, gray-white hair approaching slowly.

He tapped his cane firmly on the floor, and the tense, hostile atmosphere in the corridor immediately stalled.

"We are here for an audience with His Majesty Morne, not to indulge in a war of words. Am I not right?"

"Hmph!"

Hearing the old man’s unhurried words, Marshall gave a cold snort, flicked his sleeves, and turned to enter a room nearby.

With his departure, the once-crowded corridor suddenly felt much more spacious.

As for Dalko, he managed to force a smile upon seeing the old man.

"Uncle Gavin..."

Roland’s brow twitched at the name.

The barren and chaotic lands of Chenxi Territory had left a deep impression on him.

However, looking at the man’s warm smile, he found it difficult to reconcile the person before him with the tyrannical Lord people spoke of.

"Don’t lower yourself to their level, child."

Baron Gavin coughed a few more times and gently patted Dalko’s shoulder.

"Remember, the moment you left Black Water Territory, you began representing the Collins family. Don’t bring shame upon your father, understand?"

"I understand, Uncle Gavin..."

Dalko’s emotions gradually calmed down. After bowing respectfully, he seemed to remember something and suddenly asked,

"By the way, Uncle Gavin, where is Mason? Didn’t he come with you?"

Roland, who had been silent all this time, keenly observed that the moment the name Mason was mentioned, the smile on Baron Gavin’s face stiffened, and the corner of his mouth twitched unnaturally.

But in a flash, the odd expression vanished without a trace, so quickly that one might have thought it an illusion.

"Ah, that boy..."

Baron Gavin shook his head helplessly.

"Like you, he’ll be heading to the Knight Academy soon for further studies. He’s busy honing his skills right now. I wanted to bring him along, but the boy is very stubborn..."

"Hahaha, that’s Mason for you..."

Dalko laughed in agreement.

After exchanging a few more pleasantries, they parted amicably.

Roland followed Dalko into his room, the wooden door closing softly behind them.

"Roland, I can’t believe you’re still here."

The young nobleman’s weary voice held an unmistakable note of pleasant surprise.

"I thought you’d be on your way back to the manor by now..."

Seeing the forced smile on his friend’s face, Roland didn’t respond immediately.

He cautiously glanced around, and only after confirming they were alone did he softly lock the door.

As he turned back, the question was already on his lips.

"What on earth happened? Why are you the one here for an audience with His Majesty King Morne?"

"My father was attacked."

Dalko’s voice suddenly grew hoarse, as if it had been scraped with rough sandpaper.

He slumped dejectedly into a wooden chair, his fingers unconsciously tracing the engravings on his sword hilt.

"It happened that night... around the same time we were attacked..."

This was what Roland had predicted, so he wasn’t surprised. He simply pursed his lips and pressed on.

"And then?"

"My father and his Guards managed to break through the encirclement. He returned with them not long after you left the manor, but..."

Dalko’s unfocused gaze drifted aimlessly out the window, his pupils dilated.

Seeing the sudden grief that appeared in his eyes, Roland couldn’t help but frown.

’Even with that strange giant,’ Roland thought, ’that mob shouldn’t have been a match for Baron Fosling and his elite Guards.’

But judging by Dalko’s expression...

"Dalko..."

Roland’s voice softened unconsciously.

"Lord Baron Fosling... is he...?"

Seeing the unspoken question on Roland’s face, Dalko immediately realized his mistake and quickly shook his head.

"My father’s life isn’t in danger, but... he’s been unconscious this whole time. Before I left, there was still no sign of him waking up."

At these words, Roland breathed a silent sigh of relief.

’From a practical standpoint, the stability of Black Water Territory is crucial, as the manor is my main base for improving my strength. On a personal level, I don’t want to see my friend suffer the pain of losing his father.’

With that thought, Roland stepped forward and gently patted Dalko’s shoulder.

"Try not to worry too much. Since his life isn’t in danger, with Lord Baron Fosling’s Constitution, he should be able to recover quickly..."

"It’s not that simple..."

Roland’s comforting words didn’t ease Dalko’s mind. He shook his head helplessly, his knuckles white as he clenched his fists.

"Aside from a few minor scrapes, my father has no fatal wounds. But none of the physicians can determine the reason for his coma. And what’s more..."

As Dalko slowly described Baron Fosling’s condition, Roland found himself unconsciously stroking his smooth chin.

’Having recently taken a Spirit Summoning Potion myself, I can’t help but connect this abnormal condition to some kind of damage to his Spirit.’

After a moment of contemplation, Roland asked cautiously.

"This condition... have you had Mr. Bronson take a look?"

"Mr. Bronson?"

Dalko was clearly taken aback by the name, a look of confusion on his face.

In his mind, while the scholar was profoundly knowledgeable, he didn’t seem to have anything to do with the healing arts.

But Roland’s words seemed to jog Dalko’s memory. His eyes lit up, and he slapped his forehead.

"Wait!"

With that, he strode to the bed and retrieved an object wrapped in linen from beneath the pillow.

The bundle landed on the wooden table with a dull thud.

Dalko spoke as he untied the bindings.

"Before Mr. Bronson left, he specifically told me that if I ran into you in Distant Harbor, I was to give this to you..."

As the layers of linen were unwrapped, the object within was finally revealed.

It was a piece of white bone with an ivory-like luster, its surface densely carved with complex and mysterious patterns.

Under the sunlight, the lines glittered with a faint, flickering light.