Uninvited Guests

The sun's orange glow radiated through the horizon, bringing a peaceful feeling to the two youths still immersed in tilling the vast farmland. 

"Whew, I think that's all for today!" Yuri wiped off the sweat dripping from his forehead.

On the other side, Dren had lain on the ground for so long, cursing at Yuri's godlike endurance and wondering whether this guy would ever feel tired.

"I swung my hoe just like you, yet why do I feel like hitting stone?" he complained. No matter how much strength he gathered, it was not as forceful and deep compared to Yuri's.

"Maybe because it knows it will be taken good care of by my hands," Yuri chuckled softly.

"Oh, sure, and I'm here to feed the worms?" Dren rolled his eyes.

Still smirking, Yuri offered a hand and pulled Dren up from the ground. 

As they returned to the manor, a hunched old man was standing on the side of the paved dirt road. 

His slithering eyes captured every moment from when Yuri and Dren tilled the land from noon to their rapid, unfinished progress near dusk, watching everything in silence. 

Even the workers on the other side couldn't help but glance over at Yuri from time to time.

'That young lad… already finished the west line.'

The old butler stood still, the breeze tugging at his cloak. For a moment, he questioned his senses. Were his eyes tricking him? Had age caught up and dulled his vision?

It didn't, and the land in front of him was the answer; freshly split and neatly turned, offering no room for doubt.

When he glanced at the others, only a frowning expression formed on his wrinkled face. 

'What a bunch of wastes…'

He sighed after staring for a while.

'I fear that what the nobles await… are already unfolding,' his eyes narrowed, 'But this must not be known…'

A flicker passed through his right eye. However, years of discipline numbed the reaction and smoothed the ripple in his heart.

He breathed, adjusted his posture, and smiled.

"Little Dren, I see that you and your friend have made great progress."

Dren chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck, "Yuri did most of the work, Old Lowe. If you say it like that, I'll feel bad."

"Don't belittle yourself," Lowe shook his head before reaching into his coat and producing two small pouches. Metallic clinks echoed as they landed in each of the boys' hands.

Yuri weighed the small pouch and thought it was heavier than he expected. When he opened it, he was dumbfounded to see a silver piece and 50 coppers. He raised his head to inquire, but Lowe beat him to it.

"Consider it to be Mr. Hans' appreciation for your hard work," the old butler said smoothly. He gave them both a firm pat on the shoulders.

Dren peeked at the small pouch he had received, counting around 20 coppers, which excited him.

"Yuri, we're rich!" he laughed, twirling the pouch like a hard-earned trophy.

Yuri's smile stiffened, "Yeah…"

Lowe glanced at Yuri, catching the meaning behind his expression. He didn't dwell on it and stepped back, bowing to them, "Dinner will be prepared shortly. Please rest well, you've earned it."

Lowe turned around and walked back toward the manor, leading the youngsters into their resting spots. Yuri stared back at the small pouch in his hand, feeling the weight to be deeper than he had imagined.

A few minutes later, the rest of the farm workers also followed them inside, though their expressions weren't as joyful as the two youngsters.

With a few guards stationed around, nobody dared to make trouble.

They all spent the evening at Hans's manor. The large wooden table spanning 5 meters in length filled half of it with various dishes that watered the eyes of the two.

Dren looked like he hadn't eaten for ages, ruthlessly picking out the most delicious of them.

Yuri maintained his composure and ate slowly, observing the large and sparse manor. 

He could feel the tension building among the guards, who were clad in full armor. The maids were aplenty yet seeking every moment to hurry.

Something about Hans's manor was hollow. Or maybe about the world surrounding it.

Decorated and lavish, but defensive and prepared for something.

When he finally returned home and watched the horse cart fade from his view, Yuri felt that something about that entire plot of land was at play.

The nobility? Possibly. 

Their presence in Uncle Dren's store was no less coincidental. An unknown motive with an implied call.

Hunches? He had plenty, but none could confirm his suspicions.

His thoughts swirled, refusing to rest. So instead, he rose and grabbed the stick from yesterday.

With a slow breath, he began swinging not blindly, but with intention.

The thudding of the hoe echoed within, and the precise strikes that split the earth beneath it flashed through his eyes.

Each swing in the air had a resemblance of that distant memory.

His body moved, correcting itself with each hum. 

No one taught him in the process. All in the ghost of his own labor, endlessly replaying in motion.

His body remembered what his mind could not.

The strikes.

The rhythm.

The strength.

The posture.

When midnight arrived, the hoe on his mind was gone. Yet on his hands, now bruised and calloused, lay the marks of a knight, novice yet practiced.

At that point, something on his mind buzzed. Yuri felt he had earned a skill through sweat and repetition.

Though no voice said it, nor a system panel confirming it, his bones and muscles etched it into their core.

As the rhythm vanished, the wave of drowsiness flooded over him. His loud snores drifted into the night, carried by the breeze toward a silent onlooker.

"Interesting," the voice murmured, its eyes locked on the stables not far away.

A group of three farmhands murmured in the darkness. One of them, a thick-necked man with arms like logs, spat on the ground.

"That brat's making us look bad. You saw how Hans watched him today?"

"He's getting silver at the start, while we keep on plowing with coppers."

"This boy needs a reminder he's not some noble's pet!"

They moved through the shadows, avoiding the sparse patrolling guards, until they arrived in front of Yuri's home.

Inside, Yuri's breath came heavy from exhaustion, but the sudden subtle scuff of leather boots outside snapped his eyes open.

His ears heightened his senses, feeling the faint gasps of breath.

'Trouble,' he cursed, brows furrowed.

His body hadn't rested fully, but the stick he had practiced with all night was within his arm's reach. He frowned and thought it was too light. If the intruder were a little more muscular, they wouldn't even feel a thing.

With careful movement, he got out from his old wooden bed and retrieved a shovel from the corner without a sound.

At that moment, the door slowly opened, followed by a foot. As the man's face went forward, Yuri instantly swung the shovel straight into it and hit the first intruder's nose. 

He stumbled upon being hit before Yuri swung again and hit the wrist, sending the small knife flying.

The second intruder immediately grabbed his accomplice and threw him to the side. Just as he wanted to shout and curse at Yuri, the latter's spade was already upon his thigh. The rusting edge pierced through the soft fabric and skin, making him whimper and lose balance.

As the last one backed away, Yuri glared at him with ferocious eyes. 

"Who are you?!" he shouted.

"I-!"

"Who's making a ruckus over there?!" 

A few guards ran over as soon as they heard Yuri's shout, lighting up the darkness with their glowing torches. 

The three of them instantly frowned upon seeing the two grown men whimpering on the ground. They immediately understood that these thugs were here to deal with Yuri today. Luckily, the young brat chanced upon the guards reacting quickly.

"Enough!" the leading guard said flatly, gesturing to his subordinates, "Take them all."

The men tried to speak, but the guards weren't interested. Rough hands grabbed their wounded bodies as they were dragged away into the night.

The leading guard took a look at Yuri's petite figure with narrowed eyes, memorizing his figure as he followed his subordinates on the way back.

Meanwhile, the onlooker from afar witnessed everything. 

"It seems this young lad isn't as simple as he seems. No wonder the lord has taken a liking to him."

The voice drifted together with the breeze. 

The figure and its shadow vanished deep into the hills, resurfacing on the walls of Hans's large manor. It emerged from the darkness, revealing an old butler, Lowe, with his hands behind him, walking towards the interior. 

He stopped in front of a wooden door and knocked three times.

"Come in," replied someone on the other side.

Lowe went inside and bowed, "Master, it has been done."

"What about that kid?"

"Very talented, we can recruit him into the manor if you like."

Hans raised his eyebrows, curious about Lowe's evaluation of Yuri.

"Just how talented is he?"

"He managed to perform regular sword strikes with a long wooden stick after a few minutes of randomly swinging." Lowe's eyes narrowed, hinting at Hans. "And fend off three adults with just a shovel."

"Is that so?" Hans murmured, contemplating something. "Give it a few days. If he continues to improve, find a way to bring him in. It's time for our manor to strike back."

"As you wish, master," Lowe bowed and left, closing the door behind him.

Meanwhile, Hans turned back to his wooden desk, looking at the pile of papers filled with reports about the current events. 

"It seems that calamity is bound to come in three years or so. We don't have much time."

He left a long sigh, glancing at the dark, empty sky outside his window.