Caesar didn't respond further. He tried to avoid the subject for the rest of the walk. Deep inside, he wasn't sure if Robin even knew about his blood siblings' existence—those brothers and sisters scattered across the family, some of them eager to meet him, others bitter about his legend. But he was sure of one thing: even if Robin knew, he wouldn't care.
It wasn't that Robin was heartless, but his ambition and worldview made him a practical man above all else. To him, siblings were just other lives in a vast ocean of existence. He wouldn't favor them for blood, nor would he belittle them. They were simply… people.
And so Caesar chose silence, instead turning his attention to exploring Dolivar's capital with John. Though Caesar had toured much of the Black Sun Kingdom in recent months, he had never crossed its borders before. Nor had John.
Entering another kingdom was no simple matter, especially for nobles. Permissions had to be secured from both kingdoms; every movement recorded. Otherwise, one was treated as a spy—or worse, a traitor.
The day passed quickly. The two of them roamed through bustling markets and famous districts, not simply for sightseeing but to broaden their horizons, absorbing the customs and traditions of a foreign land. By the time the sun dipped low, both had enjoyed themselves more than they expected.
Just before dusk, John suggested they visit the city's most renowned restaurant. Caesar raised a brow—he hardly needed food anymore at his level, and could go days without eating. But John insisted, reasoning that since they were here, they ought to at least try Dolivar's famed dishes.
Within minutes, after asking for directions, they found themselves standing before a grand building, several stories tall, painted with bright colors and glowing lanterns. It exuded wealth and reputation. With the confidence of men carrying plenty of coin, they went straight to the top floor.
Once seated, John ordered nearly everything on the menu. Men of their cultivation could consume vast amounts, and soon the plates were stripped bare, not even a bone left. John leaned back, rubbing his stomach with satisfaction. "Hahaha! As expected from Dolivar's most famous restaurant—every dish was perfect! Waitress, bring the bill!"
A young woman in a uniform approached with a bow. "We're glad you enjoyed your meal, sirs. Please visit again. Your account totals seven hundred and thirty-four gold coins and sixty silvers."
"Wh-what?!" John nearly choked. "Are you sure, girl? That was just food, not a treasure hoard!"
She smiled nervously. "I'm not mistaken, sir. You ordered dishes prepared with high-quality beast meats and refined oils. Once digestion begins, your body will grow slightly stronger and more flexible. Such benefits make the cuisine… a bit expensive."
John's face went pale. That amount could buy a weapon forged by a renowned blacksmith! He cursed himself for ordering blindly, but the price was outrageous all the same.
Caesar waved calmly. "No problem, Uncle John. Miss, we didn't bring much coin with us—we're only walking around. Please send the bill to the Burton family's residence. We are official guests of the kingdom for the tournament." He produced his identity card.
The waitress exhaled in relief. "Of course, young master. Just a signature here will suffice."
But as Caesar reached for the pen—
"Hahahaha!" A loud, mocking laugh boomed across the hall. "And I was wondering which beggar dared disturb our good atmosphere. Turns out it's the Burton trash! Go on, sign the bill and have your daddy pay for you—I bet he'll beat you when you get home!"
The laughter came from a large table nearby, crowded with dozens of finely dressed youths. At the head sat a young man radiating authority and arrogance. The insult had come from one of those at his side: a sharp-featured boy in polished armor, a girl draped on his lap, both of them sneering down at Caesar.
Caesar froze mid-signature, then slowly raised his gaze. His voice was calm, quiet, but it carried like steel. "And who are you supposed to be?"
The armored youth snorted. "Hmph. So it's true—you're Caesar, the so-called genius of the Burtons. Ninth level, right?" His tone dripped with disgust.
"That's right," Caesar replied evenly. "And…?"
"And you don't deserve the honor of even being here! You don't deserve to stand in our kingdom, let alone our tournament. I don't know what madness the Black Sun King was under when he nominated a mere earl's spawn to compete with dukes' sons and royal princes. Tsk, tsk~ pathetic. I actually pity your kingdom, scraping the bottom of the barrel until they found a clown to send."
He burst out laughing, and the whole table joined him. Even the youth at the head gave a faint smile.
Whispers spread quickly. Caesar's presence was strange. Long-distance communication was unreliable, and little news of him had crossed into Dolivar. But everyone knew one thing: never before in the tournament's history had a kingdom brought an earl's son, and one not even at level ten!
Some thought it an insult from the Black Sun King. Others, proof the kingdom had truly fallen behind. Either way, Caesar's mere presence was like a thorn in their eyes.
"Oh? You talk so much nonsense, yet you still don't dare tell me your name," Caesar said with a low chuckle. "Are you afraid I'll target you in the tournament? Don't worry—I understand."
"Fool!" The boy slammed his hand on the table. "My name is Michael Tinley, son of Duke Tinley of Dolivar! Target me? Are you not afraid you won't leave this place alive?" His words slowed into a dark threat as his hand reached for the hilt at his waist.
Caesar rose smoothly to his feet, his aura pressing outward. He was ready.
But before sparks could fly, a deep laugh cut across the tension. The young man at the head leaned back in his chair. "Hahaha! Sit down, Michael. No matter how worthless our guest may be, he is still a guest. Or do you want word to spread that Dolivar treats its visitors poorly?"