After leaving the Nur Military Factory, on the way back to the Elector's Palace, Ryan, Alfred, and Ingrid rode outside on horseback, while Sulia and Emilia stayed inside the carriage. Although the female knight usually preferred riding, Emilia seemed to have clung to Sulia, leaving her with no choice but to stay in the carriage with her.
Ingrid couldn't stop laughing the entire way back, finding the mechanical horse explosion far too amusing. Her hearty laughter echoed, putting a strain on her ordinary warhorse, which struggled under her robust frame. Within minutes, the horse gave in, bending under the pressure.
Ingrid nonchalantly dismounted, hoisted the horse onto her shoulder, and jogged to keep pace with the others. This comical scene made the Nur residents and Ryan's and Emilia's guards frown, thinking how shameful it was for a Norscan woman to behave like this in Nur.
Ryan didn't mind. He turned to Alfred with a smile, "Al, have you heard of the three great artists of Tilea?"
"The three great artists?" Alfred looked puzzled. As a Knight Commander, he was somewhat cultured but not particularly well-read. After thinking for a while, he shrugged, "Leonardo is one, right?"
"That's right, Leonardo da Miragliano is one," Ryan nodded with a smile. "Who are the other two?"
"I don't know, why don't you tell me?" Alfred replied straightforwardly.
"The three great artists of Tilea are Leonardo da Miragliano, Michelangelo Grotti, and Raphael Limas," Ryan said with a smile. "Aside from Leonardo, both Michelangelo and Raphael had unfortunate endings."
"Those obsessed with art are never up to any good," Alfred said, unsurprised.
"Among these three, Raphael had the shortest life. He was a talented painter who left many precious artworks, but due to excessive indulgence, he began suffering from recurring nightmares and a cold at the age of thirty-seven. After a few days of high fever, he passed away first."
"Then there's Michelangelo Grotti, a sculptor whose career was smooth from early to middle age, becoming a distinguished guest of various Tilean city-states and creating numerous sculptures. He represented the pinnacle of sculpture art, influencing the Old World for four hundred years," Ryan continued, smiling. "However, in his later years, misfortune struck. The Temple of the Goddess of War, Myrmidia, invited Michelangelo to paint the temple's dome for three thousand gold crowns. He gladly accepted, tasked with painting a scene of the Goddess leading knights into battle."
"During the work's inspection, the temple members were stunned because Michelangelo had painted two thousand nude girls on the dome," Ryan chuckled. "As a result, Michelangelo not only didn't receive his payment but was exiled to the pirate city of Sartosa. However, he reportedly lived well there, creating artworks and sculptures for the pirates, and lived to a hundred years old."
"That's outrageous," Alfred said, clearly upset. "Only in the southern lands would such leniency exist. In the Empire or Bretonnia, I guarantee he would have been burned at the stake before finishing."
"Only in Tilea would a sculptor dare to do that," Ryan held the reins. "Don't underestimate him. For him, the highest pursuit was art, not wealth."
"Well, it's all the same," Alfred remained indignant.
"Ryan, where did you hear this story?" Emilia poked her head out of the carriage window, looking displeased and embarrassed. "Why do you always remember such trivial anecdotes?"
"People are more receptive to negative information than positive," Ryan looked up at the sky. "It's just human nature."
"Really? I feel like that's not why you remember this," Emilia said mischievously. "Am I right, dear?"
"Uh..." Ryan felt awkward, coughing twice. "Emilia, you didn't use to be like this."
"Hehe," Sulia couldn't help but giggle, hugging Emilia from behind. "Actually, I envy Veronica and Teresa. They had the chance to adventure with Ryan, creating precious memories. Emilia, you're lucky. I've never had the chance to adventure with Ryan. Now, even if I wanted to, it's difficult."
"Indeed," Alfred chimed in. "My favorite times were the adventurous days, not that things are bad now, but those experiences were more exciting."
"Adventure is a means, not an end," Ryan smiled faintly. "If someone doesn't want to be a mercenary or adventurer forever, after a long time of adventuring, they will either die or eventually earn a noble title and land."
Everyone nodded, understanding his point. Even the most ordinary mercenary, if they survived endless wars and adventures for five, ten, or twenty years, proved their strength. Nobles wouldn't hesitate to grant a knightly title. Once titled, adventuring freely was unlikely.
Ryan was such an example. He could still adventure, but what price would it take to invite the Duke, the Lady of the Lake's chosen champion, and a sanctuary powerhouse?
Nowadays, Ryan often didn't need to fight personally.
"So, I used to be an adventurer until I took an arrow in the knee," Ryan laughed heartily.
This saying was well-known among mercenaries in the Old World. It didn't mean retired mercenaries were crippled or that their knees were particularly fragile. It meant kneeling on one knee to propose, signifying they had settled down and couldn't adventure freely anymore, like Ryan himself.
"Not just one arrow; you took many arrows!" Emilia grumbled, "Ryan, you're such a scoundrel. Why aren't your knees shot through? How can you still ride?"
"Hahaha!" Ryan laughed, unbothered.
The Duke of Mousillon was the legitimate heir of the first Holy Grail Knight, "The Victor" Landuin. If he lacked such tolerance and grace, how could he have gained Landuin's favor?
It seemed the Imperial Duchess needed more time to vent her grievances.
Meanwhile, at the Elector's Palace in Nur, where Ryan was temporarily staying.
Head maid Sylvia's face was flushed, looking stern as she loudly commanded the servants to clean the rooms, showing some authority. But her expression revealed her excitement.
Her father was coming home.
"Hurry up, hurry up! President Oliver has entered the city," Sylvia ordered, pacing the room until she heard a cold, slightly playful voice.
"You seem very happy, head maid," Olica, the dark elf, dressed in a black and white maid outfit with white stockings and black high-heeled shoes, stood nearby, ignoring Sylvia's orders.
Sylvia was helpless against Olica. As the head maid, she could manage all the servants in the castle, except Olica, who only answered to Ryan. "If you don't want to work, go to your room and don't get in our way!"
"Oh my, our head maid is so majestic now," Olica smirked, her amber eyes fixed on Sylvia. "Did you forget something?"
"You!" Sylvia recalled something, feeling both ashamed and angry. "What do you want?"
"I want to tell you not to judge my actions with your shallow understanding," Olica shook her head, looking at Sylvia as if she were an idiot. "You know nothing about magic!"
"If it's Ryan's order, do it. If it's your duty, fulfill it," Sylvia retorted, her temper rising. "But now, please don't interfere."
"Oh, your father is finally back. Are you excited?" Olica pulled her black hair back. "Shall I set off some fireworks to celebrate?"
Sylvia gave up arguing with Olica, ordering the servants brought by Sulia to clean the suite. Within minutes, President Oliver of the Oliver Company arrived at the Elector's Palace with two wood elf scouts and a middle-aged man. Having informed ahead, they were allowed entry after a brief inspection.
The middle-aged man had golden-brown long hair and a simple goatee, exuding a scholarly aura. He wore a simple white shirt, a red vest, and a brown coat. His originally brown pants were washed to a faded color. He looked somewhat uneasy and nostalgic at the luxurious palace. "After all these years, I'm finally back in the south, thanks to Sylvia. But where do I belong?"
"Mr. Vincent, you're in better shape than I imagined," Oliver, slightly plump but much improved from his heaviest days, dressed modestly like Vincent, said with a healthy glow. "I thought you'd be..."
The middle-aged man, Vincent Van Housen, Sylvia's father, stood about 1.75 meters tall, lean but not weak, with crow's feet but not old-looking. He seemed to be in his forties.
"More destitute? Thinner?" Vincent smiled bitterly. "I owe this to Elector Valmir."
"Grateful?" Oliver was puzzled why a Bretonnian diplomat would thank a local Elector.
"Ostland's cultural level is low," Vincent sighed. "When I was sent there, I was very downcast at first… I'll explain later."
"Alright!" Oliver nodded, knowing Vincent wanted to speak directly to Ryan.
As they entered Ryan's lodging, a scream filled with heavy sobs greeted them. Vincent was stunned, then staggered back several steps as Sylvia collided with him, crying, "Father! You're finally back! Waaa~ Father!"
"Sylvie?" Vincent struggled to recognize his daughter. After several seconds, he confirmed this beautiful head maid was indeed his daughter.
With trembling hands, Vincent embraced Sylvia, gently patting her back. "It's okay, Sylvie, it's okay."
Having weathered Ostland's harsh conditions for over a decade, Vincent, who never complained about his
hardships, couldn't help but shed tears, tightly holding his daughter. "I'm back, Sylvie. I'm sorry..."
"It's okay. Welcome back, Father!"
About twenty minutes later, Ryan and his group also returned to the Elector's Palace. Emilia had many matters to attend to and didn't stay long. Alfred took a curious Ingrid aside, saying this was a private matter for Ryan. Thus, when Ryan returned to the suite, only Ryan and Sulia remained.
Seeing Ryan enter, Vincent and Sylvia, along with Oliver, immediately stood up. "My Duke!"
Vincent stepped forward, bowing deeply to Ryan, his face full of gratitude and excitement, even a slight tremor in his voice. "Thank you so much, Lord Ryan, Lady Sulia. Thank you for giving me the chance to reunite with my family."
"It was nothing, really," Ryan offered his hand to Vincent. "Mr. Vincent, you're Sylvia's father. I'm Sulia's husband. Once I learned about this, I decided to help Sylvia. I didn't have the strength before, but now seeing you reunited, I'm glad!"
"Ryan…" Sylvia, moved to tears, said, "Thank you."
It might be a small matter for Ryan now, but for ordinary people, no one would risk offending François to bring Vincent back. Only Ryan, who had defeated Heinrich Kemmler with François, dared to take the initiative.
After some small talk, they sat down, enjoying the fireplace and afternoon tea. Olica served red tea and exquisite pastries. Ryan, holding Sulia's hand, smiled, "Mr. Vincent, I thought you'd be more..."
"More destitute? Thinner?" Vincent chuckled bitterly. "Ah, there's a reason for this, my Duke."
"Please, take your time to explain."
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