The little maid, Rose O'Hara, had now completely become James's shadow and sycophant, and every day during class, he could hear her exclaiming, "Young Master James is amazing!" "Young Master is so intelligent" and similar remarks.
Mr. Daniel was also increasingly at ease with James's studies. However, although James had, as always, perfectly completed the homework and questions he had assigned today, he seemed distracted.
"Alright, James, let's end class early today. With your current level in arithmetic and English, there's nothing to worry about. Go and play for half a day. You've been really diligent these past few months, so consider this a reward—a half-day holiday!"
O'Hara cheered excitedly from the side, then started flattering Mr. Daniel again.
This clever little girl was clearly going to be a handful in the future. James still politely thanked Daniel and left the room. He indeed needed some time to think about and deal with some issues.
"What has Victor been doing lately?" he asked O'Hara beside him as he walked downstairs.
"He should still be doing the same as before, I suppose. He starts tidying the garden and lawn in the morning, and in the afternoon, he goes to work in the stable," the little maid recited, counting on her fingers. "Victor's father is really too much, making his own son do all the gardener's work while he sleeps at home, drunk every day. Young Master James, we haven't gone to play with Victor for a long time. Shall we go see him this afternoon?" She pleaded, shaking James's arm.
"Okay, we'll go to the stable to find Victor this afternoon." O'Hara was stunned for a moment, not expecting her Young Master, who had been consistently unyielding lately, to agree so readily. She couldn't help but smile, then happily bounced and followed him. James now really needed to talk to Victor, to have a good talk with his half-brother about their "father."
Howlett Manor had two things in abundance: horses and guns. In the colonial territories, whether it was the early Wars with the natives, the competition for territory and influence between Britain and France, or the current conflicts between various manor lords over grazing lands, military force was always paramount.
This was somewhat like a form of territorial division; the governor and government of the colonies were also happy to use this method to deepen their rule over the local areas. Although the British Empire was powerful, its land and population were limited, and the country was unable to deploy sufficient military force to maintain stability in every colonial territory.
Therefore, anyone or any force loyal to the Imperial Royal Family could recruit soldiers and buy horses, claiming land and ruling it. All they needed to do was pay sufficient taxes; the existence of the government and the meaning of law were less important. There was once a very famous edict from the British Royal Family stating that anyone who offered treasures to the Queen, even a pirate, could be granted a noble title.
The manor had two stables. The one to the east was very large, basically a horse farm, covering over ten thousand square meters, with more than two hundred strong horses and over thirty workers caring for them day and night.
Mr. Howlett could mobilize a hundred Western Knights with guns and horses at any time, which was the basis of his confidence as the largest manor lord in the Midwest. In this era, such a manor was, to a large extent, a military Base.
The other stable was much smaller in comparison, with only a dozen horses, and it was right next to the manor.
These horses were all fine horses that Mr. Howlett was very fond of. Besides being ridden by the Howlett Family themselves, they were usually only used as breeding stallions. Each horse's head height exceeded 1.8 meters, their coats were glossy, and they were full of spirit. Victor Logan worked here.
"Victor, Victor Logan!" Even before entering the stable, O'Hara began calling Victor's name. This luxurious stable was well-equipped with ice, so the temperature was quite cool. Victor Logan, wearing a sleeveless vest, was using a soft brush to groom the coat of a tall, shiny black horse.
This was a stallion, and also the best breeding stallion on the manor. Its four hooves were much sturdier than those of ordinary horses, and the mane on its head was thick and long. Whether judged by human or equine aesthetics, it was extremely handsome. Its name was Black Mountain, and it was Mr. Howlett's pride and joy.
Victor slightly raised his head, glanced at James and O'Hara who had entered, and acknowledged their presence.
James carefully observed Victor, not saying anything to greet him. O'Hara, however, was eagerly stroking Black Mountain's body, chattering and asking Victor all sorts of questions.
And the more he looked, the more astonished he became. Victor was only fifteen or sixteen this year, yet he not only had the height of an adult but also a very broad frame. Such a burly physique, if not for the lingering childishness on his face and his soft, thick beard, would already make him look like a grown man.
In particular, his hands were exceptionally large, the circumference of his wrist joints more than twice that of an average male. Those who practiced martial arts had once roughly categorized bone thickness as "single-boned" and "double-boned," but Victor far exceeded this range.
Moreover, his fingers were long and thick, and his knuckles were so wide they seemed to stretch his skin, not to mention his excessively thick and long fingernails, which looked more like finger bones growing out of his flesh, or rather, they were purely the claws of a ferocious beast.
In the eyes of this former martial arts grandmaster, this body surpassed all definitions of innate talent for martial arts. Even stranger, James had always heard that Black Mountain was the best and fiercest breeding stallion, and few people could approach it apart from Mr. Howlett. Yet, in front of Victor, it was remarkably docile. In James's inherited keen perception from his previous life, he could vaguely sense a faint aura surrounding Victor. This aura, rather than belonging to a seasoned warrior who had trained for years or a butcher from a battlefield of slaughter, was more like the scent of some apex predator.
"Haven't seen you in a while. Are you sick again, little girl James?" Victor spoke first, but his work did not stop.
James paid no mind to his taunt, walked over to Black Mountain, and leaned in to stroke its muzzle. Victor instinctively moved to stop James, but Black Mountain did not resist as expected, lowering its head obediently and nuzzling James's small hand.
Victor looked at him strangely, remaining silent for a moment.
"O'Hara, look at that little horse over there." James pointed to a pure White foal inside. O'Hara's eyes immediately turned pink, and she ran over, hugging the foal's neck, stroking and kissing it. Victor's gaze towards James became increasingly different.
"Do you have to do so much work every day? I heard that Mr. Logan's work is basically all done by you," James asked, seemingly casually.
"Not everyone is named Howlett. What would I eat if I didn't work?" Victor's words were so natural, without any hint of dissatisfaction or complaint.
He paused briefly, then continued, "That man just drinks every night and sleeps all day. If I don't do it, should I wait for Mr. Howlett to drive us away?" James keenly noticed that when Victor mentioned "that man," the masseter muscles in his cheeks bulged significantly.
"Then, is he... is he good to you?" James asked somewhat directly, even regretting being so hasty.
Surprisingly, Victor didn't get angry; instead, he said with a mix of self-satisfaction and mockery, "Hmph, it doesn't hurt much anymore when he hits me, and it doesn't even leave any marks. He's useless!"
"So, how about making him stay away from you?"
This sentence seemed to startle him like a small beast. Victor stared intently at James: "What do you mean?"
"Nothing, just asking. Since you dislike him so much, I suppose you don't want to be with him."
Victor scoffed, shifting his gaze. "When I'm a bit older, I'll leave on my own."
O'Hara then came over, leading the adorable White foal, and shouted to James, "James, Young Master James, can I name it White Dove?"
"It's a horse. Why would you call it White Dove?"
The little maid cried out stubbornly, "No! White Dove is so cute, like a lady. Please, Young Master James!"
"Whatever you want. No one will stop you from calling it whatever you like anyway," James said helplessly.
O'Hara, satisfied, hugged White Dove and begged Victor to lift her up so she could ride for a while. At the stable entrance, several dull yet brisk footsteps approached, and Mr. Howlett pushed the door open.
As a man over sixty, he was already a rarity in an era where the average lifespan was not high, and someone as capable and agile as Mr. Howlett was even more exceptional. One could imagine how strong and vibrant he must have been in his youth.
Catching sight of his grandson immediately, Mr. Howlett's grizzled beard twitched as he boomed, "Looks like we have two little truants here!"