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The ship would take about half an hour to get to Trydan, and thus Lock decided to use this time to sate one of his curiosities. He plopped down next to Harald, startling the boy from his brooding. Or whatever one might call staring darkly in nothingness while huddled against the sail.

“So I have to ask, as lets say, a concerned teacher. Why are you willingly continuing through with my training? You described how horrible experiencing killing intent is. I personally would not seek out more of it if I were you. Unless of course I was sufficiently motivated. Suffice to say winning one tournament for iron ranks would not be enough.” Lock stated and asked brusquely.

Harald seemed to think on his answer for a bit, an internal struggle visibly going on. As if he was considering if he wanted to answer the question or not.

Which was a clue in on itself. The fact that he was note sure if he should state his ambition most likely meant it was a weird, or a socially unacceptable one.

Considering what he knew about the boy's life, Lock deduced that his need to become stronger likely stemmed from a wish for revenge. He imagined that anyone would be pretty pissed if some bastard simply killed their father for no good reason.

Harald took too long with his answer, in Lock's opinion, and thus he shared his conclusion.

“Revenge?” He asked, causing the boy to flinch slightly, before groaning.

“Am I that easy to read?” He asked tiredly.

“You basically told me your life story as an introduction, I simply took the most likely explanation.” Lock said. “You know if you want to kill the one responsible, it would be much less time-consuming if you simply pursued a stealth-based class. It would enable to bypass any guards, and make it less likely that you yourself, would then be chased after by some relative seeking revenge.” He finished.

“I don't want to kill him.” Harald growled. “Keep your words of wisdom to yourself.”

“You know what they say, when you set out on a quest for revenge, remember to dig two graves. One for the person in question, and one for all those pesky relatives.” Lock said, ignoring the emotional state of his pupil. “And I don't mean that only in a murderous sense. Even seeking actual “justice” will pit you against the man's entire family.”

“Then I'll just have to become stronger than the entirety of his family. Strong enough that the royal family will have no choice but to favour me over them.” Harald said, as if it was the simplest thing in the world.

“You might become strong, but you have family don't you. A clear venue for retaliation.” Lock stated.

Harald turned on him, clearly angry. “What do you want.” He growled out.

“To help mostly.” Lock said, inwardly however he thought 'pass the time'.

Harald deflated at the words, seemingly taking them at face value. “Well, help then.” He said tiredly. “What am I supposed to do?”

“Trying to become a strong enough swordsman that the justice system will rule in your favour is a waste of time. Our entire government system, hiding under the coat of monarchy as it is, is based around the idea that noble families are more important than their peasant counterparts. Due to their heritage they say, but the reality is that the noble families are the government and thus they push forth their agenda.” Lock started explaining. “Even if you are in the right, they will not punish a noble, unless he's a really unimportant one, for the sake of one peasant. It would deny the entirety of the pre-supposition that the system is built on. Namely that nobles are more important than peasants. In addition to that it would also create a chain reaction of every peasant suddenly feeling confident enough to bring forth their grievance of stolen property, raped daughter, or killed family member.”

“Why are people like this even in power?” Harald asked tiredly.

“Well they got there due to past deeds, and remain there due to a monopoly of violence. Although that scale is slowly starting to shift. Which is why we're going to war, as I've already told you.” Lock said.

“So what do you propose?” Harald asked. “Give up my swordsmanship and wallow in impotence.”

Lock shook his head. “Your idea of gaining strength is the correct one. Might is right after all. The only issue is with how you plan on leveraging it. Bringing the killer of your father to justice would require you to gain an amount of power that transcends simply being good with a blade. You'd need to become a leader worthy of sparking and winning a revolution. But even a slightly above average swordsman could save enough money, if he lived frugally enough, to pay for an assassination of a noble.”

Harald grimaced. “...”

“Not personal enough?” Lock asked, and Harald nodded.

“Gaining a bit more strength, being decisively above average would allow you to cut the man down by yourself. You'd probably just be fucked afterwards.” Lock suddenly had a thought.

“Well, maybe you could capitulate on the war. Get him somewhere in the chaos, high command would have more important things going on than one killed moron.” He said.

“When will the war be?” Harald asked.

“Well, recruitment started about a year ago. The entire thing has been slow going. They have maybe one legion trained by now. I'll be able to say more once the propaganda has started. You know, more voices being heard about how we ought to finally wipe out the orcs as revenge for how they treated us when we were still weak. That we should attack the elves for their magical resources, or the beastmen for their mineral ones. The resources would be better off in human hands after all. That sort of thing. After the propaganda hits, it's probably going to be another two years before we enter full out warfare.” Lock explained. He wondered how much the creation and introduction of drugs had delayed the war effort. It should have been quite effective.

The drugs had given the peasants another outlet for their frustrations for their lot in life, thus slowing down the ticker towards civil war. Which in turn turned down the ticker of the war that the Kingdom of Humanity was going to start to preserve the status quo.

The drugs also slowed down the rate at which soldiers could be acquisitioned. Addicts did not make good soldiers after all, and most addicts were young men.

“I'll think about it.” Harald muttered.

“The first step towards any good plan.” Lock said, before looking up and noticing that they were about to dock soon. Well, not dock really, but drive by the docks slowly enough that he and Harald could jump off the ship.

He dumped the conversation and started dressing. He needed to wear all his armour, as simply carrying it in a sack would be a pain on his back. At least wearing it distributed the weight. Another factor was the fact that he cut a dashing figure dressed in full combat gear. Impressions were everything.

He just wished he could do something about Harald's state of dress. Horrid clothing, supremely inelegant peasant garb with a few pieces of boiled leather strapped onto it.

Claiming someone like this was his vassal would likely lower his social status, but he didn't know what else he was supposed to do. He didn't have any money with him, as he'd come here directly after the mission where he'd killed the outcasts.

Wait, he wasn't a noble (yet), it was already impressive that he had a vassal in the first place. He puffed out his chest.

They disembarked from the boat, Lock hugging his uncle goodbye before they left, and started making their way towards the Trydan compound. A place that used to be on the outskirts of the former village, to better defend it, but now found itself smack-dab in the middle of the now-town, as it had naturally expanded upon the age of prosperity mankind had recently entered.

“So, why didn't we bring Lemmings?” Harald asked, as if only now noticing his absence.

“I can only bring one vassal, and Lemmings can take care of himself, whereas you, still require some training.” Lock answered. Carefully keeping an eye out on his surroundings to make sure they were going the right way. Trydan as a town had developed naturally, and thus was slightly disorienting unless one had been here often. Which Lock hadn't.

Nonetheless it didn't take them too long to find the place, it was quite the remarkable piece of architecture after all. In an obnoxious sort of way. Lock almost envied his fiancée her blindness once he came upon the several hectare large estate, surrounded by a garishly yellow brick wall that stung one's eyes as if one was cutting onions.

“Holy shit.” He heard Harald mutter from next to him. “Is it too late to go back to the clearing?” He asked in a hopeful voice.

“You're taller than me, can you jump to see if the buildings inside are also yellow.” Lock said. Harald hopped, and shook his head upon landing.

“They're normal, thankfully.”

Lock nodded. “Then we march on.”

“Wait would you seriously had turned back if they were also yellow.” Harald asked in a surprised voice.

Lock gave him a disparaging look and said nothing.

They walked around the visually insulting wall until they came around to an entrance, guarded by one single guard, clad also, in hideous yellow.

“State your business.” The thirty-something man asked with utmost boredom apparent in his voice. Sparing them but a glance before he returned to staring at nothing.

“Lock. Betrothal.”

The guard waited and said nothing for about a minute, rubbing at his temples, before he waved them through.

“They're pretty relaxed around here.” Harald said.

“Future brother-in-law!” Someone suddenly shouted in such a disgustingly happy voice that Lock instinctively peered around looking for the person who was about to try and steal his coin purse.

Determining that the street was mostly empty, if one ignored the people looking at him from the windows of the wooden houses, he turned to the source of the voice.

It was, his future brother-in-law. Who he still didn't know the name of, and who was approaching him at a fast walking pace.

“Let's not get too hasty. In the spirit of thus, what's your name? You never introduced yourself.” Lock said in lieu of a greeting as his, sigh, future brother-in-law attempted to envelop him in a hug. Which he naturally dodged. Thus granted himself first-row seats to the face of utter disgust that overtook the boy's face upon hearing the question.

“Kamino.” He said darkly, usually handsome face twisted in utter distaste. “Call me Ino, or else.” He said, and instead of going for another hug, extended a hand.

Lock grasped it. “Well, I can commiserate, Ino.” He said.

Kamino sighed. “I guess you can, Lock.” They shook hands. Half over the impending relation, half over a feeling of kinship shared over their authors, I mean cough, parents, horrible naming sense.

“Let me take you inside, your mentally disadvantaged cousin can come along, although he won't be a part of the meeting, for obvious reasons.” Kamino said and started leading them along the hideously yellow stone paved path, going past many houses, towards the house found at the end of the biggest street branch. Well, it was more of an estate really. An estate within an estate. It was quite large and built after what appeared to be a traditional Japanese compound. Which was odd. This was the first time he'd seen a building like it in this world. He'd have to ask where they'd gotten the inspiration from.

The entire thing also reminded him that he was marrying into old money. A classification that he'd never belonged to. He'd been expecting it, sure, statistically speaking he would be born into old money at least once every ten thousand rebirths. He just hadn't expected to actually marry in. Mostly because he never expected to marry. He already found women his own age boring enough, add the fact that he was now 80 years older and they became unbearable for any longer period of time.

But he was willing to bear with it, for the benefits.

He halted for a second, brain grinding to a halt.

Wait. “Am I the gold digger now?” He whispered to himself.

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