Chapter Eighteen: Warning from the Police

Heavy snow was falling, and the morning classes had ended. Students of the Fifth University poured out of their classrooms. The air was filled with the aroma of food, especially the rich, mouthwatering scent of fried bacon, which made everyone’s mouth water. The students marched in neat lines along freshly cleaned paths toward the dining hall.

In the city of Brailey, apart from several military academies under the army's jurisdiction, the other schools also operated under semi-military management. Most students were disciplined and orderly, their daily routines strictly regulated. Even their journey to the dining hall was conducted in military-style formations, their movements echoing the discipline of soldiers.

Lin Qi stood on the balcony of his dormitory, holding a bottle of liquor, and watched the students marching in the distance, letting out a boozy burp.

Wherever rules are made, there are always those who break them, and Lin Qi was undoubtedly one of those people. He raised his bottle and took a swig of strong liquor, muttering indistinctly, “That scoundrel Barin, I really need to settle accounts with him about that protective charm. He nearly got me killed—yes, nearly got me killed!”

Satisfied, he patted the bulging purse at his waist and let out three hearty laughs. Though he’d risked his life, he had ultimately survived his ordeal in the Master’s Tower. Not only that, he had earned thirty gold coins—a handsome sum. With the winter break just a month away, these thirty gold coins would allow him to live in comfort until then.

Most importantly, he had received Mr. Grant’s personal promise, so he no longer needed to worry about the year-end exams. He and his loyal brothers would all pass with top marks, advancing to their fourth and final year. With such outstanding grades, when his brothers graduated, whether they sought positions in the Empire’s administration or served as advisers to the great nobles, the doors would be wide open for them.

“So, let’s hope there are a few more fiery beauties in those itinerant Gisserian theater troupes! Grant, that old fox, has a taste for them!” Lin Qi exhaled a satisfied breath of liquor, twisted his waist, and swaggered back into his dorm.

The once tidy single dormitory was now a mess, the floor littered with dark rum bottles. In the middle of the modest room stood a small square table, covered with grease-stained paper on which only a few scraps remained of smoked meats, sausages, roast chicken, steak, and other delicious foods.

Enzo lounged on Lin Qi’s bed, his legs propped up on the headboard, contentedly picking his teeth with a toothpick. Beside him sat a tin cup filled with tea, brewed with sugar and milk. He squinted his eyes and hummed comfortably, “To savor fine tea after a good meal—that’s the life of a nobleman!”

Yulian, whose belly was also swollen from feasting and whose pale face shone with grease, sat at the writing desk, holding a palm-sized mirror and carefully wiping away traces of food from his lips with a white silk scarf. Hearing Enzo’s words, Yulian shot him a glare, “Enzo, even among noblemen, not everyone eats so well, drinks so well, and then enjoys a fine brew of tea!”

Yulian let out a satisfied burp, his eyes fixed with longing on the last smoked chicken wing left among the greasy papers. He agonized whether to finish it off. He was already stuffed to the throat, unable to eat another bite, yet the chicken wing looked so irresistibly tempting.

He sighed softly and shook his head, “At the very least, before I met our leader, I hadn’t touched a drop of tea in three years here in the university city.”

Enzo gazed thoughtfully at the ceiling. “Of course, that’s the fate of fallen nobility! But Yulian, I’m not like you. I’ll earn my own noble title with my sword and my military merits! Nothing too lofty—a baron of war would suffice. Then, a few hundred acres of land, a fertile forest, and, best of all, a small lake teeming with freshwater fish, or a short stretch of river!”

Yulian glared at Enzo in annoyance. He truly did come from a ruined noble family, and Enzo had the audacity to poke at his wound right in front of him! If he weren’t outmatched in strength, he would have made sure Enzo never again possessed the abilities of a man.

Yulian cursed Enzo inwardly, thinking perhaps without those abilities, Enzo might give up his dreams of nobility? After all, after years as close friends, everyone knew the peculiar reason Enzo was so obsessed with becoming a noble. His motive for wanting to join the aristocracy was perhaps the strangest in the world.

With the liquor kicking in, Lin Qi wobbled over to the table, generously pulled out more than a dozen gold coins, and tossed them onto the surface.

“My dear treasurer, see to the brothers properly. Hmm, for those whose families are particularly struggling, send each family two thick coats. For brothers with children, winter is hard—give each child a few sturdy loaves of bread. That way, the brothers can get through the winter much more easily!”

Besides Enzo and Yulian, the last person in the room was Grant, still busy eating and drinking at the table. Grant, though not tall, weighed twice as much as Lin Qi—a classic specimen of the parasitic accountant physique typical of the Fifth University. When his bulky frame settled into the small dorm, it instantly occupied half the space.

With a pig’s tail dangling from his mouth, Grant’s small eyes, squeezed into slits by his fat cheeks, suddenly widened at the sight of the gold coins Lin Qi had tossed. He quickly grabbed the coins, lovingly rubbed them against his face, and with difficulty swallowed the pig’s tail.

“Boss, don’t worry, I won’t waste a single copper!”

Grant possessed zero combat ability, but he was the most trusted treasurer of the Iron Fist Brotherhood.

Grant was a remarkable man, an extraordinary one. Lin Qi had met him after Grant had been extorted by some scoundrel students from the military academy. Those unlucky bullies had searched Grant from head to toe and found only two coppers. Yet, in the instant those coppers left his purse, Grant—whose fighting prowess was supposedly nil—leapt up as if possessed by a demon and broke over thirty ribs between the two burly warriors.

Such feats left Lin Qi astounded, and from then on, Grant became an indispensable member of the Iron Fist Brotherhood.

With Grant, who valued every coin as his life, managing the Brotherhood’s finances, everyone felt completely at ease.

Lin Qi watched as the gold coins slowly disappeared into Grant’s purse, his heart twisting with pain so sharp it nearly brought him to tears. He murmured, “My precious cluckers, you’re leaving me now!”

Just as Lin Qi was wallowing in grief, the dormitory door was violently pushed open.

Father Barin, plump as ever, squeezed through the doorway, wiped his sweat, and shouted in distress, “This is madness—it has nothing to do with me! Lin Qi, your brother Vic has been taken by the Knights of the Round Table!”

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