Chapter 72: Silent Devotion

After their rest, Charles and Leslie returned to the room where his father lay in deep slumber.

A physician and a guard were stationed there, keeping watch in shifts around the clock. Should any emergency arise, they would immediately sound the alarm.

“Young master…” The physician glanced at him with some nervousness.

Since the head of the family had fallen into a coma, Marcus, who commanded the family’s guards, had grown increasingly irritable. Anyone who dared cause trouble would face harsh punishment, and several had already been executed.

The refugees who had streamed in were now quietly working in the western mines, exchanging their labor for temporary shelter and food, with hopes of eventually settling in Goldspark Town.

Much like his compatriots in his previous life, people in this world also placed great value on having a home. Most would work diligently, saving up to build a new house and marry.

“Mr. Leslie, what do you think?” Charles gestured for the others to step outside, then asked quietly.

Leslie stepped forward, examining Baron Buyano’s eyes and mouth with great care, then shook his head. “I’m sorry—I’m not a physician by trade. My knowledge is only a systematic understanding of the human body.”

“The baron remains unconscious, likely because the poison has spread throughout his body. Even though most of it has been purged, there’s no way to completely cure him.”

“Do you know of any treatment?” Charles asked, unwilling to give up.

The memories he’d inherited, along with the baron’s stern yet attentive care over these days, had already made him regard the man as true family.

“There is a way, but you’d have to go to Morent. Morent boasts the most advanced medical techniques in the world. Even severed limbs can be restored, let alone a mere case of poisoning.” Leslie’s calm words left no room for doubt.

“I believe it. But my father would never agree to leave this country,” Charles sighed.

Morent was an anomaly—an advanced civilization of biological science in a world otherwise stuck at a medieval level of technology. Its very existence was incongruous.

There, the highest forms of biotechnology existed, surpassing even what Charles knew from his previous life. Drawing upon the power of totems, the people there had earned the right to explore the very essence of humanity, launching a world-shaking project of human super-evolution.

Their goal: to make the human body evolve continuously, just like a totem, gaining incredible power. They even had matching totem constructs to further enhance strength.

Charles couldn’t help but think of a phrase: It isn’t that the Empire isn’t trying—it's just that the other side has Gundams!

In truth, Charles had a better solution: to turn the baron into a half-totem.

The physical enhancements granted by becoming a half-totem would be enough to purge poisons designed for ordinary people. But this idea repelled him at his core, for becoming a half-totem meant becoming his servant, with one’s life in his hands, no different from a dog. He could never do that to family.

He buried this option deep in his heart, vowing never to use it unless absolutely necessary.

As soon as he left the room, the old steward Simon approached, apologetic. “Young master, with the lord unconscious, there are matters in the territory that require your decision.”

“Just handle them yourself,” Charles replied, not particularly interested.

Even with its small gold mine, the territory’s annual income was only a few tens of thousands of gold coins—barely enough to upgrade two totems with gemstones, and if the gems were pricey, not even one.

Relying on the income from this little domain was far less efficient than venturing out himself to hunt monsters and level up.

“I’m sorry, young master, but some important matters, like tax issues, require the head of the family’s signature.” Simon did not withdraw, lowering his head, his tone hopeful. “Your father told me, should anything happen to him, you would take over the family’s affairs.”

“The family’s rise to this point has cost the lord decades of effort. It cannot be abandoned now.”

“But I’m not good at these things,” Charles replied, rubbing his brow in frustration.

He was ready to set out for Morent—how could he stay behind to manage mundane affairs? In this small place, he couldn’t even gather the various gemstones and materials he needed, much less afford a rune factory worth tens or even hundreds of thousands.

A rune factory was essential for a Spirit Tamer. He needed one to reconstruct Firefly and create two more totems.

The Rainbow Pinecone could instantly totemize ordinary creatures, but such totems couldn’t be stored away—he’d have to carry them everywhere, their power and abilities obvious to all.

Only through a rune factory could a totem be made half-ethereal, stored in a mysterious space and carried with its Spirit Tamer anywhere.

Most importantly, if these totems were injured or destroyed, with enough resources they could be fully restored.

Given what he understood of the Modulator, this meant that totems constructed in this way could be repaired simply by spending evolution points!

“Young master, the lord hadn’t intended to tell you, but with him unconscious, I must overstep and reveal something,” Simon said.

Charles looked at him curiously and listened as the old man spoke in a low, deliberate tone. “The entrance requirements for the Imperial Royal Academy are extremely high. The lord sought out Viscount Mark to secure you a chance at the exam and ensure you could pass. That man is a real vampire—he demanded nearly a hundred thousand gold coins and exclusive rights to purchase various materials at half price. The lord spared no expense to secure a better future for you, and the territory’s finances are now in dire straits…”

His words made Charles pause, once again feeling the baron’s deep affection.

Unbeknownst to him, the baron had already paid such a heavy price.

Most crucially, after learning Charles had become a Spirit Tamer, the baron never mentioned the Royal Academy again.

In other words, all that money was spent for nothing, simply for his sake.

When Charles was a child, held in the baron’s arms, the man had often lamented the family’s decline.

Always stuck on the empire’s outskirts, a rural upstart, never able to break into the upper echelons of nobility—even the local Stormport nobles looked down on them.

Clearly, the baron’s greatest dream was for the family to rise again and bask in glory.

But none of it compared to his son’s future.

Charles sighed, then smiled. “Grandpa Simon, please teach me how to manage the territory from now on.”

The old steward’s wrinkled face broke into a smile of comfort and relief.