"My mother—she, four years ago—"
"Because she couldn't bear this hopeless life—she abandoned me—and left."
Karl fell into a brief silence after hearing this.
The young man's background was, in some ways, similar to his own; both lacked parental affection in their early years.
But the difference was that his mother had died of illness, and he later had Jack to look after him.
And Raymond eventually welcomed him back, giving him belated care.
However, this young man in front of him was actively abandoned by his mother, truly becoming a helpless orphan.
Karl took a deep breath, a clear pity on his face, and asked in a low voice, "Do you have a name?"
The young man seemed to be stunned, or perhaps he was trying hard to recall, as it seemed a very long time since anyone had asked his name so formally.
After several seconds, the young man finally raised his head, looked at Karl, and answered seriously, "Sir, my name is Vernon Roche."
Upon hearing this, Karl's body almost imperceptibly stiffened. Vernon Roche?
He immediately thought of the blue-striped shirt, the tough and loyal commander of the Blue Stripes in the game.
That phrase that left a deep impression on him, "Save the Witcher first!", seemed to echo in his ears.
He looked at the young man in front of him, bruised and battered, in ragged clothes, with resolute eyes, clutching a silver coin.
It was hard to connect him with the future calm and decisive commander.
But the stubbornness and resilience etched into his bones were undeniable.
The trajectory of fate seemed to have brought the future Soul of the Blue Stripes before him in an unexpected way.
Karl pulled himself out of his brief recollection, superimposing the image of the future Blue Stripes commander with this disheveled, stubborn young man.
A gentle and sincere smile appeared on his face as he extended his hand to Vernon, inviting him.
"Vernon, would you like to come with me to a place? There, you won't have to worry about your next piece of bread."
"There will be plenty of food, a warm dwelling, and teachers who will diligently teach you knowledge and martial arts."
Vernon's gaze flickered. He did not, like most children, immediately agree with joy and excitement due to the temptation.
He stared intently into Karl's eyes, as if to discern sincerity from falsehood.
He was silent for a few seconds, then asked in a cautious tone unbefitting his age, "Sir, what do I need to pay for this?"
This question made a hint of appreciation flash in Karl's eyes. He understood how to weigh things, knowing that there was no giving without reason.
Karl did not evade, directly giving the answer, his voice steady and clear: "Your loyalty."
Loyalty, not freedom, nor Soul.
This was a relatively specific, yet infinitely encompassing, demand.
Upon hearing this, Vernon barely hesitated, wiping away the still flowing nosebleed with the back of his hand.
He endured the pain in his body, straightened his thin frame, and then solemnly knelt on one knee in the dust before Karl.
He lowered his head and said in a clear and firm voice, "Vernon Roche pledges his loyalty to serve you, Sir!"
There were no flowery vows, only the simplest promise, yet it was as firm as a rock.
Karl nodded, reaching out to help him up. "Very good, remember your words today."
Then, under Vernon's surprised and curious gaze, Karl raised his hand and moved it in the air.
A shimmering orange portal, swirling like a vortex inside, abruptly appeared in the quiet alley.
Vernon had never seen such a miraculous thing, his eyes filled with shock, but he seemed to have a high level of trust in Karl.
After Karl softly said, "Let's go," he took a deep breath and stepped into the unknown vortex without hesitation.
Karl followed closely, and the portal quickly closed and disappeared behind them.
Terra, inside the Erl Family manor, accompanied by a familiar rumbling sound and energy fluctuations, a portal appeared in the courtyard.
Vernon's figure appeared somewhat unsteadily, followed by a composed Karl.
Dalton and several guards heard the commotion and immediately hurried over.
They just caught the last glimmer of the disappearing portal and the suddenly appearing Karl and the strange, bruised young man.
"Lord Karl!" Dalton and the others quickly saluted and greeted him, then their gazes curiously fell on Vernon.
Although Vernon was injured and in ragged clothes, he faced the scrutinizing gazes of these obviously capable adult guards.
Not only did he show no timidity, but he straightened his chest, met their eyes without fear, and even showed a hint of vigilance.
Karl gently placed his hand on Vernon's thin shoulder and said with a smile to Dalton and the others, "His name is Vernon Roche. From today on, he will be your future companion."
He paused, then specifically added, "Don't underestimate him. Before I arrived, he was being ganged up on by several guys bigger than him."
"Even knowing he couldn't win, and might even be beaten to death, he never once begged for mercy."
Dalton and the others' eyes immediately lit up upon hearing this.
They were all trained men, knowing that courage and will were far more important than temporary martial prowess.
They carefully looked at Vernon's bruised, dried-blood-stained, yet still stubborn face, and all showed expressions of appreciation.
"Good kid! Got guts!"
"He's a tough one!"
"The guard welcomes your joining!"
Dalton stepped forward and patted Vernon's other uninjured shoulder.
"Come on, kid, we'll take you to clean up and bandage your wounds first."
"You don't look much like a future warrior in your current state."
Vernon turned to look at Karl, and seeing Karl nod slightly at him.
He no longer hesitated, actively walked towards Dalton, and followed them away.
Several days later, in the forge area of the manor's backyard.
The "ding-ding-dang-dang" of hammering sounded intermittently.
It wasn't as dense as when Karl forged, but it showed the seriousness and effort of a beginner.
Karl stood by, watching Philip and three other slightly stronger young guards clumsily swing their hammers, forging red-hot iron ingots.
The things they forged were somewhat strangely shaped, the curved arcs not quite like plate armor parts, but rather more like horseshoe.
Moreover, with each strike, the iron sheet became thinner and thinner, almost losing the thickness and defensive power it should have as armor.
Dalton stood beside Karl, reporting on recent affairs.
"Lord Karl, according to your instructions—for the past half month, we have recruited suitable, relatively healthy males and boys in the territory."
—
"There are fifty-seven men and twenty-six boys. This is everyone in the village who meets the conditions."
Karl frowned slightly and asked, "The entire village only has so few able-bodied men?"
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