Chapter 5: The Old Steward
The cold wind swept across the plains, stirring up waves of snow dust. Amidst the heavy snowfall, a lone figure rode a horse, advancing northward against the wind.
Following the main road, Joshua urged his warhorse across the border into the Moldavia Territory. With each hoof-fall, splashes of ice chips scattered.
Along the way, the flow of people on the road grew denser. There were not only caravans of ground dragons coming and going, but also many carriages bearing various banners. Some belonged to merchants, others might have been wealthy folk traveling for leisure—after all, ordinary commoners wouldn't waste precious calories during winter.
As for those driving winter wolf sleds by the roadside, they were mostly fishermen or hunters. Since they needed to reach watersides and forests without proper roads, where horses and carriages were inconvenient, sleds were the best choice.
"Winter wolves..."
Noticing the group of large, white, dog-like creatures pulling sleds and running cheerfully, Joshua couldn't help but shake his head. The name sounded cool, but their temperament was actually quite similar to huskies. He remembered raising one back in the day—handsome, sure...
His memories drifted back to a long, long time ago. Back then, the Continent of Strife had just launched, and he was still a lone adventurer struggling in the Far South. By chance, he spotted a winter wolf at an auction. Despite having no intention of keeping a battle pet, he inexplicably bought it...
"Wait, who's that?" A familiar black figure seemed to flash in the distance, interrupting Joshua's reverie. His gaze instantly focused on the approaching figure coming from the direction of the main city, and he muttered unconsciously, "So familiar."
Just one glance made him feel a sense of recognition. This situation made Joshua grow serious. He urged his horse closer to the slow-moving figure, but the closer he got, the more familiar it felt—yet he simply couldn't place who it was.
It wasn't until a moment later, when he came face to face with the person, that his confusion was resolved. Joshua exclaimed in surprise, "Old Steward... Van?!"
The old man named Van, dressed in a black steward's uniform, looked up in slight surprise upon hearing the voice, glanced around, and then, upon spotting Joshua, dismounted with a smile and bowed politely.
"Ah, long time no see, Young Master Joshua."
Without replying, Joshua's eyes were filled with bewildered confusion. He also dismounted, quickly walked over to help the old steward up, and then frowned sharply. "Your hair... your hand?!"
He somewhat roughly grasped the old steward's hand, examining it intently. The old man merely watched Joshua with a smile, allowing him to look.
It was an old man's hand.
The skin had already loosened, covered in wrinkles. Up close, one could even faintly see blue veins and tendons, while the muscles on the arm had long lost their former strength.
Staring at these hands, Joshua felt a nameless rage rising from the depths of his heart.
It was the anger of this world's Joshua.
Van, the old steward of the Radcliffe family, had been taking care of him since his birth. They had lived together for over a decade, their relationship no different from that of father and son. In fact, it could be said that Van cared for Joshua more than his own father did.
Indeed, it was precisely because he was so familiar with this old steward, who had lived with him for over a decade, that he was shocked and angered by these hands.
On the man before him, the marks of time were everywhere. Even though his white hair was neatly combed, it still exuded an air of decay. Countless fine wrinkles covered his face, making his features more angular, yet also confirming his frailty.
By ordinary standards, it seemed normal. This middle-aged man named Van appeared no different from other family stewards, and his appearance matched his age—after all, Van was the same age as his father, who was already over fifty.
A man in his fifties or sixties, weathered by years and battle-hardened, having white hair wasn't particularly strange.
But that was precisely what was abnormal.
Neither Van nor Joshua's father were ordinary middle-aged men!
Leaving everything else aside, the Winterfell Count, Beru de Radcliffe, was a Gold-rank knight. This meant his natural lifespan was two hundred years, and with proper care, living three hundred wasn't difficult. For someone like him, being in his fifties or sixties was still their prime.
And Van...
When Joshua was born, Van looked eighteen or twenty. When Joshua ran wild through the territory, with Van watching over him, he still looked eighteen or twenty. When Joshua could swing a greatsword while his father watched coldly from the side, and Van stood by quietly smiling while serving tea, he still looked eighteen or twenty. Even when Joshua had already enlisted and returned to the territory during a break from the military academy, the first person to run out and welcome him, Van, still appeared to be around eighteen or twenty.
In the past, Joshua had asked his father about this—even in a magical world, eternal youth was still a puzzle. Aside from elves, he couldn't think of any race naturally blessed with unchanging youth. But without needing the former head of the Radcliffe family to answer, he already knew: a person with black hair, golden-red eyes, and normal ears couldn't be an elf.
But definitely not human either—that was beyond doubt. He must be a long-lived race.
In the end, the Count never directly answered the question, only vaguely saying things like, "You'll find out eventually," or "This question is meaningless."
Actually, humans on the Continent of Strife didn't care much about such matters. Joshua was the same. There were so many long-lived races around—the owner of the bar you frequented might be an elf. Who had the patience to verify each one?
But this time was different. Something that could cause a long-lived race to age like this was undoubtedly related to the recent series of events—related to the death of Joshua's father.
What exactly happened at the Sealed Ground?
"Van, what's going on?" Joshua looked up, staring directly into the old man's eyes, his tone aggressive. "Answer me!"
Ever since his transmigration, the warrior had always felt a sense of unreal confusion. Although everything here was undoubtedly real, he had no tangible connection to it. Everything felt familiar yet strange, neither close nor distant.
But now it was different. His heart pounded violently, blood surged through his body with anger, and Joshua's eyes were cold and ruthless, as if trying to pierce through the void and strike at the unknown enemy.
"The Sealed Ground..." The white-haired steward seemed hesitant. After a moment of deliberation, he said, "My young master, you cannot know yet."
"Why?" His words were almost coercive. Joshua took a step forward, questioning without any pretense of mercy.
"Because you lack the 'qualification,' young master." Unfazed by Joshua's interrogation, Van replied in his usual light tone. "To know, you must inherit your father's title, become the master of Moldavia, the lord who guards this land. This is a contract carved into my bones that cannot be broken."
"Qualification?!"
With a brief exclamation, Joshua felt an absurd sense of disbelief. "The Winterfell Count Beru has only one descendant—me, the sole heir! After his death, I don't even need the emperor to grant the title to inherit it automatically. I, Joshua, am the natural lord of this land!"
"And now you tell me I lack qualification? Then who has it? That uncle from who knows where?" At this point, Joshua couldn't help but show a ferocious grin, his eyes vicious. "That's right, he also has inheritance rights. Then I'll just kill him."
Without answering the question, the white-haired old man used his slightly dimmed golden-red eyes to glance at Joshua's wrists, then frowned and looked away.
"'Qualification' isn't some vague title, but a tangible object." As if choosing his words carefully, Van spoke slowly after a moment, and Joshua listened patiently. "I don't know where the master put it, but you should know."
"What exactly is it? And where is it? How could I possibly know!"
"Please trust me, young master. It's not that I don't want to say, but that I cannot."
Joshua wasn't the type to beat around the bush. Realizing that Van seemed genuinely bound by a 'vow' and couldn't speak, he stopped wasting words. He simply pulled up his system and, without further ado, cast a detection spell.
[Detection Judgment... Overwhelming level advantage, overwhelming attribute advantage...]
[Detection Successful]
[Name: Van Amos]
[Template: Exceptional]
[Race: Divine Mechanism - Racial Skill: Divine Mechanization, resonates with blood-bound contractor, transforms into weapon]
[Level: Contractor deceased, level forcibly set to 1]
[Attribute Panel: Contractor deceased, all attributes forcibly set to base values]
[Size: Medium humanoid otherworldly lifeform]
[Health: Contractor deceased, health forcibly set to base value]
[Stamina: Contractor deceased, stamina forcibly set to base value]
[Transformed Weapon: Amos Dragon-Slaying Sword]
[Status: Life Drain (Remaining life: 10 days)]
[Class: Sixth-generation Anti-Wild God Divine Mechanism/Steward]
[Talent: Contractor deceased, all talents forcibly erased]
[Skill: Contractor deceased, all skills forcibly erased]
[Equipment: Black Steward's Uniform]
[A powerful weapon, a loyal steward.]
Wait... hold on! Please stop for a moment!
Joshua felt a bit overwhelmed—the excessive amount of unexpected information gave him a serious shock, twisting his expression into something strange.
Divine Mechanism? Joshua vaguely remembered that before his transmigration, his war band often mentioned this term, and it was also very popular on the forums. It was said to be an ultra-rare contract race. He hadn't paid much attention to the specifics back then because he was focused on raiding the legendary dungeon [Myriad Realms Sacrificial Ground].
As his memories grew clearer, Joshua recalled many details. The contract quest for the Divine Mechanism was indeed in the Northern Empire, extremely difficult, and time-limited. By the time he finished clearing the Myriad Realms Sacrificial Ground, it had already ended. No more than ten people worldwide had successfully contracted, and those lucky few deliberately kept the information secret, shrouding the entire quest process in mystery. As time passed and the hype cooled, the Divine Mechanism became a legendary race.
But now, looking at it, the Divine Mechanism's ability should be transforming into a weapon! And its level was undoubtedly extraordinary—like the old steward's transformation into the Amos Dragon-Slaying Sword, the powerful greatsword that made the Winterfell Count famous, having slain twelve white dragons and forced the Northern White Dragon Plains to sign a peace treaty!
And the initiator of the Divine Mechanism quest... seemed to be the Radcliffe family of Moldavia!
The information buried deep in his memory gradually resurfaced, and Joshua felt a sudden epiphany. By cross-referencing information from both worlds, he suddenly realized that the Radcliffe family he belonged to had once participated in the game's historical events. Through scattered clues, he could even guess what was sealed in his family's Sealed Ground and what the current anomaly was all about!
If his guess was correct... that was truly something extraordinary.
But compared to all that, what mattered more now was Van's life-draining state.
"Van." Joshua looked at the old steward, his brow deeply furrowed. Now that he had roughly guessed the truth, he decided to speak plainly. "Your time is short."
"..." Van remained silent.
"Even if you don't tell me, I can probably guess... but that's no longer important. You see, I always thought that when I inherited the family, you would still be our steward. When my son inherited the family, you would still be our steward!" Joshua stared directly at Van. "You are my most important family member. I just want to know what happened to you, nothing more!"
"..." Van looked up at Joshua. His originally red eyes with golden edges had grown dim due to the loss of life force. They were cloudy, but still sharp.
"I'm touched." Finally speaking, he seemed to have made up his mind, his tone extremely serious. "But a vow is a vow. At most, I can tell you some unimportant things."
"I—as you can see—am not human. A long time ago, my elders and I made a contract with the eldest son line of the Radcliffe family to serve you. This contract binds us in life and death. Now that the master is dead, I naturally don't have long to live."
Saying this, the white-haired old man bowed. "I'm sorry I couldn't protect the master."
"I can't say more. Even if you've guessed it, I cannot speak. Unless you become the head of the family, unless you take on the heaviest responsibility of the Radcliffe family, I cannot tell you the truth."
In the heavy snow, silence spread.
After a long moment, Joshua finally spoke. "I roughly understand."
The warrior sighed, shaking off the snow accumulated on him. The sigh was shattered by the cold wind and disappeared into the flying snow. "So now, with only ten days of life left, where are you going?"
"Don't grieve for me." Patting his horse, the white-haired old steward looked at the expressionless Joshua and chuckled lightly. "Dying to fulfill one's duty is the most glorious end for a warrior. Whether it's the master or me, we have no regrets."
"Now, there's only one thing I want to say." Turning around, Van faced away from Joshua and spoke these words, his tone meaningful. "Right now, there are some uninvited guests in our home. Unfortunately, I'm not in good condition."
"Then I'll clean up that trash, just like I used to do." Joshua understood what he meant. "Thoroughly, leaving no one behind."
"Then, good luck, my master."
"...Farewell, Van."
The old steward mounted his saddle and galloped off in the direction opposite the Moldavia Territory.
Joshua, meanwhile, stared coldly into the distance.
"Become the lord of that sealed land, huh." He muttered softly, then let out a cold laugh.
At the edge of his vision, obscured by heavy snow, was the blurry silhouette of the main city's walls.
That uncle, who had traveled thousands of miles to the North to compete for the title, was there.