Chapter 4: Blade of Vengeance

He said it almost absently, his mind already spinning with possibilities. But deep down, he knew that real peace was never that simple.

Then suddenly he went, “Eh?” He moved close to Charles, and said, “Chief, such an important matter, Quentin just sends an envoy to negotiate? They killed Gabriel, I fought such a big war, just send an envoy to make an alliance—no sincerity. No sincerity, no basis for alliance, so I decided to show them some sincerity.”

He grinned, a wolfish glint in his eyes. “If they want to talk peace, they’d better come correct.”

Charles pondered for a moment, “Then, Mayor, tell me, what is sincerity?”

He folded his arms, waiting. Charles had learned long ago that Robert always had a plan, even if it sounded crazy at first.

Robert smiled, “Sincerity? I’ll show them sincerity. I, with this thirty-year-old, rejuvenated, resurrected body, will go meet Quentin Summers myself—let everyone in Summers see, fate’s still on Silver Hollow’s side!”

He spoke with a swagger, his confidence infectious. The idea was bold, risky—but that was Robert all over.

Charles stared at Robert, but Robert’s gaze didn’t waver, smiling back.

The two men locked eyes, each daring the other to back down. In the end, it was Charles who looked away, a small smile tugging at his lips.

After a while, Charles slowly said, “Given Summers’ situation, you going there won’t be too dangerous, but you know what they say—a wise man doesn’t stand where the tree’s about to fall. You should know, fate ultimately depends on the people’s hearts. I hope you take the people as your foundation, and don’t get caught up in omens and prophecies.”

He spoke with the gravity of a man who’d seen too many good people lost to pride and superstition. The warning was gentle, but firm.

Robert raised his head, “How old are you?”

He cocked an eyebrow, a teasing smile on his lips.

Charles was taken aback, “I’m forty-two.”

He answered automatically, surprised by the question.

Robert touched his nose, “Forty-two isn’t old. Look at John Young, over sixty, still unruly every day. You being so serious all the time, you’ll wear yourself out.”

He winked at Charles, trying to lighten the mood. “Don’t let the weight of the world turn you into an old man before your time.”

After a pause, Robert said, “Taking the people as the foundation is good, I’ll remember it.”

He nodded, making a mental note. He respected Charles’s wisdom, even if he didn’t always show it.

Charles laughed, “It was you who taught me that.”

He grinned, the tension easing between them. The old camaraderie was back, stronger than ever.

Robert raised an eyebrow, “Then I taught well, I’ll remember it even more. I’m set on going to Summers, alright?”

He grinned, daring Charles to argue. But his eyes were serious—he needed his friend’s blessing.

Charles paused, finally smiled, “Alright.”

He clapped Robert on the shoulder, a gesture full of trust. “Just don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” he added, half-joking.

Robert patted his shoulder, walked a few steps, then suddenly stopped in the crowd, turned back, looked at Charles for a long time, then said, “Charlie, I failed you, don’t blame me.”

The words hung in the air, heavy with regret. Robert’s voice was soft, but everyone heard it.

At this moment, the gates of Maple Heights Mansion opened, a gust of east wind blew Charles’s white hair, he was nailed to the spot by these words, the wind brushing past his misty eyes. He whispered, “It’s because my learning is shallow. How could you have failed me?”

The wind carried his words away, but the sentiment lingered. Charles stood tall, pride and sorrow mingling in his gaze.

Sunlight streamed down from the sky. Robert shielded his eyes, “In the end, I have.”

He stepped into the light, squinting against the glare. For a moment, he felt the weight of all his choices pressing down on him.

Robert walked out of Maple Heights Mansion, tightened his grip on his blade.

He took a deep breath, feeling the familiar comfort of steel in his hand. The world outside seemed brighter, more dangerous, and more alive than ever.

Gabriel, Frank, your brother is back.

He whispered the words, a promise and a prayer. Somewhere, he hoped they could hear him.

Summers, Mainfield City.

The city bustled with life, the air thick with the scent of rain and the promise of change. The old wounds between Summers and Silver Hollow were still fresh, but there was a sense that something big was about to happen.

A few days ago, Quentin Summers got the news that Robert Hastings was coming in person to negotiate. Quentin rubbed his temples, head aching, thinking: You’re a sixty-something old man, recently burned sick by Luke Morgan—what if you die in Summers?

He paced his study, the wood floors creaking underfoot. The thought of Robert dying on his watch was enough to give any man nightmares. “Last thing I need is a corpse on my hands,” he muttered, massaging his temples.

Quentin thought: This isn’t coming to negotiate, it’s coming to cause trouble.

He scowled, picturing Robert swaggering into town, stirring up trouble just for the fun of it. The man had always been unpredictable, but this was something else.

Of course, you’re a mayor coming to the South yourself. If you want to take the risk, that’s your business—what do I have to be afraid of?

He shrugged, trying to convince himself it was no big deal. “Let him come,” he said, “we’ll see who comes out on top.”

After much thought, the officials of Summers concluded: Most likely after the fire at Elmwood, things must be rough in Silver Hollow. The mayor comes to negotiate, he must want more money.

They gathered around the long table, voices low and cautious. The consensus was clear: Robert was desperate, and desperate men could be bargained with.

At that time, just give him more supplies and send him off.

They nodded in agreement, already making lists of what they could spare. The plan was simple: buy him off, get him out, and get back to business as usual.

So they agreed to peace talks, and Robert had a smooth journey, soon arriving in Mainfield.

The roads were muddy from spring rains, but Robert’s carriage made good time. People lined the streets to catch a glimpse of the legendary mayor, whispering behind their hands as he passed.

But as soon as Robert entered Mainfield, it caused a huge sensation. Anyone who had heard of Robert, or seen him, started doubting reality.

Word spread like wildfire. “He looks twenty years younger,” folks said. “It’s like seeing a ghost.” Crowds gathered outside the mansion, craning their necks for a better look.

Robert grinned, tugged at his big ears, then let his arms drop—his hands nearly reached his knees. “The real deal,” he said.

He made a show of it, grinning at the crowd, letting them see he was no imposter. His laugh was infectious, and even the skeptics found themselves smiling.

Quentin: “….”

He stared, open-mouthed, unable to process what he was seeing. “This can’t be real,” he thought, but the evidence was right in front of him.

Quentin: “Holy hell! What the—! Can’t beat someone cheating!”

He slapped a hand to his forehead, shaking his head in disbelief. The room erupted in nervous laughter, the tension broken for a moment.

A sixty-year-old man suddenly becomes younger than himself, with that shameless manner, those big ears—this guy is definitely Robert.