More often than not, they would go with Weed to hunt. The feeling of being short of breath and the excitement in their chests.
Irene’s eyes were twinkling.
‘Whenever you go hunting with Weed, something interesting always happens.’
Every time someone died, priests would always feel sad about it.
Weed’s rate of hunting was 2~3 times faster than normal. However, such high paced hunting was always rewarding.
‘I have to do my part...so that no one dies.’
On the other hand, the Geomchis did not seem to be nervous at all.
“Ahem! Departure is taking quite some time.”
"Since it’s taking some time are we going to eat?"
Weed shook his head.
“That’s not it. We’re leaving soon.”
They were about to leave.
The onlookers were waiting to see what they were going to do with anticipation in their eyes.
Morata’s village elder quickly ran up to him.
“Count!"
The village elder called out to Weed.
"Did he say Count?"
"Did he call him the Count?"
The surprised onlookers were in an uproar. A user was the Count of Morata! But even more surprising for them was that the village elder called Weed the Count.
“I don’t believe it!”
“A sculptor has never made it to even a Baron or Viscount but he’s a Count.”
"If he’s the Count of Morata, then that means he’s the ruler of the entire province."
Looking around, Weed replied.
“Village elder, if you make such a fuss then you’ll trouble the village guards.”
He took on the personality as if he was a character in a historical drama.
Counts were considered one of the highest of the nobility. They had more authority than almost everyone in the kingdom.
The village elder said.
“The village is almost out of food.”