Lord: Starting from the Pit-Dwelling Courtyard

Chapter 55: Encounter with a Friend

Doron had spent some time with a mercenary group, during which time he met Gavin, and the two became sworn brothers.

At the height of the Ashwood family's power, Doron even tried to bring Gavin into the family, making him a peripheral force.

Unfortunately, Gavin was too restricted and didn't like it, while Doron returned to his family and never came out again. The two were separated for four or five years, and they never expected to meet here.

"Doron!"

He rushed over and hugged Doron tightly, bread still clutched in his hand, crumbs falling onto Doron's shoulder.

Doron was knocked back half a step by the bump, then laughed and patted him hard on the back.

"Gavin Powell, are you still not falling apart, you old man?"

Gavin released his grip, took a step back, and looked Doron up and down.

Doron was thinner than he had been a few years ago, his cheekbones were higher, and he had a few more fine lines around his eyes, but his eyes hadn't changed; he was still the man you could trust to carry your back on the battlefield.

"You're getting old," Gavin said.

"You've gained weight," Doron said.

Gavin laughed heartily, stuffed the remaining bread into his pocket, grabbed Doron and headed toward the pub. He pushed open the wooden door and called out to the counter, "Two glasses of ale! And cut up your plate of smoked meat too!" Then he pulled Doron to sit down at the table furthest inside.

"Where have you been all these years? I haven't heard from you since you returned to the territory. I asked around, and everyone said Ashwood Territory..." He paused, swallowing the rest of his sentence, and instead said, "I thought you were dead."

Duolong took off his embroidered spring knife and placed it on the table, then picked up the freshly served beer and took a sip.

"I almost did. After my family's misfortune, I wandered around for a few years, working as a guard for several small merchant caravans, and saved up some money."

"Spent some money?" Gavin raised an eyebrow. "And then? What are you doing in Gorubbishburg?"

Doron stared at the swirling liquid in his glass. He had been thinking about this all the way from the city gate. Mad had asked him once, and he had said he didn't know at the time.

But now, sitting here, facing the man who carried the shield with him a few years ago, he suddenly didn't want to lie.

But the affairs of Ashwood Territory could not be discussed. Old Hall had given him three instructions before his departure. The first was not to reveal the current state of the territory or expose the Ashwood family in any setting.

He didn't distrust Gavin; he distrusted Gorubekburg.

This city is too complicated.

"I'm thinking of starting a business," Doron said, putting down his cup. "Anyway, my savings are just sitting there, so I might as well take them out and give it a try."

Gavin paused for a moment, then burst into laughter, almost knocking over his wine glass.

"You? Go into business? Back in the mercenary group, I was the one who even had to negotiate the price for the spoils of war. Now you're going into business?" He wiped away the tears of laughter, then looked at Doron seriously. When he realized that Doron wasn't joking, his laughter slowly subsided.

"Are you serious?"

"Seriously."

Gavin leaned back in his chair, his fingers tapping unconsciously on the rim of his glass, seemingly reassessing his old friend.

Doron was never a good businessman, but his old friend wasn't a fool.

A person who comes to Gorubborg with their savings to "give it a try" is either desperate or has ulterior motives.

Gavin didn't ask any further questions, he just nodded and drank the rest of the ale in his glass.

"Have you decided what kind of business you want to start?"

"Not yet, let's see how the market goes." Doron was telling the truth; he really hadn't made up his mind yet.

Gavin wiped his mouth with his sleeve: "Okay, take your time looking. Let me know when you've got it. I've been in Gorubbishburg for two years, I know a few people. Suppliers, shops, connections—tell me what you need."

Doron's fingers tightened slightly as he gripped the cup.

The word "joint" came out of Gavin's mouth so lightly, as if he were talking about what to eat tonight.

But Doron knew that the "connections" Gavin was referring to weren't names on the Chamber of Commerce directory, but rather people who wouldn't be written in the register.

Mercenaries forge life-or-death bonds on the battlefield, but in Gorubakburg, those bonds can transform into something else entirely.

"I won't stand on ceremony with you," Doron said.

"You'd better not." Gavin chuckled, stood up, and pulled a few copper coins from his pocket, slapping them on the table. "This meal's on me, consider it a welcome-back." He walked to the door, glancing back at Doron. "Doron."

Doron looked at Gavin with a puzzled expression.

Gavin said, "Doing business is fine, but don't do business with the alien races of Blackthorn Waste. There's no need to do business with the lords of Blackthorn Waste either; those guys are ruthless and can eat people alive."

Doron paused for a moment, then nodded.

He naturally knew the reason.

In Degea territory, it's common for people to collude with goblins to attack other territories. If ordinary caravans enter the Blackthorn Wasteland, they'll just be devoured by other lords, and that would be a problem.

Blackthorn Wasteland is a lawless land.

"That guy!" Doron couldn't help but laugh, then shook his head and got up to leave the tavern.

As the main road extends westward, the streetscape gradually changes.

The stalls and shops have thinned out, replaced by rows of warehouses.

The warehouse had no door number; instead, it was marked with numbers painted on the stone wall in white lime.

Several empty oxcarts were parked at the warehouse entrance, with the drivers squatting on the cart shafts eating dry rations.

The side door of a warehouse was open, and you could see neatly stacked sacks inside, piled up from the ground to the roof beams.

Two sword-wielding guards stood at the entrance, their shoulder armor bearing the guild's insignia.

Continuing westward, the terrain gradually rises, and the city wall comes into view.

A new side gate was opened on the inner side of the west city wall, and outside the side gate was a sloping road paved with gravel that led directly to the dock.

Duolong stood up from the oxcart, shading his eyes with his hand as he looked down.

The Muna River flows past the foot of the city wall. The river is wide and the current is gentle, forming a natural deep bay in this section.

The dock was built along the river bend, with thick wooden piles driven into the riverbed as its foundation, and thick wooden planks laid on top.

The pier extends almost an arrow's length into the river, where three cargo ships are docking and unloading.

The largest one was a flat-bottomed riverboat with its mast down. The boatmen formed a human chain to pass cargo boxes from the hold to the pier.

The other two were small boats carrying live animals; the pigsty was inside the cabin, and the pigs' squeals could be heard across the riverbank.

"This place is more bustling than I expected," Doron muttered subconsciously.

Duolong stood by the dock for a long time.

He wasn't looking at the goods, but at where they were going.

Riverboats transported ore and timber from upstream and grain and cloth from downstream.

The laborers at the docks carried ore down from upstream and loaded grain onto ships downstream; this river was the lifeblood of Gorubakburg.

Upstream it connects to the heart of the kingdom, and downstream it leads to the Blackthorn Wasteland.

This means that any commodity from the kingdom could appear in Gorubak Castle, making it very difficult to do business based on novelty.

Mad ran back from the Raven Merchant Guild's stone building.

"I found out that the owner of the Raven Merchant Guild is called Bokin, a local who has been in the dye business for over ten years. But the largest merchant guild on this street isn't the Raven. It's the Silver Shield Merchant Guild, owned by a Northerner who deals in ores and weapons. They own half of the blacksmith shops on this street, and they also have a warehouse outside the North Gate."