Four months passed in the blink of an eye.
The liveliness of the August recruitment had long since faded, and winter had arrived right on schedule.
One evening, Hank and Bart, wrapped in old, frost-covered coats, trudged through the deep snow to Murphy's quarters.
The two of them stamped the slush from their boots at the door, shivering uncontrollably the moment they stepped inside.
"It's still warm in here," Hank said, enviously eyeing the neatly stacked firewood in the corner. "The main stable's woodshed must be full, right? Where we are, we have to ration even the dry firewood."
Bart rubbed his frozen hands and sat by the fire pit. "Another packhorse collapsed today. The vet said it was sick. Bah! I say it was starving. How can they fight the cold winds of winter if they're not given extra grain?"
As he spoke, he glanced at a bag of oats on Murphy's table that hadn't been put away, and his Adam's apple bobbed unconsciously.
Murphy silently handed them two bowls of hot water.
The finances of the Baron's Domain had been steadily worsening. The trade routes were cut off, and this was compounded by recent disasters. Now, even tax revenue wasn't enough to keep the castle running.
But in the main stable, everything was business as usual.
Lawson's Red Leaf still enjoyed a full ration of high-quality feed every day, which allowed him to continue his 'Deduction' of the share needed for his Cultivation.
But seeing his two companions' lips, purple from the cold, he got up, took a small cloth bag from under his bed, and sprinkled a small handful of oats into each of their bowls of hot water.
"Drink something hot."
He said this briefly, without explaining where the oats came from.
Hank's hands trembled as he held the bowl, and in the rising steam, the rims of his eyes grew red.
Bart, however, downed half the bowl in one gulp before letting out a long sigh. "Ah, if only that Duke's daughter had been real. Too bad she was a Witch in disguise."
Hearing this, an image of the girl appeared in Murphy's mind—the one with a wardrobe of exquisite, elaborate dresses, hair like a black waterfall, and skin whiter than snow, her every move radiating an innate noble bearing. "Yeah. If only she had been real."
Hank lowered his voice. "I heard that for the sake of the northern trade route, the Baron even pawned the family's treasured Star Gemstone to the merchant guild..."
At this, all three fell silent.
Hank was the first to make the sign of a crescent moon embracing a star over his chest and pray in a low voice, "May the starlight of Oriane guide the lost, and may the light of truth dispel the world's illusions."
Bart and Murphy followed, making the same gesture and piously bowing their heads.
The three sat in silence for a while as the firewood in the hearth crackled.
Just then, Murphy remembered he needed to go to the warehouse to get the next day's fodder.
"I'll be right back," he told them. "Stay here and warm up for a bit."
Walking on the path to the warehouse, Murphy noticed that the public areas of the castle had indeed become much more desolate.
The snow on the path was thick, and a few servants were struggling to shovel it in the cold wind.
Passing the laundry, Murphy once again encountered three familiar figures.
Tom, Jack, and Will were outside, scrubbing laundry.
In the biting cold wind, they wore thin, heavily patched cotton clothes, their hands submerged in water filled with ice chips as they scrubbed. Everyone's fingers were red and swollen like carrots.
Tom was the first to see Murphy and hurriedly stood up.
Only then did Murphy notice that this servant, who had once been half a head taller than him, now had to look up at him.
During the recruitment two years ago, Tom, at over 1.6 meters tall, had looked down on Murphy, who was just over 1.5 meters.
But now, after another two years of growth, Murphy had shot up to 1.78 meters, while Tom's height had remained stagnant, making him seem especially small in front of Murphy.
"Murphy."
Tom's voice trembled in the wind, though whether from cold or nerves was unclear.
He noted Murphy's thick cotton coat and healthy, ruddy complexion, then looked at his own tattered clothes and face, blue from the cold, and unconsciously shrank back.
Jack and Will also scrambled to their feet, lowering their heads respectfully.
Their cotton clothes were even more tattered than Tom's, with yellowed cotton batting poking out from the cuffs and collars, making them look especially flimsy in the cold wind.
Murphy gave a slight nod. "Still washing clothes in this cold?"
"Ye-yes," Tom said, rubbing his frozen hands. "The Steward said these are the Knight's Attendants' training clothes. They have to be washed today."
Murphy's gaze swept over the clothes piled beside the washing trough; they were indeed the attire of the followers from the main stable.
It seemed that even with the tight finances, the followers' living standards were being kept at a respectable level.
"Stay warm."
Murphy simply said this and continued toward the warehouse.
Only after Murphy was some distance away did the three servants let out a sigh of relief.
Jack lowered his voice and said, "Did you see his cotton coat? That's new cotton."
Will shivered, pulling his frozen hands into his sleeves. "The people from the main stable are just different. I heard they even have charcoal fires burning in the stables, and those..."
"Don't forget the lesson from last time," Tom interrupted, his voice holding a warning. "We got twenty lashes just for running our mouths. If we get caught talking nonsense again..."
All three shivered in unison.
That punishment had left them lying face down in bed for a full half-month, and the memory still made them shudder with lingering fear.
From then on, they never dared to gossip about any of their superiors behind their backs, not even Lord Yor, who had already left the castle.
Tom squatted back down, plunging his frozen hands into the bone-chilling water.
'He remembered the look in Murphy's eyes just now. It wasn't arrogance or pity, but a kind of calm scrutiny.'
'That gaze made him feel inexplicably irritated. It was more unpleasant than being yelled at by the Stewards.'
"Let's just focus on work," Tom finally said. "If these clothes don't get washed, none of us are resting tonight."
Meanwhile, Murphy was on his way back from the warehouse.
He looked toward the laundry at the three shivering figures, shook his head, and continued pushing the fodder toward the main stable.
When he returned to his quarters, Hank and Bart were gone, leaving only two clean bowls on the table.
Murphy sat cross-legged on his bed and began to circulate his [Breathing and Guiding].
The "Qi" in his body slowly circulated, bringing waves of warmth that completely sealed him off from the cold of the winter night.
...
Another month passed in the blink of an eye.
One morning, Murphy was in the stable adding fodder for Red Leaf when Lawson walked in slowly.
"You can take a month off."
Lawson's voice was level, but it made Murphy pause, his hands full of fodder.
Murphy put down the fodder and looked up at Lawson. "Lord Lawson?"
Lawson didn't explain, simply gesturing with his eyes for Murphy to saddle Red Leaf.
Murphy understood and expertly fitted the warhorse with its saddle, tightening the girth.
Lawson remained silent throughout the entire process. Only when Murphy had finished all the preparations did he gently pat Red Leaf's neck and swing himself nimbly onto the horse.
"Hah."
Lawson gave a soft cry, and Red Leaf left the stable with a steady gait.
Murphy stood at the stable entrance, watching the receding figures of the man and his horse, his heart filled with questions.
「Half a month later.」
Lawson returned.
He returned safe and sound.
But the finances of the Baron's Domain were even tighter.