This man was wearing a deep brown long coat with a hood, a rope tied around his waist, and on his feet were a pair of brand-new, soft-looking black leather shoes.

"Pierre, Pierre from the Berry family?" Raymond Craig exclaimed in surprise.

Logan Smith also stopped walking and looked toward the side road.

"It's me." Peter Berry waved his hand with a smile.

He was rather thin, his eye sockets slightly sunken, his black hair greasy and curly, and his face was covered in a beard that hadn't been shaved in who knows how long.

"Why are you back?" Raymond Craig asked in confusion.

Peter Berry was a shepherd. Now, at the end of March or the beginning of April, he should be herding sheep on the plains outside the mountain pass. How could he be in the village?

Even if he had moved the flock to Luenburg or the northern border of Fenebot this time, the journey would have just begun, and it would take about a month to return to the Dallier Mountains.

Peter Harris had gentle, smiling blue eyes. He said happily, "Isn't Lent coming up? I haven't participated in years, so I can't miss it this year!

"Don't worry, I have companions watching the flock for me. That's the good thing about being a shepherd—no overseer, as long as you can find someone to help, you can go wherever you want. It's very free."

Lent was a widely celebrated festival throughout Intis, where people welcomed the arrival of spring in various ways and prayed for a bountiful year.

It had nothing to do with the Church of the "Eternal Blazing Sun" or the "God of Steam and Machinery," but it had become a folk custom, and since there was no worship of heretical deities, the orthodox churches tolerated it.

"You just want to see who gets chosen as the Spring Elf this year, right?" Logan Smith teased with a smile.

During Lent in Cordu Village, a beautiful young girl would be chosen to play the role of the Spring Elf as part of the celebration.

Peter Harris laughed along, "I hope it's your sister Audrey Miller, but she definitely won't agree, and she's not the right age anyway."

"Alright." He then pointed to the tavern not far away. "I'm going to the church to say a prayer, and then I'll treat you both to a drink."

Raymond Craig instinctively replied, "No need, you don't have much money."

"Haha, the gods teach us, 'Even if you have only a single copper, you must share it with your poor brothers.'" Peter Harris quoted a proverb popular among shepherds in the Dallier region.

At this moment, Logan Smith smiled at Raymond Craig:

"Peter Harris has struck it rich, of course he has to treat us to drinks!"

He was referring to Peter Berry's brand-new leather shoes.

Peter Berry was quite pleased:

"This time my employer was generous and gave me several sheep, and later there will be some wool, cheese, and leather as well."

Shepherds' pay consisted of food, a small amount of money, and a share of livestock, cheese, wool, and leather. What and how much they got depended on the contract signed with the employer beforehand.

For shepherds who had to travel long distances, a good, well-fitting pair of leather shoes was the most urgent and practical desire.

Watching Peter Berry walk toward the village square, Logan Smith's gaze gradually became somber, tinged with doubt.

He silently muttered to himself, "Just to attend Lent, he spent a week or two, maybe even nearly a month, to rush back?"

After thinking for a moment, Logan Smith withdrew his gaze and walked with Raymond Craig toward the tavern.

The tavern had no name, nor did it need one. Cordu Village had only this one, and the villagers liked to call it the old tavern.

As soon as he entered, Logan Smith habitually glanced around.

Suddenly, his gaze paused at a certain spot.

He saw the outsider who had left early last night.

An outsider clearly not with Ryan Clark, Leah Carter, or Walter Reed.

It was a lady, dressed in a long orange dress, her brown hair slightly curled and draped over her shoulders, her light blue eyes fixed on the pale red alcoholic drink in her hand.

She was beautiful and languid, as if she didn't belong in the same scene as the low, dim, shabby tavern.

Chapter 5: Cards

Pale red wine—definitely someone from the big city... Logan Smith's gaze finally landed on the glass in the lady's hand.

Pale red wine was a spirit made from sugar and pickled cherries. Both its color and taste were very popular among ladies. Of course, other suitable fruits could be used instead of cherries, with only slight differences in flavor.

This was one of the few high-end drinks the old tavern in Cordu Village could offer. The reason they stocked it was because Mrs. Phillips had fallen in love with this pale red wine after a trip to the provincial capital, Bigorre.

—Mrs. Phillips was the wife of the local administrator and magistrate, Benedict Foster. Her family had been nobility, but lost their title during the era of Emperor Roselle.

She was also one of the lovers of the parish priest, William Bennett. Not many in the village knew this, but Logan Smith was one of them.

Logan Smith withdrew his gaze and walked toward the bar.

There sat a man in his forties, wearing only a linen shirt and matching trousers. His brown hair was thinning and rather messy, and the corners of his eyes, mouth, and forehead were lined from years of hard work.

This was Raymond Craig's father, Peter Craig.

Yet another Peter Harris.