This body is thin but agile. While advanced techniques are out of reach, moving with the Eight Trigrams Steps comes easily.

After missing her strike, Mrs. Clark slowly turned around, her face showing a look of surprise and suspicion. Brian Carter's evasive footwork was strange and slippery, like a fish swimming in water—clearly a refined technique, definitely not something he could have faked.

“Aunt, you should calm down.” Brian Carter smiled slightly. “Don’t start cursing right away. If my father comes back and hears you, that wouldn’t be good.”

Brian Carter’s father, Eric Carter, was a true master. If he hadn’t disappeared five years ago and never been heard from since, she wouldn’t have dared treat Brian Carter like this.

“Could his father really be back?” The thought made Mrs. Clark’s face look even worse.

What made Mrs. Clark even more uncomfortable was that this fool’s eyes were now bright, his speech clear and logical, his demeanor calm and confident. He had obviously regained his senses and was no longer the docile, dim-witted fool he used to be.

“So what if your father comes back? We’ve raised you for five years—how could that be wrong?”

Mrs. Clark’s face was sullen as she shouted, both aggrieved and dissatisfied: “Now that your father’s back, you think you can bully my son? We’re not your family’s slaves…”

Throwing a tantrum and making a scene was Mrs. Clark’s specialty. Even if Eric Carter really did come back, would he stoop to her level? Mrs. Clark didn’t believe it.

Brian Carter couldn’t help but laugh in exasperation. This old woman could stir up trouble even when she was in the wrong.

Arguing with a shrew was undoubtedly foolish.

So he simply crossed his arms and stood silently at the doorway, just listening.

“You ungrateful little brat, tell me, when have we ever treated you badly? Food, clothes, a place to live—we raised you this big, and now you treat us like enemies…”

Brian Carter looked down at his own ragged dogskin vest, his knee-length, hole-ridden hemp pants, and his bare, blackened feet. He was left speechless.

The woman wasn’t wrong—he did have food, clothes, and a place to stay!

Mrs. Clark helped her son up from the ground, her face full of concern: “My precious boy, did that brat kick your little bird and hurt it? Hurry, take off your pants and let mom have a look.”

“Mom, I’m fine…” David Clark’s dark face flushed bright red. Embarrassed, he clutched his pants tightly, afraid his mother would pull them down.

“You haven’t even grown all your hair yet, what are you afraid of your mother seeing?” Mrs. Clark scolded in annoyance.

Brian Carter couldn’t help but laugh. This mother and son really were a pair of oddballs.

David Clark was even more embarrassed, but didn’t dare talk back. He could only glare hatefully at Brian Carter, vowing to beat the fool to death next time he got the chance, just to vent his anger.

“You kicked my son’s little bird, the one that carries on the family line—how are you going to make up for that?”

Mrs. Clark picked up the butcher knife, pointed it at Brian Carter, and said menacingly.

“Aunt, there’s no need to say all this.”

Brian Carter replied calmly, “These past years you’ve treated me like a dog, but at least you kept me alive. My father’s armor and longbow can cover the cost of my food and lodging these years. Just give me the broadsword, and we’ll be even—no debts between us.”

“You heartless little wolf! We raised you all these years, and you think a few words can settle everything?”

Mrs. Clark cursed, her face full of resentment and unwillingness.

The armor, longbow, and broadsword left by Eric Carter had long been considered her own property. Now Brian Carter was using her “own” things to repay her kindness, which made her especially furious.

“Heh…” Brian Carter laughed. “Aunt, you only kept me around so I could take David Clark’s place as a soldier.”

The Iron Forest Tribe had an Ironblood Army, responsible for fighting, hunting, and maintaining order.

The Ironblood Army suffered heavy casualties. Every year, the tribe would select boys of the right age from each family, train them, and send them to the Ironblood Army.

According to the tribe’s rules, each family could only keep one child. The rest had to obey the tribe’s arrangements.

Mrs. Clark had deliberately kept Brian Carter around so she could hand him over when the time came, keeping David Clark safe.

The old Brian Carter had become mentally impaired after a serious illness.

But now things were completely different. With the wisdom and experience of his previous life, Brian Carter saw through Mrs. Clark’s intentions at a glance.

Being exposed to her face didn’t make Mrs. Clark feel embarrassed—instead, she was even angrier.

Her face flushed red as she shouted gruffly, “We raised you for years, so what’s wrong with having you serve in the army for David Clark? That’s what you’re supposed to do! You think you can rebel? This is not your place to speak…”

In his previous life, Brian Carter was sharp-tongued, but he had no interest in reasoning with a shrew, much less trading insults.

He turned and walked away quickly, soon arriving at the main house up ahead.

The main house was built with a wooden frame, coated with yellow mud on the outside, and topped with a thick layer of thatch.

It looked rough and ugly, but compared to the pigsty, it was undoubtedly a real house for people.

“Uncle, I want to talk to you.” Brian Carter stood in front of the low wooden door and called out.

A middle-aged man slowly walked out of the house. He was thin, with small eyes and a pair of drooping mustaches. He wore a coarse hemp robe and brand-new hemp shoes.

This outfit gave him a somewhat scholarly air. This man was John Clark, Brian Carter’s distant uncle.