I asked you to draw what you like, but you drew the funeral of Fulilian Chapter 115

“You’re too awkward.”

Stark watched Lord Oltern’s retreating figure, sighing from the steps of the corridor.

Then.

Stark followed behind Lord Oltern.

They arrived at an open space beside the mansion.

A little boy with dark brown hair, about five or six years old, was practicing with a wooden sword.

“Mutt, straighten your back.”

Lord Oltern instructed as he passed by.

“Yes, father.” The tender voice replied obediently.

Stark also noticed the little boy.

“He is my second son, Mutt.” Lord Oltern commented objectively, “He’s supposed to be the heir, but he hasn’t made any progress.”

Stark, following behind, heard the lord’s words, which reminded him of the past.

Back then, his own father had given him the same evaluation…

The scene shifts.

The sky was gloomy, and it was about to rain.

[The color tone is noticeably darker now.]

[This is a shadow for Stark…]

Little Stark stood in an open space, swinging a wooden stick at a wooden dummy, trying to practice swordsmanship.

He had practiced for years, but he hadn’t made any progress.

At that time, his father and brother stood nearby.

“Compared to him, Stark is a failure.”

Stark could still remember his father’s words, etched into his childhood heart.

[History always repeats itself in surprising ways.]

[This second son’s experience is so similar to Stark’s.]

[Both fathers have injured right eyes…]

Thinking of this, Stark couldn’t help but feel down.

He gripped the longer wooden sword in his hand.

Stark took a stance, ready to practice combat.

Lord Oltern watched with his arms crossed, saying, “The level of swordsmanship is reflected in one’s posture.”

“I will teach you the Oltern family’s swordsmanship.”

Stark was a little nervous, gripping the long sword tightly.

Sweat beaded on his cheeks.

[But he uses an axe, why is he practicing swordsmanship?]

“What’s wrong?” Lord Oltern asked, seemingly noticing Stark’s nervousness.

Lord Oltern looked down and saw Stark’s trembling hands.

The wooden sword shook with his trembling.

[Stark is practicing again, with psychological trauma.]

He walked over.

Stark still couldn’t help but feel nervous.

Lord Oltern reached out and placed a hand on Stark’s shoulder.

“Don’t worry, take a deep breath.”

Stark was surprised to hear the lord’s voice become gentle, comforting him?

“This is not your homeland.”

Lord Oltern said, while guiding Stark’s arm, adjusting his posture and angle for holding the wooden sword.

[This duke is very thoughtful, even comforting Stark about his homeland.]

[So gentle, so considerate…]

[Lord Oltern’s ancestors were also exiles, perhaps he understands why Stark is trembling.]

[Wow! This scene is really touching.]

[Perhaps Stark once wished his father could guide him like this…]

“Lord Oltern, what do you think of Mutt?” Stark couldn’t help but ask.

He wanted to know what the lord thought of his ‘unimproved’ second son.

“His talent is not as good as his elder brother’s.” Lord Oltern commented objectively.

Stark heard this, lowered his head, his eyes filled with sadness.

The lord also viewed his second son this way.

He was also a second son.

He also had a brilliant elder brother above him.

Stark remembered his past pressure and inferiority.

“But he works very hard.”

Stark’s eyes showed a hint of surprise.

He looked at Lord Oltern, who continued, “Skills honed over time will never let one down.”

Lord Oltern’s eyes held an undeniable conviction, “In the future, he will become a stronger knight than me.”

[This is a good father.]

[Frieren also said this to Fern!]

[“In the future, he will achieve even greater accomplishments than me.”]

Hearing the lord’s words, Stark nodded, “I see.”

“You’d best tell Mutt that.” Stark said with a smile.

“I tell him that often.” Lord Oltern said frankly, “That’s why he gets complacent and hasn’t made any progress.”

The lord shrugged helplessly.

Stark chuckled with relief; the lord and his second son didn’t need his reminder.

“That is indeed a big problem.” Stark’s tone lightened.

As if something had been released.

[The desires of youth are satisfied, though a little late.]

[He’s a strict yet very gentle father.]

[I’m going to cry.]

[The same situation as Stark, but treated differently. Fortunately, Stark has a good elder brother.]

The scene shifts.

A plate full of donuts sat on the table. Fern opened her mouth, about to eat one of the two in her hands.

“Huh? Do I have to practice etiquette too?” Fern looked across the table in surprise.

[Secret technique: Dual-wielding donuts.]

[Fern’s face is round~]

[Three months later, one will become “Fat Fern,” and the other “Fat Frieren.”]

Purple mahogany furniture, and a bookshelf filled with books nearby.

Frieren and Fern sat on the sofa, looking at Lord Oltern beside them.

He had his eyes closed, with his butler Gabell nearby.

Lord Oltern opened his eyes and emphasized, “This is a social banquet. Do you think it’s appropriate for an eligible male to attend alone?”

The only women familiar with Stark were Fern and Frieren from their party.

[Tomato: What goes around comes around, sharing difficulties together.]

[Lord, well done.]

[Your Excellency, you’ve done well!]

Lord Oltern looked at Frieren nearby, “Or, is his mother willing to take him?”

[Oh, Frieren: Is she that old?]

Frieren didn’t mind, instead, she turned and leaned forward, picking up a donut from the table.

“You can do it.”

She took a bite, cheering Fern on.

Fern was stunned, her eyes downcast, realizing she also needed to practice etiquette.

[She doesn’t even refute that title, lol.]

[Fat Fern: I’ve accidentally dragged myself into this…]

[Fat Fern: I’m doomed.]

[The donut in her hand instantly lost its appeal.]

The scene changes.

A maid in a green maid uniform combed Fern’s purple hair with a wooden comb.

It had a smooth sheen.

Several maids came forward to arrange Fern’s clothes.

Next scene.

Fern wore a light purple puff-sleeved top with a bright purple bow tied at the collar, and a slightly darker purple half-skirt.

Accompanied by an older etiquette maid, she sat in a chair, sipping tea.

Fern’s eyes were wide, seemingly only finding it delicious, unable to discern any nuances.

She reached out, wanting to eat the donut in front of her, but the etiquette maid slapped away her eager hand.

[Hahaha, she got slapped for trying to eat.]

[Fat Fern: What the heck?!]

[It shouldn’t be about not letting her eat. In terms of etiquette, it’s improper to use your left hand to pick something up before your right hand has placed the cup down.]