Leon didn't walked proudly through the city gates.

The internal situation of the Empire was unclear; it was sure to cause unnecessary trouble if someone like him—who was supposed to have killed three years ago—suddenly reappeared. After all, General Leon had once been celebrated as the strongest Dragon Slayer, a figure of some renown.

Saying he was a household name might be an exaggeration, but during his heyday, Leon could eat for free at almost any restaurant in the Empire, thanks to his handsome face. Occasionally, he'd even receive flirtatious winks from well-preserved middle-aged proprietresses

Bah, bah, bah—what nonsense! A man with a wife and child shouldn't entertain such wayward thoughts. At the very least, he would have to pay for his meals now!

So, he decided to sneak in. Hiding in the shadows, Leon bided his time and waited for an opportunity.

By dawn, the chance he had been waiting for finally arrived. He slipped into a caravan entering the Empire for trade, sneaking in unnoticed.

The Empire's gatekeepers, it seemed, were just as lax as they were back then. They only glanced briefly at the traders' wagons during inspections, barely making an effort to conduct proper searches.

Clinging to the underside of a wagon with astounding core strength, General Lai reflected on this with some amusement.

Once safely through the Empire's gates and a few streets away, Leon emerged from beneath the wagon and climbed into its storage area.

The interior was filled with merchandise—mainly trinkets and accessories popular among the younger crowd—that the merchants planned to sell in the Empire.

The Empire was vast and resource-rich, serving as the central nation of human territories. Its surrounding vassal states relied on it heavily, whether for trade or protection from foreign invaders. Whenever they were bullied by non-human tribes, they turned to their "big brother" for help.

Of course, such assistance wasn't free; the Empire would occasionally collect "protection fees." The smaller states were more than willing to pay—offering gold, treasures, or beauties annually—in exchange for peace and stability, ensuring that no outsider dared to invade.

This is the confidence that the empire has given me! (putting hands on hips)

Sitting amidst the wagon's goods, Leon peered through the gaps in the wooden boards out at the bustling streets. The city was as lively and prosperous as ever.

It had been three years, but the Empire hadn't changed—a thought that left Leon somewhat nostalgic.

After passing through several more streets, Leon quietly disembarked from the wagon. Before leaving, he swiped a pair of sunglasses.

A celebrity, he mused, should always wear sunglasses when venturing out. And an "allegedly dead" celebrity? All the more so.

Standing on the street, Leon glanced around to confirm that no one was secretly watching him. Only then did he stride toward a nearby alley, hands in his pockets and posture relaxed. He planned to visit his mentor's farm first.

Though there was a strong chance his mentor wouldn't be there, Leon wanted to try his luck. He thought there might be some useful information or clues waiting for him—if his mentor had left anything behind.

As he walked into the shadowy alley, head slightly bowed and steps purposeful, his peripheral vision caught sight of something that made him pause.

On the alley wall were several conspicuous notices.

Leon stopped in his tracks, turned his head, and widened his eyes slightly.

These weren't ordinary notices. They were the Empire's most wanted posters—red-level, the highest classification.

And the photo on the poster wasn't of just anyone. It was his mentor, Tiger Laurence.

"How did Master become a wanted criminal?!"

Leon was dumbfounded. That old man... He’d spent his entire life being the kind of person who wouldn’t harm a fly, let alone commit crimes. Heck, even smoking required formal approval from Leon's strict and formidable mentor's wife. How on earth could such a person end up as a wanted fugitive?

It took Leon a moment of stunned silence to fully process this revelation. His expression turned grim.

The Empire might seem as prosperous as ever, but beneath the surface, trouble was clearly brewing.

Leon ripped the wanted poster from the wall, crumpled it into a ball, stuffed it into his pocket, and quickly left the area.

An hour later, Leon arrived at his mentor's farm, a place that had once been his home.

As expected, the farm of a wanted criminal had been sealed off. Large "Seized Property" notices adorned the entrance, and looking inside the grounds, it was clear the place had been abandoned for quite some time.

After ensuring that no nosy neighbors were around, Leon vaulted over the fence. He navigated the gravel path leading to the farmhouse on the far side of the property.

The farmhouse was decrepit; one section of the roof had caved in, and the windows were shattered, as if someone had thrown rocks at them.

Leon circled the house first to check for potential traps but found none. He then climbed through one of the broken windows.

His landing caused the creaky wooden floorboards to protest noisily, stirring up a cloud of dust.

Waving the dust away from his nose, Leon began methodically searching the house that was once so familiar.

The living room, kitchen, and bedroom—all were in disrepair, giving no indications that anyone had been there recently. That, and no clues or messages from his mentor.

Leon sighed. "The old man couldn’t possibly have forgotten about the year-long agreement, could he?"

The reason Leon suspected his mentor might have left clues was simple: the rendezvous had been set by the old man himself. Now that the agreed-upon timeframe had come, his mentor should have found some way to contact Leon or leave him a message. If not in the forest hideaway where Leon had previously searched, then surely here at the old farmstead.

But nothing.

Just as Leon was about to give up and leave, a thought struck him: he hadn’t checked the hayloft in the backyard yet.

Figuring it couldn’t hurt to be thorough, Leon made his way to the hayloft. Back in the day, the hayloft wasn’t just for storing fodder and firewood; it was also home to his family’s donkey. Yes, in Leon’s household, donkeys not only had their own abode, but they lived *in* the hayloft itself.

Missing hyphen in "all-you-can-eat" and missing period at end.

Leon combed through the hayloft carefully, stirring up more dust that irritated his eyes and nose—but this time, his efforts bore fruit.

Under a pile of hay where the donkey used to sleep, he found a clue left by his mentor.

"Ah, Donkey, bless you!"

The clue was written on an old piece of fabric, which suggested that the mentor's circumstances were indeed dire—so dire he hadn’t even been able to find a proper sheet of paper.

When Leon unfolded the fabric, he discovered the writing had been scrawled with what looked like a red brick.

Excellent. No paper, no pen. Truly tragic.

On the cloth, in crude but unmistakable handwriting, were the words:

"Rebecca is trustworthy."

“Rebecca…”

The name triggered a flood of memories for Leon.

Rebecca Clement, his team’s gunslinger. A talkative, high-strung girl with a sharp tongue and sharper aim.

In battle, Leon and the others could rely on her completely to cover their flanks. Her suppressive fire was always timely, and her marksmanship ranked among the best in the Dragon Slayer Army.

She also had divine strength for someone her size. Small and petite, she wielded oversized firearms with ease—an enigma Leon never could figure out.

Biologically speaking, it made no sense.

Oh, you could argue General Lai soloing dragons defied biology too. Fair enough.

Anyway, back to the topic at hand.

The messy handwriting undoubtedly belonged to his mentor.

High - EQ version: It's unrestrained and a bit scrawly.

Low - EQ version: What the hell is this?

If Leon hadn’t known the old man for so long, he might have struggled to make sense of it.

Still, this raised questions. Rebecca is trustworthy? Did this mean his mentor already knew about the inside betrayal Leon suffered years ago?

After some thought, Leon couldn’t be entirely sure of this assumption.

If Roswitha had mentioned the backstabbing to his mentor, then surely the old man had investigated the rest of Leon’s team in secret over the past year.

But if Roswitha hadn’t said a word about it, then his mentor might have simply left this note to guide Leon toward a familiar ally as he returned to the Empire.

Either way—

Leon stared at the name on the cloth.

He needed to find his gunslinger and figure out what was really going on.