Chapter 254: Betty’s Hard Work Studying

Gawain set down the last engineering report that required his personal approval, stretched his stiff neck to ease the tension, then glanced around the room.

The study was very quiet, but he wasn’t alone. Not far from his large desk, against the wall, stood a small table where Betty was hunched over, diligently writing out the words she had recently learned to spell.

Every evening, she spent two hours at night school learning spelling, and during her free time in the day, she practiced writing from her textbooks. This routine had become her daily habit. To give this eager little learner a more convenient study space, Gawain had specially allowed her to practice writing in his study and even set up a small desk just for her.

This was clearly beyond the usual treatment for a maid, but no one here questioned Gawain’s decision. As for Betty herself—her mind wasn’t yet complex enough to worry about “breaking the rules.”

Betty wasn’t exactly a bright girl—in fact, she was a bit slow. Gawain knew there was a word for girls like her: “adorably dim.” But he didn’t find any joy in Betty’s dimness. She wasn’t born with any innate defect; her slowness was simply the result of years of malnutrition and a harsh family life.

Like most children born into extreme poverty in this era—like most kitchen maids, low-level servants, and serfs—nutritional deficiencies during critical developmental stages and lack of education during formative years often shaped their entire lives. They lacked exposure, their curiosity was stifled, they had little capacity for learning, and they didn’t know how to think independently. Nobles often dismissed “lower-class” people as stupid and ignorant, treating it as an inherent flaw, even using it as “proof” of the noble-born’s natural superiority. Of course, this was an exaggeration and a baseless prejudice. But as Gawain learned more about the world, he had to admit one fact:

There really was a gap in learning ability and mental agility between impoverished children and well-off noble children. Though this gap had nothing to do with “bloodline superiority,” it was an unavoidable reality.

So Gawain worked hard to narrow that gap. Whether it was providing free special meals for children at night school or distributing food subsidies to kids under six in his domain, he was trying to tackle malnutrition first, so their brains could develop as fully as noble children’s. Then, education could follow. This was the most effective approach he could think of. But what about those already grown or nearly grown?

Gawain stood and walked behind Betty, watching the slow but steady progress of this simple girl as she spelled out word after word. She made few mistakes now, and her handwriting was much neater than before, but she still had to write each word dozens of times to remember it. Even today, she was still learning material that most children at night school had mastered in their first two months.

Betty was already far ahead of most people in her social class. She was nearly an adult, still curious, and genuinely eager to learn. She loved writing and dreamed of being able to read and write fluently like Rebecca or Hetty. But learning was still a struggle—she wasn’t some hidden prodigy from a novel. She had missed the best age for learning, and no amount of effort could fully make up for that.

If it hadn’t been for a major disaster in the domain, if Gawain hadn’t shown her so much of the “outside world,” Betty might never have realized there was any way to live other than doing hard kitchen work.

Just like when she first escaped the domain, clutching her frying pan tightly—that pan was all she had ever known. As a kitchen maid, that pan was the highest honor and purpose she could imagine.

Betty finally noticed the figure behind her and looked up, startled. She scrambled to her feet. “Master…”

“It’s okay. I just finished some work and came to check on your progress,” Gawain said, patting her head to calm her down. “Ah… your handwriting is really neat now.”

Betty smiled shyly, pleased by the praise but a little upset. “Pea is learning faster than me…”

“She’s younger, so it’s normal for her to pick things up more easily,” Gawain reassured the little maid. “You’re working hard, and you’ll catch up eventually. And if there’s anything you don’t understand, I can always help you.”

“Okay!” Betty nodded enthusiastically. At that moment, Gawain noticed some loose sheets of draft paper poking out from a stack of books beside her desk. Curious, he pulled one out and saw simple basic runes sketched on it.

“You’ve started learning runes?” Gawain asked, surprised.

“Yeah…” Betty lowered her head. “Mr. Santis, the runes teacher, opened his classroom to other classes for auditing, so I went along…”

“Can you understand it?”

“Some of it,” Betty gestured with her hand, indicating it was only a little. “Mr. Santis explains everything very carefully and patiently. Auditors can ask questions, so I’ve learned a bit. He said if I can memorize the basic twenty-eight runes, he’ll let me officially join the class.”

In Gawain’s mind, the image of a tall, skinny, scruffy young mage in a worn robe came to life—the one he had assigned to teach runes and magic at Cecil General Academy. Since then, he hadn’t heard much about the young second-level arcanist. The man was very low-key, seemingly content to quietly work once given a position. But judging by the results, he was doing a good job as a teacher.

Few formal mages had the patience to teach commoners like that, and he could even explain relatively complex rune theory so that someone like Betty could grasp some of it. That was truly impressive.

After all, no one had ever tried to explain magic to people who couldn’t even sense mana before. Santis’s teaching method was entirely his own invention.

“Mr. Santis said something like, ‘You can’t see the mana, but it’s there,’” Betty whispered. “But he doesn’t let us carve runes on red copper or black stone yet. We have to practice on sand, paper, and writing boards first. Only when we’re skilled can we touch real magical materials…”

“Safety awareness is the first step in learning magic,” Gawain chuckled. “You can’t go wrong listening to him.”

Just then, he turned toward the window—he sensed Amber’s presence rapidly approaching.

Unfortunately, this time the anti-Amber device didn’t work. The skilled half-elf with shadow talents easily bypassed the mousetrap on the windowsill and landed gracefully on the floor. Gawain noticed her expression was unusually serious.

Seeing Amber so solemn was rare, so Gawain shelved his plan to replace the mousetrap with a waist-high tripwire. Curious, he asked, “What’s going on?”

Amber grabbed Gawain’s water cup from the desk and gulped down the iced tea before catching her breath. “Phew—running all the way here wore me out. The mountain patrol came back early. They ran into a suspicious group of armed men and brought back two wounded prisoners.”

Gawain frowned. “Suspicious armed men? What happened?”

“No idea. They had no identification, but I found map-drawing tools and some sketches of the Dark Mountains on them,” Amber waved her hand. “The two prisoners won’t talk, and they’re badly hurt. Pittman doesn’t dare force-feed them potions—he’s afraid of accidentally killing them. They’re being held in the barracks now, and the priest is treating their wounds. The returning patrol is there too.”

Gawain glanced at Betty. “You stay here and watch the house. I’m going out.”

The little maid blinked in surprise, then nodded. The next moment, she saw her master and Amber swiftly climbing out the window. Their voices drifted faintly through the air:

“Damn this mousetrap!”

“Serves you right for setting it on me—caught yourself this time!”

“Why can’t I just walk with you? Why do I have to jump out the window with you?!”

Betty paused, then lowered her head and went back to writing. Understanding the behavior of her master and Amber together was just too complicated. Better to stick to something simple—like studying.

Meanwhile, Gawain and Amber didn’t take long to reach the “Prisoner Holding Room” in a corner of the barracks.

There, he saw the mountain patrol soldiers who had encountered the enemy, and the two captured prisoners. As Amber said, the prisoners were badly injured—burned through their limbs by scorching rays, with many areas on their torsos scorched by intense heat. Their metal armor had melted in places, worsening their wounds. If the patrol hadn’t administered healing potions in time, and the priest’s holy light hadn’t intervened after they returned, their survival would have been uncertain.

Priest Light had finished emergency treatment—using bone-setting, cleansing, and healing spells, along with a touch of holy light, he stabilized the prisoners’ condition. Seeing Gawain enter, the priest immediately approached. “My lord, you’ve arrived just in time.”

Gawain’s eyes caught the bloodstains on the priest’s hands and clothes, and he gasped. “If I’d come any later, would you have killed them?”

“Ah?” Light was momentarily stunned, then quickly waved his hands. “No, no. Their wounds are stable now. I meant if you’d been any later, I would have had to cast Sleep on them to keep them quiet—then we wouldn’t be able to question them.”

Glancing at the priest’s huge fists, Gawain was certain that this Sleep spell was effective enough to shut anyone up completely…

(End of chapter)