NOVEL SIMPLE Chapter 50: Making the Most of Things
After a while, Tormo still showed no intention of speaking, and Andersen dared not move for fear of displeasing his father. Suddenly, the masked guard brought in a young man who resembled Andersen somewhat. Judging by his age, he was two years younger than Andersen—his younger brother, Tarth. The two brothers exchanged glances, devoid of affection.
"Father, we sent twelve swordsmen to join the sellswords, and seven of them have returned. I have recorded their characteristics so that you can choose the ones you want for our house."
"Hmm," Tormo replied indifferently, still not turning around. The two brothers stood by, waiting.
After a while, a slightly older man entered. He was the eldest brother, Vitus, looking to be about thirty-five or thirty-six, and appeared very shrewd. He glanced at his younger brothers with the same emotionless expression.
"Father."
Tormo finally turned around and looked at his three sons. "Look at the birds in the cage," he said, making Andersen tense up. His other two brothers also looked serious. They quickly observed the various birds as their father had instructed.
"Look at the bird in that cage. It's from the woods of Sothoryos. Look at its feathers. Aren't they beautiful?" Following Tormo's finger, the three brothers saw a bird with emerald green feathers and bright yellow wings. Its large beak looked a bit out of place, but the feathers were stunning.
"Now, look at the small white cage. It has a beautiful voice." They saw another small cage containing a drab-looking bird with an exceptionally beautiful voice, reminiscent of the tremolo in a violin.
"You may not think that all the birds in my garden are beautiful, but each has its own strengths. Some may not look good, but they have a beautiful voice. Some may not have a beautiful voice, but they have beautiful feathers." Tormo looked at each of his sons in turn, finally stopping at Andersen. "You, tell me, what are you good at?"
"Father..." Andersen's lips moved, but he didn't know what to say.
"The only thing you're good at is playing with women. I thought you could at least handle that, but now you can't even do that well. Tell me, are you worthy to be in the same yard as my birds?"
As he listened to Tormo, Andersen's face turned red and white in humiliation.
"But Father, what about Viserys..."
"What about Viserys? A lost dog is the reason for your failure!"
Hearing his father's reproach, Andersen pinched his index finger with the nail of his thumb, trying hard not to lose his temper.
"Since you can't do anything right, then pour the wine for me and your brothers." Tormo pointed at Tarth and Vitus with his chin. "Come on, sit over here."
This move was almost telling Andersen that he was even further from the inheritance, though Tormo didn't say it explicitly, leaving a sliver of hope. Andersen poured the sweet wine for his father and brothers, the blood on his index finger inevitably touching the wine glass, but the three ignored it as if they hadn't seen it.
"Father, our spy in House Zalyne reported that Viserys visited Methys a few days ago," Vitus said.
"Father, the Beggar King must be using Zalyne to fight against us!" Andersen spoke excitedly, but received a disgusted look from Tormo.
"You are a servant who pours wine. Is a servant allowed to interrupt?"
"I'm sorry, Father." Andersen quickly lowered his head and stepped back, his molars clenched, eyes flashing with anger, and his body trembling slightly.
With Tormo's permission, Vitus continued, "According to my investigation, it seems unlikely that House Zalyne has acquired whale oil and is prepared to fight us."
Tormo nodded, agreeing with his eldest son. Their spies had long since discovered the ingredients for the soap. However, the recipe was still unclear, and their people were experimenting.
What they didn't know was that whale oil was not necessarily needed to make soap—lard, sheep fat, cow fat, and even... To minimize a disaster, Viserys hadn't told Methys about the kind of "animal." But sooner or later, someone would discover that the fat of any "animal" could also be used to make soap.
In Tormo's opinion, House Zalyne would fall sooner or later. For nearly twenty years, no healthy offspring had reached adulthood, and now, although they were making a last-ditch effort, Tormo believed they would pray to him for a dignified end.
From then on, they would withdraw from the ranks of the three great families. Therefore, the possibility of them fighting against him was low. The lack of whale oil acquisition further confirmed his conjecture. As for Viserys, Tormo had not yet taken him seriously, believing that Viserys was still alive today purely because his second son was too useless.
"In addition, according to reports from our contacts close to the Sealord, the topics for the song competition are likely these," Vitus said, taking a note from his breast pocket and handing it to Tormo.
Tormo glanced at it and said, "Yes, send this to the Nightingale."
"Yes, Father."
Tormo then turned to his youngest son. "Since some people can't handle Viserys, I'll leave it to you."
Tarth sat up straight, like a soldier awaiting orders.
"I remember he also participated in the tournament, right?"
"Yes, Father."
"Well, you can arrange it. Since he dared to be an enemy of House Fregar, he must pay the price."
"Understood."
Tormo was determined to become the next Sealord. In his opinion, Braavos would one day belong to House Fregar. The 10-Day Festival was of great significance to Braavos. If Viserys died before the festival, it would probably not affect the event but would certainly be talked about. With the festival less than a month away, he decided to let Viserys be for now.
Viserys had not left the house for some time.
Almost everyone knew that he and House Fregar seemed to be in conflict. As a result, the house was quiet, with only two maids, a stable boy, the siblings, and Kyla remaining. Even Helbo had not been seen for a long time. Viserys did not mind; he had been busy with other things.
In front of him was a basin of water with a tiny tadpole in it, like a speck of ink. He was attempting to invade the tadpole's consciousness and control it. This would be his first attempt at warging.
