The little maid, Rose O'Hara, has now completely become James's follower and sycophant. Every day in class, she can be heard exclaiming, "Master James is great!", "Master is amazing!" and other words.
Mr. Daniel is also more and more relieved about James's homework, but today, although James has consistently and perfectly completed the homework and questions assigned to him, he always looks absent-minded.
"Okay, James, let's leave class early today. There is no need to worry about arithmetic and English at your current level. Go and play for a long time. You have really worked hard in the past few months, so I will treat it as a reward for you. I'll give you half a day off!"
O'Hara cheered excitedly on the side and praised Mr. Daniel again. This little flatterer is destined to be troublesome in the future. James still thanked Daniel politely and walked out of the room. He does need some time to think and deal with some issues.
"What is Victor doing recently?" he asked O'Hara beside him as they went downstairs.
"He should be doing the same as before. In the morning, he starts tidying up the garden and lawn, and in the afternoon, he goes to the stable to work." The little maid muttered while wagging her fingers. "Victor's father is really too much. He lets his son do all the work of the gardener and sleeps at home drunk every day. Master James, we haven't gone to visit Victor for a long time. Let's go see him this afternoon, okay?" She begged, shaking James's arm.
"Okay, we'll go to the stable this afternoon to find Victor."
O'Hara was stunned for a moment, never expecting that the young master, who has always been reticent recently, agreed so neatly. She couldn't help but smile and followed happily. James desperately needs to talk to Victor right now—to have a serious conversation with his half-brother about their "father."
Howlett Manor has two things in abundance: horses and guns. In colonial areas, whether it was the early wars with the natives, the struggle between Britain and France for territorial power, or the current conflicts between various manor owners competing for pastureland, force always came first.
This was similar to a feudal system, and the colonial governor and government were happy to let local rulers enforce control. The British Empire was vast, and maintaining stability in every colonial region was impractical.
So, anyone loyal to the Crown could recruit soldiers, buy horses, and claim land—as long as they paid their taxes. As for laws and governance, those were often just words on paper. After all, there was once a decree by the British royal family stating that as long as pirates shared their loot with the Crown, they could be knighted.
There are two stables in the manor. The one to the east is enormous—practically a horse farm—spanning over 10,000 square meters. It houses more than 200 strong, healthy horses, with over 30 workers tending them day and night.
Mr. Howlett can mobilize a hundred armed horsemen at any time, making him the most powerful manor owner in the Midwest. In this era, his estate is more like a military base.
The other stable is much smaller, housing only a dozen horses, located closer to the manor. These are Mr. Howlett's personal favorites, only used by the Howlett family or for selective breeding. Each horse stands over 1.8 meters tall, with sleek coats and fierce, intelligent eyes. Victor Logan works here.
"Victor! Victor Logan!"
Before they even entered the stable, O'Hara was already calling Victor's name. Inside, cool air from stored ice kept the stable temperature comfortable.
Victor Logan, wearing a sleeveless vest, was grooming a tall, black stallion with a soft brush.
This was Black Mountain, the finest stallion in the manor. It was taller and stronger than most horses, with a thick, flowing mane and powerful legs. Black Mountain was Mr. Howlett's favorite horse.
Victor glanced at James and O'Hara as they entered and gave a slight nod of acknowledgment.
James observed Victor closely but said nothing. O'Hara, however, bounced around excitedly, rubbing Black Mountain's side and chattering away.
The more James looked at Victor, the more surprised he became.
Victor was only fifteen or sixteen but already as tall as a grown man. His frame was wide, his arms thick, and his fingers long and strong. His nails—more like claws—looked unnatural, more beast than human.
Even more curious, Black Mountain, normally fierce and untamed, was completely submissive to Victor.
James could smell something different about Victor—a faint, predatory aura. It reminded him of something he had encountered in his past life, back when he was a butcher in a war camp.
"I haven't seen you for a while. Were you sick again, Miss James?" Victor taunted, continuing his work.
James ignored the sarcasm, stepping closer to Black Mountain and gently reaching toward its mouth.
Victor instinctively moved to stop him, but—surprisingly—Black Mountain didn't resist. Instead, the great stallion lowered its head and nuzzled James's hand.
Victor stared at him, silent.
"O'Hara, look at that white pony over there," James said, pointing to a pure white foal in the corner.
O'Hara's eyes lit up with excitement, and she rushed over to hug the pony's neck.
Victor continued grooming Black Mountain, still watching James with curiosity.
"Do you do all the work here?" James asked casually. "I heard you basically do Mr. Logan's job too."
Victor shrugged. "Not everyone has the last name Howlett. If I don't work, what do I eat?"
He paused, then added, "That bastard just drinks all night and sleeps all day. If I don't do the work, Mr. Howlett would throw us out."
James noticed Victor's jaw clench at the mention of "that bastard."
"Does he treat you well?" James asked more directly.
Victor didn't react with anger. Instead, he smirked proudly.
"Hmph, he doesn't hurt me much anymore. He can't even leave bruises. Useless bastard!"
"So… how about keeping him away from you?"
Victor froze, then turned to stare at James.
"What do you mean?"
"Nothing. Just asking. Since you hate him, I figured you wouldn't want to be around him."
Victor sneered, looking away.
"When I'm grown, I'll leave on my own."
O'Hara suddenly called out, dragging the little white foal over.
"James, Master James! Can I name her White Dove?"
"A horse named White Dove?"
"Yes! She's so cute, like a little lady! Please, Master James!"
"Fine, call her whatever you want."
O'Hara beamed and hugged White Dove, begging Victor to help her ride.
Just then, the sound of quick, heavy footsteps echoed from outside the stable.
The door swung open.
Mr. Howlett entered, his sharp gaze sweeping the room.
"There you are! Two little troublemakers skipping class!"