Chapter 203: Making Clothes for Her

When Garrett saw them approach, he stowed his spear and leaped into the air. The spear flew straight toward Anthony. It shot forward like lightning. Anthony nearly had a heart attack. His body jerked backward, barely dodging the spear as it whizzed past his face. He hit the ground with a thud.

Garrett laughed loudly. "Nice reflexes!"

Anthony slowly picked himself up, his legs wobbling. He cursed silently: What a cold-hearted old bastard. Called me here just to try and kill me.

Isolde was equally shocked. She quickly helped Bentley up. "Grandpa, this is insane! If he hadn’t dodged in time, he’d be a goner."

Garrett grinned. "Let's have a look at the spearhead."

Anthony glanced back, confused. He saw that the spearhead was unnervingly white—whiter than any normal steel spear. "What's this?"

Before he could say anything else, Isolde had already picked it up. She squeezed it, her eyes widening. "It's paper!"

Not just the spearhead—the entire spear was made of paper.

Anthony was dumbfounded. To turn soft paper into something so tough and sharp? How did he manage that? What kind of insane internal power must that take?

Garrett chuckled. "By the time the spear hit, I’d already used up most of my strength. If you hadn’t dodged, it would’ve just left a bruise at worst."

Anthony gave him an appreciative thumbs-up. "You’re amazing, Marshal Sharp. Seriously."

Garrett snapped his fingers, and someone quickly brought coffee. He led them over to sit down.

"So, your name’s Anthony Bentley, huh?" he asked, waving his sleeve nonchalantly.

Anthony, no longer brimming with his usual arrogance, lowered his head respectfully. "Yes, my lord."

Garrett nodded. "Nice name."

Anthony blinked, confused. "Nice name?"

Garrett smirked. "Of course. A name like yours symbolizes strength and pricelessness." He slapped Anthony on the back with a grin.

Bentley wasn’t exactly a scholar, but he figured if a Great Marshal said it, it must be true.

"I heard from my people that when Isolde fell off that cliff, you searched for three days and nights without stopping. Is that true?" Garrett asked, his tone suddenly serious.

Anthony glanced at Isolde, a bit uncomfortable. "Well… Isolde and I go way back. I… I had to do something."

Garrett nodded thoughtfully. "Yeah, I know. It’s rare to see someone so loyal. You two must have a deep bond. I respect that."

Anthony awkwardly scratched his head. Even though he respected him, Garrett was getting a little too serious for comfort.

Garrett suddenly got a glint in his eye. "Kid, ever thought about joining the military? You’ve got the making of a soldier. You won’t die too fast, at least."

Anthony froze. Ever since his last conversation with Isolde, he’d started questioning his life choices. Am I really just waiting away? Maybe I should actually do something with my life.

Without thinking too much, Anthony blurted out, "Yeah…. I’d like to give it a shot."

Garrett shot him a long, calculating look. "Give it a shot? No. You need to make up your mind. I’m not going to sugarcoat it for you—this camp? It’s no joke. It’s tough as hell."

"I’m not afraid of hardship!" Anthony said, mustering all the courage he could.

Garrett smiled, clearly pleased. "Good. Since you’re so determined, pack your things and report to North Camp in two days."

Isolde was taken aback. She turned to Garrett and asked, "Grandpa, who’s the current commander of North Camp?"

Garrett answered casually, "It’s your eldest uncle."

Isolde frowned. "Didn’t he go to Zloimond?" She hadn’t heard about this new assignment.

"Yeah, but the King issued an edict," Garrett replied.

Isolde’s heart skipped a beat, a surge of excitement rushing through her.

Anthony, noticing the sudden shift in her expression, raised an eyebrow. "What’s got you so happy all of a sudden?"

Isolde quickly wiped the grin off her face and shook her head. "Oh, it’s nothing. I’m just happy for you."

Anthony knew there was more to it, but with Garrett around, he didn’t dare press the issue.

Standing up, Isolde said, "Grandpa, I’m going to pay my respects to Grandma."

"Go ahead. She really wants to see you," Garrett said, his expression softening. He remembered how surprised he’d been when she agreed to the marriage so readily. He had expected resistance, but she had simply said she’d support anything that made Isolde happy. Doug had asked him to keep it a secret, so he couldn’t show his sadness in front of her.

When Isolde arrived, Natasha was making clothes. Her eyesight might not be great anymore, but her hands were still steady, the stitches as neat as ever. It was almost like she sewed by instinct. She was so focused on her work that Isolde’s presence went unnoticed at first.

Then, as if sensing her, she looked up with a bright smile. "You sneaky thing, you didn’t make a sound when you came in. You trying to give me a heart attack?"

Isolde chuckled and sat down next to her, glancing at the clothes on the table. "Who are you making these for? Why not just let the servants handle it? You’ve got an embroiderer, don’t you? Why tire yourself out?"

Natasha smiled warmly. "I’m making it for you. Autumn’s coming, and I thought I’d make you a nice jacket."

Isolde’s eyes widened as she picked up the piece of clothing and inspected the stitching. "Grandma, your skills are incredible! But honestly, I’ve got plenty of clothes already. Even if I wanted something new, we’ve got tailors and embroiderers for that. Stop doing all this yourself and let them do the work."

She handed the jacket to the servant standing by. "Take this to the embroiderer."

Natasha grabbed the jacket, her voice firm. "No one touches my work."

She then pulled Isolde’s hand into hers and gently examined her face. "I’m getting old, and I won’t be able to make many clothes anymore. While my eyes are still good, I want to make at least one more for you. Remember when we first met? You kowtowed sixteen times to me. At the very least, I’m making sixteen pieces for you."

Isolde grinned. "You’re being a little too serious, don’t you think? You’d go crazy making sixteen sets of clothes. Just make this one. Once it’s done, I’ll wear it forever."

Natasha shuddered, clearly offended. She glared at Isolde. "Nonsense! Slap yourself for talking like that!"

Isolde knew better than to argue with elders over such things. With a sigh, she said sweetly, "Okay, okay, I apologize. Just don’t be mad anymore."

Natasha wiped a tear from her eye and turned away. "You’re about to get married, you know. Don’t mess around like that. When you’re at the Marquis’s estate, if anyone bullies you, you tell me. I might not be able to hit them, but I can sure scold them good."

Isolde laughed, wrapping her arm around her grandmother’s shoulder. "Who would dare bully me with you around, Grandma? Don’t worry, I’ll be fine." Seeing her eyes were red, Isolde knew the thoughts of the ghost marriage were still weighing on her. She comforted her softly, "Grandma, listen to me. Oliver’s not dead. He’ll come back alive. I believe in him."

Isolde thought Doug hadn’t told the old woman anything, but she couldn’t help but wonder what story he’d used to convince the two elders.