Chapter 15 The Collection <TOC> Chapter 17 The Judgment
Translator: SumTLMan
“Ahhh… water…”
As the Man-at-Arms began to regain consciousness, his lips quivered. Lance, upon seeing this, feigned extreme weakness, as if he was on the verge of collapse, and leaned backward. Fortunately, Dismas reacted swiftly, catching him just in time. If not, Lance’s dramatic act might have seen him genuinely sprawled on the ground.
Noticing several people rushing towards him, Lance raised his hand in a dismissive gesture, “I’m fine. Just exhausted from invoking a secret technique. Get some water for him.”
Under Susan’s care, the Man-at-Arms soon opened his eye and struggled to sit up. It was then he noticed the others present in the room. “What happened? The bandits… where are they?” Having been unconscious for quite a while, his raspy voice betrayed his current weakened state. Nonetheless, he recognized Susan, the woman who had once saved him.
“It was our lord who saved you,” Dismas said without hesitation, revealing the truth plainly.
The Man-at-Arms suddenly remembered something, looking down at his wounds and touching them with a touch of disbelief. He had survived, again.
“It was Susan who saved you,” Lance interjected, narrating the circumstances following his collapse. From Susan rescuing him from the battlefield, paying an unimaginable price, to feeding him with her blood, up till now. Essentially, he was emphasizing Susan’s benevolence towards the Man-at-Arms while barely mentioning himself. Yet, in some ways, both Susan and the Man-at-Arms enduring in such bleak moments until Lance’s arrival was nothing short of a legendary tale.
“I’m sorry… I couldn’t bring him back,” the veteran whispered, a mournful expression clouding his aged face, his memories still anchored to that fateful day.
“No, you saved us all,” Susan’s eyes welled up, having shed countless tears that day.
“Bring the broth, have something to eat first,” Lance intervened, shifting the mood away from the melancholy. Not wanting to wallow in the moment, Susan, after wiping her tears, brought over a warm bowl of soup, which Lance had thoughtfully set aside for dinner, anticipating such a scenario.
It was then that the Man-at-Arms realized Lance’s dominant position among the group. He gave him a once-over, finding nothing particularly notable except for his striking looks, prompting him to inquire, “Who are you?”
“This is our lord,” Susan jumped in, singing praises of Lance’s deeds. Her words exalted him to an almost mythical status.
Witnessing the Man-at-Arms’ growing astonishment gave Lance the exact reaction he was hoping for. After all, if he were to speak for himself, it wouldn’t carry as much weight as Susan’s heartfelt tales, which painted a more impactful first impression.
The Man-at-Arms was genuinely amazed. A noble lord personally tending to his wounds, even tearing his own clothes to bandage him up, and performing a miraculous feat from legends to save his life. “I thank you, my lord, for saving an old soul like mine.”
“You protected my people; it is I who should thank you,” Lance responded, gesturing towards the side where the equipment lay. “Once you’ve eaten and rested, I’ll need a brave warrior like you to help save the unfortunate townspeople.”
“My lord, your wish is my command.”
…
“Ding!”
“Ding!”
“Ding!”
Early in the morning, the previously quiet seaside town was jolted awake by a series of bell tolls. The crisp sounds echoed, rejuvenating the once somber town and even bringing it to a fervent stir.
After the last chime of the bell signaled a bandit raid, much of the town was laid to ruin, and many lives were taken.
The townspeople, like ants in panic emerging from their nest, looked around in confusion, desperate to flee but unsure where to turn.
Yet, as they scrambled, a cascade of hoofbeats echoed through the streets. Townsfolk instinctively retreated into their homes, peeking through door cracks and window slits, trying to gauge the situation outside.
Before long, a figure clad in knightly armor galloped forth, his voice steady and commanding.
“The Heir to the Lordship has returned! All gather in the square!”
As the knight sped past, the townsfolk grasped the gravity of the situation: a new lord had arrived. But what did this mean for them?
Perhaps sleep would be preferable…
“The Lord offers soup in the square — first come, first served!”
Why didn’t they mention food sooner? Merely a sentence from the knight sent ripples of excitement among the townsfolk.
However, past traumas lingered. Although food was promised, these people hadn’t heard of lords offering sustenance to commoners before. What if it was a trap?
The knight’s voice faded into the distance. Reynard made a swift circuit around the town, returning to the square, while Dismas approached from another direction. They both observed the deserted plaza, save for Lance standing beneath a statue in its center, surrounded by a few objects wrapped in tattered cloth. The townspeople were conspicuously absent.
“My Lord, we’ve been calling for a while. Why hasn’t anyone come?”
“Even the promise of gold doesn’t bring them. Are they all fools?”
Lance, undisturbed by their banter, remained stoic and unfazed.
His calm demeanor soothed the two, and soon another wave of voices approached. Leading them was a gaunt-faced woman, followed by a sizable group of townspeople, all muttering peculiar phrases.
“The Lord has come; peace will grace our town!”
“With the Lord here, we’re safe!”
“Under the Lord’s rule, we’ll feast thrice daily.”
“Morning milk and bread, beef in the evening until we’re fed.”
“What about noon? Poultry, fish, or any boon.”
Their chants, catchy as a tune, spread like wildfire among the crowd. If they desired one thing above all, it was a hearty meal.
The allure of these slogans was undeniable. Captivated by the imagery, townspeople hummed along and joined the procession.
“They’re here! They’ve come!”
Dismas exclaimed with enthusiasm, while Lance gazed at the approaching townsfolk, who resembled walking skeletons, with a touch of resignation.
Every one of them appeared emaciated, like skin stretched over bones, their bulging eyes giving them an almost comical appearance.
Lance’s heart ached. The town had suffered greatly under previous leadership. How long would it take to rejuvenate its spirit?
“The audience is set. Dismas, lay in ambush on the road leading to the outlying Farmstead. Detain anyone you encounter to control the flow of information,” Lance instructed, adding, “Keep an eye on the Farmstead activities but ensure they remain oblivious to our operations.”
“Understood!”
Without hesitation, Dismas accepted the emblem and set off.
Reynard, meanwhile, silently stood beside Lance, vigilant for any lurking threats.