Chapter 18 To Battle <TOC> Chapter 20 Power Lies in the Hands of the Mighty
Translator: SumTLMan
The old soldier, the Man-at-Arms, stood steadfast like an unyielding mountain, not revealing the slightest sign of fatigue. Despite the circumstances, he held his shield strategically in front, hiding his bloodied mace behind it, leaving everyone in suspense about from which angle the next strike would come.
Seeing that his feigned weakness failed to lower the veteran’s guard, the mercenary leader, sensing his scheme was uncovered, succumbed to madness and lunged toward the old soldier in attack.
Even in his prime, he was no match for the veteran. Now, with a leg injured to the point where he couldn’t even stand straight, the odds were heavily against him.
The townsfolk were astounded when the situation flipped in favor of the Man-at-Arms with a single strike. However, Lance and Reynard knew the control of this battle had always been in the old soldier’s hands.
In reality, while the Man-at-Arms’ injuries were healed under Lance’s Skills, the torments he endured for more than ten days in death’s shadow hadn’t easily dispelled his critically injured state.
Thus, the mercenary leader’s judgment wasn’t wrong. The old soldier was truly at a disadvantage, and the mercenary leader held the upper hand in both strength and speed.
But he shouldn’t have tried to catch the sword thrown by Lance.
Not because of any defect in the weapon, but due to the method of attack. Without the sword, he had to come close, which played into his strengths. He could withstand a few blows from the mace at close quarters. However, with a longsword, he instinctively kept a distance, thus giving the veteran the chance to wear him down with defensive tactics.
The mercenary leader, already injured by Reynard’s sword on one shoulder and a slash on the other hand, combined with his weakened state from the previous night’s struggles, was hardly in optimal condition.
The moment he danced to the veteran’s rhythm, his downfall was just a matter of time.
It can be said that youth and inexperience blinded him. He failed to see that every gift destiny presents comes with a hidden price tag.
The old soldier, with grim determination, shattered the mercenary leader’s limbs with each mace strike until he was helplessly sprawled on the ground.
“It seems you’ve lost,” Lance remarked as he approached the mercenary leader, his face displaying clear mockery, reminiscent of a cat toying with a mouse.
The mercenary leader, now reduced to a pathetic, worm-like state, shouted threats but was no longer a threat to anyone. However, his incessant, irritating noise prompted Lance to take the veteran’s blood-stained mace and deliver a crushing blow to the mercenary leader’s face.
A devastating blow! The mercenary leader’s face caved in, eyes burst, and blood spurted everywhere. The sound of breaking bones was so clear that those nearby could hear it. The tyrant, who had plagued the town, was now lifeless.
Lance then hoisted the Man-at-Arms’ arm in victory.
“The victor ~ Barristan!” he announced.
“Barristan!” The townsfolk echoed in elation, their voices filled with gratitude and admiration.
Lance could feel the subtle tremors in the old soldier’s hand. The veteran wasn’t in good shape, prompting Lance to activate his [Blessing] skill, slightly bolstering and stabilizing the old warrior.
The Man-at-Arms couldn’t fall. Lance still needed him to take a stand on his side.
“My Lord!” The veteran shouted out in acknowledgment, leading the townspeople to cheer in tandem.
Watching the townsfolk, Lance could discern the respect and authority he desired taking shape.
Throughout history, emperors were never wrong; it was always the ministers or eunuchs or concubines who erred, leading to the saying about “cleansing the king’s side.”
Lords were no different. Upon arrival, Lance quickly shifted the blame to the dead butler and mayor. In his eyes, he could do no wrong.
Leveraging the deaths of the mayor and mercenary leader, he aimed to establish his own authority. By the looks of it, he had succeeded.
Amidst the dawn of events, he hadn’t yet solidified his foothold in Hamlet Town. Yet, with time, he’s destined to overcome every hurdle, seizing control of Hamlet entirely.
When the time is right, he will have the strength to eradicate the cancerous legacies left by his ancestors, even toppling the patriarch himself.
Having achieved his desires, Lance refrained from tormenting the common folk, signaling decisively.
“Provide grain, serve porridge for three days, two meals a day.”
Actions and words couldn’t compare to this announcement. The once desolate townsfolk burst into excited cheers, the crowd bubbling over like a boiling pot, chaos imminent.
But at that very moment, a piercing neigh echoed, followed by the crisp sound of horse hooves against cobblestone.
Reynard had mounted his horse, his gleaming sword reflecting the shimmering moonlight, quelling the brewing unrest with its sheer presence.
“Line up towards the brothel. Any disruptors will be disqualified!”
Upon Lance’s command, order was swiftly restored. Hunger had sapped their strength to rebel, and with three days of meals at stake, no one wanted to jeopardize this precious opportunity.
Soon, a lengthy queue formed outside the brothel, extending all the way to the town square.
Choosing this location was strategic, due to the availability of manpower, equipment, and food. They had discovered a significant amount of food in the brothel’s basement.
“Name?”
“Webber.”
“…”
Three lines formed at the entrance. Townsfolk wishing to partake in the porridge had to register their name, gender, age, and former profession.
Those with unique talents or abilities could receive an extra bowl, but false claims were discouraged with a system of peer reporting, rewarding both the informant and the truly gifted.
The three-day porridge provision wasn’t due to an excess on Lance’s part. Although he had a fair stash, it wasn’t meant for frivolous distribution, hence the porridge instead of solid meals.
His goal was to gauge the town’s population while scouting for talent. He needed the townsfolk to be alive and gradually regaining their vigor. It was also a chance to utilize the near-spoiling grain.
Sadly, literate individuals were scarce, with only two discovered at the brothel.
Both were daughters of local merchants, educated before the bandits’ arrival. Unfortunately, the bandits targeted affluent families, leading to the tragic demise of their families. These women managed to survive, enduring unspeakable humiliations, with their ultimate fate being the brothel.
Another literate individual was the town mayor’s clerk, spared by Lance solely for his literacy. Given the scarcity of talent, he had to be employed.
Once registered, the townsfolk finally received a bowl of porridge — a simple concoction of grains, wild vegetables, and a hint of meaty oil. The pinch of salt added was almost imperceptible, making it similar to pig feed. Yet, to the famished, it was a gourmet feast.
The warmth of the vegetable porridge filled their hollow bellies, enveloping them in a previously unknown sense of contentment.
Indeed, under the lord’s protection, sustenance was assured.
Chapter 18 To Battle <TOC> Chapter 20 Power Lies in the Hands of the Mighty