Chapter 19 A Turning Tide <TOC> Chapter 21 Farmstead Prologue
Translator: SumTLMan
“Are you a blacksmith?”
Lance, in his position of assessing villagers with unique professions or abilities, found it somewhat peculiar as he observed the disheveled man with white whiskers voraciously consuming a bowl of vegetable porridge.
In his understanding, blacksmiths were artisans in this world, indispensable craftsmen. Whether it was for tools of agriculture or weapons of war, their expertise in both creation and repair was of the utmost demand. How could one fall from grace so deeply?
When asked about his situation, the blacksmith’s face clouded with sorrow, narrating his story to Lance.
Indeed, as Lance had deduced, the man had been the only blacksmith in the village prior to the bandits’ arrival. Sometimes, the demand was so high that farmers had to wait for up to a month, let alone the larger tasks like forging weapons.
However, with the advent of the bandits, the town mayor had placed a substantial order for him, commissioning weapons and equipment to arm the local militia.
Initially gleaming with optimism of a significant profit, the blacksmith had toiled day and night. Yet, disaster struck just after a few batches of weapons were delivered. The bandits retaliated, and a stray cannonball annihilated his smithy. Had he been inside at the time, he would have perished.
While he escaped the bandits’ blade, he lost his livelihood. And with the town mayor refusing to pay, citing incomplete orders, the blacksmith’s hopes of restoring his workshop evaporated, relegating him to a wanderer.
“Even excluding the pending orders, what you’ve already delivered must be worth a fair sum.”
“What do you mean by that?” The blacksmith detected an underlying message in Lance’s words.
“The money that the town mayor owes…” The blacksmith’s eyes brimmed with desperation.
It was clear. The blacksmith hoped Lance would help him reclaim the debt from the former town mayor. But would Lance be the sort to do so?
Why should he intervene in old scores?
“Did you forge this?”
Instead of addressing the plea directly, Lance produced a dagger, a relic from a past skirmish, and handed it over.
With pride glinting in his eyes, the blacksmith boasted, “Indeed, my handiwork. Sturdy and durable.”
But Lance’s subsequent words left the craftsman almost kneeling in fear, “This dagger was retrieved from an assassin targeting me. You supplied weapons to the town mayor. Could you be in league with them?”
Stunned, the blacksmith fumbled, dropping the dagger, hurriedly protesting his innocence. “I’ve sold countless weapons, my lord. I had no hand in this treachery.”
“Why would you deliver equipment without payment? Makes one wonder about your allegiance,” Lance remarked, his gaze piercing through the blacksmith.
The accusation hit the blacksmith hard. “I was paid! The mayor did pay for that batch.”
“So, you were trying to deceive me earlier?”
Cornered, the blacksmith stuttered, pleading for mercy. “My lord, I truly was in the dark about everything. I beg your mercy.”
“You think I’d falsely accuse you?”
Tears brimming but not spilling, the blacksmith felt as if the weight of the world was upon him.
“Enough,” Lance declared, sensing the man had reached his limit. “I choose to believe you.”
That simple statement felt like a lifeline to the drowning blacksmith, the immense weight on his chest alleviating considerably.
“The former town mayor had countless sins to his name. Don’t walk his path, or I’ll be forced to intervene.”
The blacksmith hurriedly nodded, not daring to voice any grievances.
“Go, have another bowl. When it comes to rebuilding this town, I’ll give your skills precedence,” Lance declared, patting the grateful man’s shoulder as he sent him on his way.
“Thank you, my lord…”
Lance’s gaze followed the blacksmith as he retreated, his expression unreadable.
It wasn’t the expense that troubled him; rather, it was whether the sum spent bore any significance.
No one truly knew the extent of the town mayor’s misdeeds or the depth of his debts. Should Lance assume this particular debt today, what of the others to follow?
Hence, he couldn’t open this Pandora’s box, allowing his energy to be drained on endless unresolved liabilities.
Yet, evading the debt outright wasn’t an option for Lance, given the town had but this one blacksmith. Both creation and repair relied heavily on the blacksmith’s expertise.
Therefore, he needed the blacksmith to willingly relinquish the debt, perhaps even gratefully acknowledging an extra gesture from Lance — a bowl of porridge.
Was the blacksmith at fault?
Not really.
But when his interests clashed with Lance’s, the outcome was all too apparent.
…
The town’s situation was gradually stabilizing. Lance allowed the veteran, the Man-at-Arms, some respite while he hurried to the designated rendezvous.
“How’s the situation?”
“Just as you predicted, Lord. Some attempted to tip off the farmers, but we’ve intercepted them. The informant is held within,” Dismas, the Highwayman, took over, evidently admiring Lance’s almost prophetic foresight in discerning the farmer’s mole among the townfolk.
“Let’s see.”
Without further ado, Lance followed as Dismas led him to a covert thicket nearby. Hanging from a tree was a boy, presumably eleven or twelve, appearing gaunt and worn — much like a scrawny monkey.
“Bring him down.”
As the boy was ushered before Lance, palpable fear emanated from him. He had witnessed the scene in the town square — a once-mighty mayor reduced to a mere lamb awaiting slaughter in this man’s grip.
“Do you know who I am?”
“My Lord…”
“What’s your name?” Lance didn’t rush to unveil his plans, instead turning the spotlight on the youngster.
“They call me Little John since my father is named John.”
“And your family? How did they end up under the thumb of the Farmstead owner?”
“Bandits killed my mother and younger brother…”
Lance pieced together the boy’s tale — a survivor of a family tragedy, left with just his father. Driven to desperation by hunger, his father sold both their land and himself to the farm owner. The boy, deemed too young, found refuge working menial tasks at a granary to earn his daily bread.
“Do you hate the bandits?”
“Hate!” The raw emotion of youth laid bare on Little John’s face.
“Do you resent the mayor and Farmstead owner?”
He seemed lost at this, evidently not connecting the dots between these figures and his plight.
“It was the Farmstead owner that forced your father to sell everything. Without his machinations, you’d have your own land and a daily meal.”
“It’s all because of them?”
“Indeed. They’re no better than bandits.”
With plain words, Lance painted a vivid picture, stoking the flames of the boy’s emotions. If bandits were the direct cause, then the mayor and the Farmstead owner were complicit. If not for their manipulations, driving up grain prices, the townsfolk wouldn’t be selling themselves for mere sustenance.
“As for me, I’m here to fight these bandits. I promise to shield you all, ensuring everyone is fed. Whose side are you on now?”
Chapter 19 A Turning Tide <TOC> Chapter 21 Farmstead Prologue