Chapter 20 Power Lies in the Hands of the Mighty <TOC> Chapter 22 A Swift Raid on the Granary
Translator: SumTLMan
“Yours my lord.”
Little John responded as if he had just come to a realization.
Commoners seldom held any true loyalty, especially considering John was not directly under the farm’s lordship. Soon enough, Lance discerned from him the extent of his knowledge, realizing he was merely a helper at the town’s grain shop.
His presence here was merely due to the shop owner’s directive to inform the farm owner, “The new lord has returned, and the mayor has been executed.” Beyond that, he knew little else.
“How often does the grain shop communicate with the farm?”
“Every three days someone comes to deliver grain and collect money. The last visit was two days ago. Normally, someone would come tomorrow to rotate shifts with the guards.”
“What about the shop’s guards? Why didn’t they come? Why you?”
“They only heed the lord’s commands. The shop owner can’t instruct them. Such menial tasks usually fall to me.”
The ‘lord’ naturally refers to the farm owner. By rights, such tasks should fall to the guards, but it’s evident they’ve grown lax. With the farm lacking entertainment, their three-day shifts feel like holidays, and they are reluctant to run back and forth. Unable to control them, the shop owner usually dispatches his staff instead.
“Hmph,” Lance sneered. He had perhaps overestimated these household guards.
“Detail their numbers, their equipment, and their locations.”
From John’s account, Lance quickly grasped the situation.
There were five in total: one team leader clad in breastplate wielding an axe, two crossbowmen, and two swordsmen.
This was the farm owner’s setup to guard his grain reserves. At face value, these five seemed no different than foot soldiers. But with their armor and weaponry, they were a force to be reckoned with, especially the two crossbows that, when positioned in the grain silo, no one would dare face head-on.
While their firepower and range might fall short compared to flintlocks, the crossbows’ firing rate surpassed them. Lance wouldn’t risk advancing under a hail of bolts.
However, according to John, these guards lacked discipline and often bullied him. Had they not been strictly commanded to guard the grain shop, they would have probably gone on frequent roams.
Lance wasn’t surprised. These individuals lacked formal training and were nothing more than armed thugs. Against defenseless peasants, they might have an edge, but compared to a regular army or even mercenaries and bandits, they fell short. Because, unlike them, mercenaries truly had the guts to kill and knew how to do so.
No wonder, despite their numbers, they were suppressed by the mayor’s twenty-plus mercenaries.
Nevertheless, Lance did not underestimate them. Though they might be undisciplined, their numbers and weaponry were threatening. The core issue was that he had too few men.
Strategically despise your enemy, but tactically respect them.
Soon, a plan to overcome these men crystallized in Lance’s mind.
…
Nightfall in Hamlet always arrived swiftly. After Lance dealt with the town’s security team, the whole town became eerily silent.
No more drunken brawls or disturbances. The taverns and gambling dens, devoid of their primary patrons, lost their usual bustle. As for the brothels, they shut down completely.
But compared to before, most townsfolk now had some gruel in their bellies, ensuring they weren’t kept awake by hunger pangs.
For many, tonight would mark the first peaceful sleep since the bandits invaded…
However, for others, sleep remained elusive.
The grain shop owner awaited Little John’s return at home. Having waited from day till night, he began to suspect something had gone wrong.
Then, suddenly, noises emerged from the door.
“It’s dark already. Why are you only returning now?” A tall, lean middle-aged man frowned upon seeing Little John at the doorstep.
Due to the lord’s charitable act of distributing porridge, our shop didn’t see a single customer all day.
The mere thought of this middle-aged man provoked curiosity.
“What did the master say?”
“The lord wishes to meet with you,” Little John blurted out. Before the middle-aged man could react, the partially closed door was nudged open, and a confident young man walked in.
Upon seeing him, the middle-aged man immediately recognized him as the very Lord who had executed the mayor in the town square earlier.
He was alarmed, considering his own act of passing on information, and instinctively looked at Little John. Did you lead the lord here?
“Does the lord require anything? If you wish to purchase grain, please visit our store tomorrow,” the middle-aged man feigned ignorance with a placating smile.
“Attend to your tasks. I wish to have a detailed discussion with the shop owner.”
With a mere sentence, Lance dismissed Little John, leaving the middle-aged man with no choice but to force a resigned chuckle.
…
The grain shop’s layout was simple, with a storefront at the front and a storage room at the back. The space wasn’t vast but was adequate to accommodate a few people.
Upon reaching the entrance, Little John took a moment to compose himself before knocking.
“Ah, it’s you?”
A man opened the door, and his face instantly fell with distaste upon seeing John. Dismissively, he gestured, “Fetch me some ladies to lighten the mood.”
“The brothel has been shut down by the lord.”
“I don’t care. Just bring some women over!” The man’s temper flared. Though aware of the brothel’s closure and how it deprived his friends of pleasure, he felt aggravated.
In the past, merely offering a handful of grain would earn them a woman’s company. But today, with the lord’s distribution of porridge, no one paid them any attention. Visiting the brothel wasn’t an option either, given its sudden closure.
The thought of laying a finger on any woman was out of the question; after all, the mayor’s head still hung as a stark reminder in the town square.
While they wouldn’t dare challenge the lord’s authority, deep down, they wished him an untimely end.
Rotation was due tomorrow, and once they returned to the farm, chances of mingling with women would be slim. The growing frustration made him curse aloud, “Damn lord, may he contract syphilis.”
Witnessing the vulgar display, disdain welled up within Little John, but he remembered his duty.
“There aren’t any women, but the shop owner mentioned your departure tomorrow, so I’ve brought some wine for you.”
John stepped aside, revealing a large barrel behind him.
Seeing this, the man’s mood swiftly changed to one of delight. He didn’t even ponder how Little John alone could’ve carried such a massive barrel. Nevertheless, those inside had already begun drinking. John didn’t leave immediately, choosing instead to sit by the entrance, listening intently to the voices within.
Chapter 20 Power Lies in the Hands of the Mighty <TOC> Chapter 22 A Swift Raid on the Granary