Chapter 6 Welcome to Hamlet <TOC> Chapter 8 The Man-at-Arms
Translator: SumTLMan
Subsequent to the bandits’ plundering, they did not abscond but entrenched themselves on the old road, frequently waylaying and pillaging. The trading routes disrupted, commodity prices in the town soared, causing a scarcity of food and instigating a famine.
Moreover, the abrupt levy of a defense tax by the town mayor added insult to injury for the ordinary townsfolk. Some free citizens were compelled to indenture themselves to the landowners just to sustain their lives.
“Where are your lords? Doesn’t such a large town have a militia?”
“I’m unaware of where the nobility have absconded to. We do have a militia, but when the bandits attacked, most either perished or fled, leaving only a few behind…”
As the waiter spoke, his expression turned cautious, scanning the surroundings to ensure no eavesdroppers before whispering, “The remaining ones turned into those sheriffs like the one we saw earlier. It would be wise for visitors to keep their distance.”
Lance deciphered the underlying meaning of his words. The mayor had initially amassed a significant number of mercenaries to resist the bandits. Following the skirmish, these mercenaries, along with the surviving militia, were transformed into sheriffs.
In reality, they were the mayor’s henchmen, controlling the town. These individuals, committing outrageous acts within the town, were even more loathed than the bandits.
“What about the church?”
“Heh,” the waiter chuckled. “Once the bandits retreated, the church, along with the Mercenary Guild, deserted the town. Now, both the church and the guild are vacant.”
Upon hearing this, Reynard’s countenance shifted slightly, a hint of disappointment flickering across his resolute face, but he refrained from further comment.
The town’s situation was dire. Firstly, there were the landowners, who had numerous serfs working the farmsteads, holding a majority of the town’s food supply. Secondly, the mayor was backed by mercenaries and thugs, forming his enforcement squad.
Under normal circumstances, one would seek out the steward first to establish their identity.
However, Lance understood that this would undoubtedly alert the mayor, and they were only a party of three. The mightiest dragon is no match for the local snake. Ultimately, they would be at the mercy of the mayor’s restrictions.
“And that woman?”
Lance continued to probe about the strange woman they encountered earlier. The waiter’s expression now turned helpless.
“Ah, it’s all because of the bandit disaster. She originally had a happy family of three, but when the bandits attacked, both her husband and son died, leaving only her alive.
We’re not sure if she has lost her mind, but she supposedly dragged a severely injured Man-at-Arms from the ruins back to her home to nurse him back to health. The priest charged a fee for healing, and in order to raise the money, she tried to sell the Man-at-Arms’s equipment. But the mercenaries seized the gear, and she was tortured for a whole night before being thrown onto the street. By this point, the healing priests had left with the church, and she was driven to complete madness.
She managed to survive by scavenging the scraps left behind by the mercenaries. I’ve been able to help by leaving some fish offal for her.”
“A Man-at-Arms?” Lance caught onto the waiter’s choice of words.
“That’s right, the mercenary was once a soldier. During the bandit raid, he was the only one to stand up and lead us against the bandits. But looking at his condition, he was gravely injured, possibly dead.”
Both Dismas and Reynard felt poignant upon hearing this tale.
“This one’s yours,” Lance tossed a copper coin, and then fished out another to toss to the waiter.
“Give me a pound of rye bread to go.”
The waiter seemed to grasp Lance’s intention, but without a word, he merely shook his head and went to the back.
“I want to take a look. What do you two think?” Lance knew well that he lacked combat capabilities. The pistol at his waist was mainly for intimidation. He needed someone accompanying him to move about the town.
“The holy light protects me,” Reynard said, putting on his helmet.
“Then I definitely have no problem,” Dismas drained the last of his beer with a hearty gulp.
As Lance stepped out of the tavern, he saw the crouching woman by the doorway and approached her.
Just a moment ago, she wanted to approach him, but for some reason, her face distorted with terror now, her body coiling up and hugging herself tightly, too frightened to look at Lance.
Lance made no sudden movement. He simply crouched down and slowly handed over the paper-wrapped rye bread.
“You don’t need to be afraid. We won’t harm you. Take this and eat.”
The woman looked at the bag, then slowly met Lance’s gaze. Seeing his gentle smile, she paused but quickly reacted, grabbing the bag and scampering away as if fleeing.
“She just left like that?” Dismas furrowed his brow, wanting to stop her, but Lance motioned him to refrain.
“All those dwelling on this land are unfortunate souls. The corruption has already begun. Our task is indeed difficult…”
With those words, Lance got up and followed after her, leaving Dismas puzzled.
“My lord, why are we doing this?” he asked.
“We’re outsiders here, unknown to the locals. To gain a foothold here, we need a connecting link with the locals. The mercenary who was willing to protect the civilians during the war can be of great value to us.”
Initially, Lance was vexed about how to approach this town, but after hearing the woman’s story, he finally found a plan.
His idea was straightforward: leverage the Man-at-Arms’s reputation among the civilians. However, the specifics would need to be determined upon observing the situation on the ground.
The trio followed the woman to a residential house, watching as she hurriedly entered.
One could discern that the woman’s family had once been of some affluence, as evidenced by their freestanding earthen house, but alas, the vicissitudes of an abrupt raid had ravaged all.
The door bore no lock and was merely slightly ajar. Yet, as one neared the house, a faint but nauseating stench wafted forth. Given the words spoken by the waiter, it could be presumed, quite morbidly, that the mercenary might already be dead, his decaying corpse the source of the putrid smell.
Eye contact with the other two affirmed their similar suspicions. Yet, having come so far, none harbored thoughts of departing just yet.
“The journey has barely begun,” asserted a voice, “Anyone unable to endure this has no place here.”
Lance took the initiative, pushing the door open. The malodor intensified, assaulting their nostrils with such vigor that it threatened to unsettle Lance’s recently sated appetite.
Yet, his eyes took in the tragic scene that had unfolded within.
The woman had slit her wrist, allowing droplets of blood to fall into the mouth of the man lying in the bed.
Their abrupt intrusion startled the woman, who let out a cry and fell to the floor. However, she quickly got up and brandished a piece of iron as a deterrent.
“Leave my home at once!”
“Fear not, we’re not mercenaries,” Lance reassured her with a statement, then proceeded to approach the woman.
The sight of Lance approaching seemed to drive her into a frenzy. She lifted the iron piece, ready to strike. Reynard, naturally, would not stand idly by and was about to intervene when Lance raised his hand, stopping him. Instead, Lance opened his arms wide towards the woman.
“If you wish to strike, then strike,” he conceded, “I bear an inescapable responsibility for your plight.”