Chapter 8 The Man-at-Arms <TOC> Chapter 10 The Mercenary Leader
Translator: SumTLMan
Lance tenderly calmed the woman, simultaneously perceiving the [Gifting] from the void. Whether due to the long passage of time or the influence of a child, it seemed lesser than what he received from previous bandits.
Regardless, a gift is a gift. One doesn’t look a gift horse in the mouth.
He noticed the gashes on her wrist, densely packed, suggesting torment over the past fortnight. A pang of sympathy shot through him.
Gently cradling her hand, he carefully bandaged the wounds with his handkerchief. Seizing this intimate moment, he elucidated his lineage to her.
Lance Hamlet, the rightful Heir of Hamlet Territory.
And in return, Lance learned her name: Susan.
For Susan, believing him was hard to swallow. No nobleman had ever shown such kindness. But the testimonies of Dismas and Reynard affirmed Lance’s identity as a noble lord of high standing.
Her eyes brimmed with sorrow, lamenting, “Had you come sooner, perhaps my husband and son would still be alive…”
Lance discerned her sentiments, feeling a shade of melancholy himself.
In the game, he used to treat every character as expendable, a means to an end. He believed he could keep that perspective, but personal interactions made him realize emotions aren’t that simple to disconnect.
“Those who harm my people will pay in blood!” Lance vowed, rising, his chilling intensity even making Dismas shiver. Dismas chimed in, “I shall be your blade.”
“Right now, our strength is still budding. We need to amass more power,” Lance, ever the realist, pacified his fury quickly. Turning to the wounded Man-at-Arms on the bed, he said, “He requires our assistance.”
The extent of the injuries surpassed the basics. The battlefield remedies Reynard and others learned were inept here.
“Boil some water.”
Lance, being from the modern age, was versed in rudimentary medical care. He directed a few to start preparations. They cleaned a spot and sterilized strips torn from soft lining. A small knife, passed over a flame for sterilization, was used to trim the necrotic flesh around the wound. In an era devoid of anesthetics, such operations were essentially life-threatening. Fortunately, the old soldier was unconscious, dulled to the pain.
Soon the wound was cleaned and medicated with ointment Reynard had. It was carefully wrapped.
Susan, observing Lance’s meticulous care, was amazed. Here was a lord, willing to tear his own clothes to bandage a “dying man.”
After all the efforts, Lance’s remaining Gifting was drained. The veteran’s condition stabilized, but to fully heal, more Gifting and time were needed—meaning more Sacrifices.
“People in my territory suffer. We must act swiftly,” Lance, a furrow in his brow, looked at Susan, who was the most informed about the town’s situation.
“I need your assistance.”
“I understand…”
A flame of vengeance flickered in Susan’s previously calmed eyes.
…
Nightfall in Hamlet town was particularly early. For the average townsfolk, who had no nightlife, sleep was the sole respite from hunger.
Navigating the night was challenging due to primitive lighting methods—candles, oil lamps filled with animal fat or resin, and torches dipped in animal grease and resin. While commoners used paraffin candles, the aristocrats used beeswax, which burned cleaner.
But for the mercenaries and ruffians, the night was young.
“Ha! You should’ve seen me. One punch, and I sent a bandit flying,” a burly man boasted in the tavern. With his imposing physique, no one dared contradict, even if everyone knew he had actually knocked down a villager in his escape.
The braggarts and rogues in the tavern would drink, boast, or spend the night with prostitutes. Some of the more reprehensible even broke into homes, forcing themselves on women.
Little did they anticipate such luxuries after bandits sealed the town. Ironically, while those who confronted the bandits perished, these ruffians survived.
The raucous tumult in the tavern eventually died down, and the mercenaries dispersed, leaving behind chaos reminiscent of most nights.
Yet, tonight was destined not to be so tranquil.
“Why not try your luck at a game?”
“Pff! If I had the coin, wouldn’t I rather spend it on some lovely company?”
A mercenary who had crossed paths with Lance earlier left the tavern, slightly tipsy. The mere thought of the women from the brothel made him wobble on his feet.
Before bandits plagued the town, he was but an idle man. After their departure, he curiously rose to the position of a sheriff, but his oppression of the populace persisted, perhaps even more brazenly.
As he ambled down the street, a hand reached out from the shadows, seizing him by the neck and yanking him into the dark alleyway.
“Who’s there?” he stammered in panic. But in a split second, a hand muffled his cry, and he found his hands bound.
Dismas was ready to end him right then and there, but Lance intervened. Instead, he handed Susan a dagger they had seized earlier.
“Go on,” he urged, “Reclaim what’s yours.”
With the dagger in hand and hatred burning in her eyes, Susan didn’t hesitate. In a frenzied rage, she drove the blade into the ruffian.
Once, twice…
The thug thrashed in agony, but Reynard, holding him down, remained unaffected.
“That’s enough. He’s gone,” Lance gently pulled Susan away, and without much ado, offered the body as a Sacrifice.
After the deed, Susan spoke little. Her aura seemed even more silent, but she remembered her mission. Sticking to the plan, she led them to their next destination…
According to Susan, the town’s mayor had over thirty sheriffs under his command. Only about twenty of them were bona fide mercenaries, while the rest were local thugs familiar with the terrain.
On any other day, making a move on them as they resided in inns or guilds would be challenging.
But bandits had ravaged those safe havens. And now, with many lost in the haze of wine and merriment, opportunities to strike arose.
By day, apart from taking breaks, Lance and his comrades, with Susan’s guidance, pinpointed the whereabouts of these men. The night would be the time to seal their fate.
Chapter 8 The Man-at-Arms <TOC> Chapter 10 The Mercenary Leader