Lance understood sothing when he heard those words. Outside, he wasn’t very familiar with various forces or any Supernatural Power, but returning to Hamlet was like coming back ho.
In this small corner of Hamlet, I know better than anyone else. It’s not just what secret cards the Old Lord had up his sleeve; I even know what kind of underwear the Old Lord wore. The root cause of the rabid wild dogs is a Witch in the depths of the wilderness. Unsurprisingly, this Witch also had a significant connection with the Old Lord. After discovering the dungeon beneath the old house, the Old Lord began researching Supernatural Power, working with a Witch who specialized in both Herbology and Necromancy. In the process, their relationship beca more intimate, culminating in deep exchanges in bed, to the point where the Old Lord even shared the old house’s secrets with her. The Old Lord was a ruthless man, but that Witch was a werewolf. Daring to experint on herself to glimpse the secrets beneath the dungeon, she rendered her own form grotesque and abnormal. Even the Old Lord couldn’t bear such mad behavior and had no choice but to banish her to the wilderness. However, it now seems her experints haven’t stopped. On the contrary, bolstered by the strange resources of the wilderness, they’ve beco even more frenzied. I’m aware that Witch roams the wilderness, but previously, due to my lack of a solid foundation and weak strength, I had no intention of provoking her. However, it’s clear that if I want to cultivate more land, I’ll need to clear the wilderness, but not today. The town needs to be put in order to have a stable rear that can support . At the sa ti, I need to form a real army, not just a small squad of thirty people.
"You’ve done well, and I appreciate your hard work during this ti," Lance said, controlling his disordered thoughts and smiling as he gestured to the two of them.
Although I’m a bit upset, I won’t and don’t need to vent on my subordinates. There are so things they simply don’t have authority over, and shelving them is the best solution.
Balistan, familiar with the Lord’s temperant, didn’t react much. However, Barton, the surrendered captain, was quite moved by this. I’ve navigated the system before, and what I feared most was encountering unreasonable superiors. Especially since becoming a captain despite my commoner status, I often attracted the dissatisfaction of so Nobility, who would harass and discriminate against constantly. Fortunately, it’s clear My Lord isn’t like them. He doesn’t discriminate or suppress because of my background. He naturally breathed a sigh of relief.
"I had Reynard escort a group of people over here. Haven’t they arrived yet?" Lance asked.
It’s been more than ten days since Reynard and I separated. Logically, they should have arrived first. Why haven’t I seen any sign of them? Lance realized.
"Not yet. Shall I send soone to check?" Barton asked, his astuteness evident in how he had reached his current military rank.
"No need. I’ll go myself." Lance frowned. That group includes Reynard’s wife and child, Walter’s family, and those rchants. They are all critical to my plans; nothing can be allowed to go wrong.
Before his seat could even get warm, Lance mounted his horse and galloped off.
The horse beneath him had originally been Barton’s mount—a true warhorse, far superior to those used for pulling cannons.
That’s why I couldn’t bear to use it for pulling carts and instead kept it tended in the stables. I used to think these horses were good enough, but after seeing the Extraordinary Creatures Compendium, I realized there are so many other creatures that could serve as mounts, so even stronger than their riders!
Riding swift and light, Lance pushed his horse to its full speed, without any concern for preserving its stamina.
The distance from Hamlet to Ovando isn’t actually too far; a direct walk would take only four to five days. If they’ve been delayed for more than ten days, sothing must have happened. I just don’t know what.
With that in mind, Lance could only press onward relentlessly.
"Why do they get food, and we don’t?"
"I want to eat too! If they don’t give it, we’ll take it!"
"Damn the Nobility! Kill them!"
"Once we rob them, we’ll have weapons and food!"
"Down with this damn Empire!"
"..."
Twisted faces were all around. Their eyes held no fear, only numbness and madness as they surged toward the caravan.
William swung his spiked mace, striking at the refugees trying to break through the carriages. The fierce barking of Fergus, who was biting at them, echoed in his ears.
But it was still not enough to hold them back. The tide of people forced the carriage laager apart. With their combined strength, they even overturned one of the wagons. This broke their formation, and through the gap poured an even greater number of more frenzied enemies.
Law and order—they’re just illusions, William thought as he gazed at the mob, feeling utterly helpless. His already weary arms could barely swing the mace, and even Fergus was panting heavily, cowering beside him.
Everywhere he looked, the rchant caravan’s Guards and soldiers were all exhausted. The entire convoy was on the verge of collapse under the onslaught.
"Hold the line! Hold it!" Reynard yelled.
Noticing the breach, he rushed over and swung his weapon forcefully. Before him surged a tumultuous crowd; after he cut one down, another was imdiately pushed into the space.
Yes, pushed. They aren’t even in control of themselves; they’re being shoved forward by the people behind them.
Clenching his teeth, Reynard fought on. He could no longer feel the weight of his Longsword, only the death grip he had on its hilt as he hacked away. How many heads have I taken? he wondered dimly. No matter how formidable he was, there would co a ti when his strength failed.
His Longsword struck an enemy, but Reynard felt utterly drained, barely able to lift it for a second blow. Yet, the enemy before him showed no sign of retreat, pressing forward instead.
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