Our Family Has Fallen

Lance avoided the north when establishing the farmstead because it was ancestral territory and quite difficult to develop. The locations he chose were all pre-scouted to ensure there weren’t too many strange things around before he finally settled on them.

However, there was still the possibility of attracting enemy attention, which is why Lance had arranged for a garrison.

Fifty professional soldiers—a force that some towns in the Hamlet Region might not be able to muster—meant that even if the farmstead came under attack, there would be resistance.

Of course, given his meticulous nature, he naturally had a contingency plan if things truly became unmanageable.

Not only did the soldiers understand the meaning of an emergency signal, but everyone on the farmstead had also been repeatedly warned that seeing it meant danger and that they must hurry back.

”Let’s go! We must hurry back,” the boy said without much hesitation, hoisting the fodder basket onto his back and pulling his sister toward the farmstead as they ran.

As soon as they started running, the boy could see many others in a similar situation, all rushing back after seeing the signal smoke.

But compared to the adults, the two little ones simply could not run fast.

Not to mention their disadvantage in stamina; they were gasping for breath after running only a short distance.

Everyone knew they could run faster if they dropped their baskets, but sometimes poverty’s most terrible punishment is the twisting of one’s values.

What ordinary people displayed as so-called stinginess was more a reluctance to let go.

The baskets and sickles were issued tools that did not belong to them, and their family’s circumstances couldn’t bear the consequences of losing them. He feared that if he lost these items, he would also lose his job of cutting grass.

Sometimes it’s not stupidity, it’s just...reality.

”Brother, I can’t run anymore,” the sister suddenly stopped, gasping for breath, unable to even stand straight.

”We can’t stop, we can’t stop,” the boy muttered, his grip on his sister’s hand tightening. His eyes scanned their surroundings, realizing they were falling behind everyone else.

He had learned many things during their escapes, one of which was to never fall behind. As long as you could run faster than others, you would survive.

This wasn’t their first time experiencing such a thing; whether facing bandits, the armed forces of the Nobility, or wild beasts, they had survived.

Yet, among groups of refugees, there were always many weaker than them. Here, it was clear they were the weakest.

And they were the ones to be weeded out...

What exactly had happened?

The boy remained relatively calm, frequently looking back to find the cause of the incident and to watch for possible enemies.

And it was then that he saw those strange figures rushing out of the forest, along with fierce Evil Wolves.

Even from a distance, he could feel the despair. All Imperial People had heard of the cruel and bloodthirsty Barbarian Tribes.

But at this moment, those Barbarian Tribes had already made their move. Ferocious white wolves charged out first, and one among them clearly targeted the siblings.

The boy didn’t even notice the white wolf charging towards him—he could only do his best to pull his sister and keep moving towards the farmstead.

In his eyes, there was only the farmstead, drawing ever closer.

As long as they could...as long as they could reach that place...

But no matter how fast they ran, they could not outpace the four-legged white wolf. He heard some movement behind him, and a surge of inspiration, like an electric shock, suddenly raced through his body.

At the last moment, he pulled his sister into his arms and held her tight. The next second, he felt a powerful force from behind hit him, sending him flying. He rolled several times on the ground before stopping.

Despite the heavy blow, the boy quickly got up. Surprisingly, he didn’t seem injured, but the vine basket on his back was torn apart.

The vine-woven basket had undoubtedly blocked the white wolf’s pounce. Coupled with the flat, soft earth, rolling on it had caused no injury, only leaving him somewhat disheveled.

But now was not the time to focus on that. The boy pulled his sister up from the ground, shielding her behind him as he faced the white wolf.

Facing a white wolf raised and trained on human flesh by the Fang Tribe, even an adult would feel fear, let alone two children under ten.

The white wolf looked at the boy with an almost mocking expression, yet it was filled with cruelty.

The boy didn’t understand, but he could feel the killing intent emanating from the white wolf. The mounting pressure almost crushed him, his breathing becoming heavier without him even realizing it.

No!

It wasn’t time to give up yet.

The boy clenched his teeth, his expression contorted. His mother only had them. He had to protect his sister.

A surge of strength seemed to well up from his frail body.

”Follow me closely,” the boy said, letting go of his sister’s hand. Without waiting for a response, he swung his shoulder and threw the tattered vine basket at the white wolf.

The white wolf easily sidestepped it, and the basket fell to the ground without causing any harm. However, the boy took advantage of the moment he threw the basket to spring into action.

Instead of choosing to run away, he dashed to the side, quickly stepping and reaching down to snatch the sickle, which had fallen out of the basket, back into his hand.

The sister hadn’t frozen in fear from the previous attack, nor was she paralyzed by the sight of the white wolf. She didn’t hesitate to follow the moment her brother moved.