Our Family Has Fallen

They might not understand the importance of the outpost, but they knew it was those soldiers who kept the Heretics at bay. Otherwise, they would be exposed to the Heretics, where death would be the only option, or even worse, they might be eaten. The emotions they displayed were intensely real. Were those refugees who dared to attack Reynard’s convoy over a morsel of food truly ignorant and insane? They were merely ordinary people struggling desperately at death’s doorstep. Just like Lance, who had overturned his cart on the old road. If given any chance to live, they wouldn’t have chosen to gamble with death. The difference was that Lance overcame the bandits, whereas they failed and became slaves. Fortunately, while their days here were filled with toil, ample food and strict rules were reshaping them back into human society.

When the convoy passed through two camps, Lance saw flowers, more or less, placed around the soldiers. He also understood that reality was never as simple as it seemed in games. Only those who are well-fed and quenched have the right to discuss humanity.

The convoy left. The meritorious individuals accompanying it returned to the camp, sharing their experience of meeting the Lord. The camp only erupted with excitement when the amnesty decree and rewards were brought out. Although they couldn’t reach such lofty heights, these matters were directly relevant to them. No one wanted to toil there for a lifetime. Now, everyone understood that meritorious deeds and good performance could indeed wash away their sins and lead to self-redemption.

The Lord could see them…

Meanwhile, on the farm under Grendel’s control, propaganda about various heroic deeds began to spread. Tom, who bravely stood up to protect his sister and fought against the enemy, caught the Lord’s attention. The Lord himself granted him a scholarship to study at the school. Barin saved many people when the enemy attacked and bravely confronted them in battle, so he too received a generous reward. Also, soldiers who went against the tide or actively set up defenses, and commoners who demonstrated outstanding performance, all received rewards to varying degrees.

The Warwolf invasion was a calamity for the farm, but it was also the starting point for some to rise. Recompense for merit and punishment for wrongdoing were the rules he had set. Lance wanted to tell them that as long as they made a contribution, he, the Lord, would not forget them. Hamlet would not forget them either. Every person possesses limitless potential. Just give them a glimmer of hope, and they can unleash tremendous power. Lance had always believed this.

「...」

「Hamlet, Heroes’ Cemetery」

Lance stood before several newly erected gravestones, hastily laid down the flowers in his hand, and left. Those who are dead cannot be revived, but the living must continue to survive in this world of despair.

The town’s production and daily life were rapidly recovering. People were gradually calming down from the attack. This small difficulty was not enough to defeat the residents of Hamlet. On the contrary, the constantly circulating tales of their achievements made them puff out their chests with pride. Another Earl’s Order of Knights was defeated; we of Great Hamlet are invincible!

During this time, Lance went to the refugee camp, which was at the town entrance guarded by fifty Musketeers. The corpses had long been sacrificed by Lance, but traces still remained on the ground. The damage caused by muskets was not as bloody as that of melee combat, but the one-hundred-and-fifty-yard area was soaked with blood that had seeped into the earth. The refugees incited by the Heretics were intercepted the moment they showed their faces, either killed outright or shot, wounded, and then finished off.

The military suppressed the rebellion with absolute, cold brutality. After just a few shots, the rest surrendered. Now, they huddled together under the watchful eyes of the soldiers, anxiously awaiting their judgment. Lance arrived. He had heard about the situation within: most were lazy individuals freeloading off relief, or those who didn’t trust Hamlet and chose to wait and see. Although he came alone, the respectful greetings from the guarding soldiers signaled to the refugees that he was an important figure. Instantly, they began pleading for mercy and shirking blame.

”It’s none of my business, Lord; I didn’t do anything!”

”Please, Lord, spare me! They made me do it…”

”...”

The commotion was about to escalate when a BANG from a gunshot instantly brought them to a halt. An individual in the crowd fell, their head lolling to the side. The gunshot startled the soldiers on guard. By the time the refugees realized what had happened, all the soldiers had raised their muskets, aiming at them. But the shot had not come from the soldiers. It was Lance who fired.

Others couldn’t see it, but Lance could spot the Heretics mingled in the crowd. Those who had participated in the Flesh Rite looked different from ordinary people, even if the difference was subtle. However, there were still more Heretics even after killing one. It’s like dealing with roaches—just as disgusting.

This shot made the troublemakers settle down, reminding them how generations before them were supposed to act in the presence of nobility. Lance’s gaze swept over them. Most were able-bodied adults. By their looks, they didn’t seem like the working type; they were probably loafers who did nothing but idle around even before fleeing the crisis. That made sense—the families with dependents had already entered Hamlet in search of a stable life. The ones Lance disliked the most were these troublemakers. Without proper guidance and education, most young people are restless; it’s a primal restlessness etched in their blood, full of aggression.

”Send them all to the development zone for reformation.”

Lance had come to check for any special circumstances. Now that the issue was resolved, it was natural to send them where they belonged. Having freeloaded for so long, if Lance didn’t take this opportunity to forcefully exploit their labor, then he might as well not be a noble at all. A noble who doesn’t exploit isn’t a good noble, and a Lord who doesn’t squeeze isn’t a good Lord…

Other affairs in Hamlet could be delegated, but there were two areas he never relinquished control over: the military and the school. The people in charge of these two departments were trustworthy and answered directly to him. The military had proven their loyalty, so Lance now turned his attention to the school.

External enemies, no matter how strong, did not frighten him; he was confident he could lead his troops to defeat any invaders. But what he truly feared was the possibility of internal problems…

Fortunately, the students’ reaction put him at ease. His arrival excited them. During their subsequent conversations, Lance sensed that these students had not lost faith despite the town’s repeated attacks. On the contrary, Hamlet provided them with a strong sense of security in such circumstances. This was belonging.

However, in his talks with the students, Lance discovered some interesting facts. It wasn’t that Heretics hadn’t attacked the school. Although protected by militia, the chaos allowed one Heretic to break in. But at that moment, many stood up to the challenge. They were genuinely prepared to fight the Heretics, and they even killed one.

Lance quickly found those students. They were all in their early teens and had participated in some training. The two leading them were Reynard’s son, Ryan, and the school principal Mrs. Rosa’s daughter, Joan. Both had received real training—Ryan was regularly thrashed by Reynard, and Joan similarly endured tough training from Boudica. For these two to lead a few armed youngsters to kill a Heretic was no great feat.

”What does it feel like to kill someone?” Lance assessed them with a smile. They looked somewhat uncomfortable at the mention of it; it seemed they did not want to relive the experience.

”It’s not like I haven’t seen it before,” Ryan said, trying to suppress his reaction, clearly eager to appear more ”tough.”

Lance chuckled. These were survivors of the exodus, indeed accustomed to seeing plenty of dead or slaughtered bodies. But witnessing death and killing someone with one’s own hands were different. Ryan’s words exposed his lack of confidence.

”It makes you feel nauseous, like vomiting, a natural revulsion,” Joan said, frowning as if she didn’t want to recall the sensation.

Lance said nothing but continued with a smile, asking another question.

”Were you afraid at that moment?”