Ruin has come to our family

"Ah... water..."

The veteran's consciousness began to return, his lips moving faintly.

Seeing his plan had worked, Lance's hands went limp, and he feigned a weakness so profound that he nearly collapsed backward. Thankfully, Dismas was quick enough to catch him, otherwise his act would have become all too real. As the others gathered around him, Lance waved a hand weakly.

"I am fine. The secret arts simply... take a heavy toll. Bring him some water."

Under Susan's care, the veteran soon opened his one good eye. He struggled to sit up, only then noticing the other people standing in the room.

"What happened? The brigands..." He had been unconscious for so long. His voice was a dry rasp, a testament to his weakened state, but he still recognized Susan, the woman who had saved him.

"Our lord saved you, of course," Dismas said, never one for subtlety.

Only then did the veteran seem to remember. He looked down at his shoulder, touching the healed wound with a sense of disbelief. I'm alive... again.

"It was Susan who saved you," Lance said, his own voice soft. He began to recount the events that had transpired after the veteran fell, focusing on Susan's devotion—how she had dragged him from the battlefield, how she had cared for him, and finally, how she had fed him with her own blood. He focused on praising her selflessness, mentioning his own role only in passing. But in a way, the fact that both Susan and the veteran had managed to endure their despair long enough for him to arrive was a legend in itself.

"I am sorry... I could not bring him back," the old man said, his weathered face etched with sorrow. His memory was still fixed on that terrible day. That boy...

"No," Susan said, her eyes glistening with fresh tears, though she had already cried so much that day. "You saved all of us."

"Bring the broth. You must eat," Lance said, breaking the somber mood. He had no time to wallow in such things.

Susan, snapping back to the present, wiped her tears and brought over a bowl of warm, thick soup. This was the soup Lance had set aside from dinner, clearly having anticipated this very moment.

The veteran now realized that Lance held a position of absolute authority among these people. He studied him, but besides a handsome face, he could not discern much. "And you are?"

"This is the lord. He is the one who saved you..."

With Susan's supplemental account, Lance's actions were painted in the most laudatory of terms, her words practically deifying him. He watched as the veteran's expression shifted to one of pure shock. This was precisely the effect he wanted. No matter what he said himself, it would never be as convincing as the words of a grateful local. By building up Susan's own heroic tale, he had lent her words more weight, which in turn shaped the veteran's first impression of him.

The old soldier was stunned. A noble lord had personally treated his wounds, even tearing his own fine undershirt for bandages, to say nothing of performing a miracle straight from legend to pull him from Death's grasp.

"My lord, I thank you for saving this old life of mine."

"You protected my people. It is I who should be thanking you," Lance said, gesturing for the veteran to remain at ease. He pointed to the side, where the man's equipment was neatly placed. "I have recovered your gear. For now, eat and rest. I will have need of a warrior like you to help me save the wretched folk of this town."

"At your command, my lord."

......

CLANG!

CLANG!

CLANG!

Early the next morning, a sudden series of bell tolls shattered the quiet of the seaside town. The crisp sound echoed outwards, rousing the dead town into a state of agitation, then panic. The last time the bell had rung, the brigands had come. Half the town was destroyed, and countless were slaughtered.

The townsfolk scurried from their hovels like panicked ants, looking around in a daze, wanting to run but not knowing where to go. At that moment, the thunder of hooves echoed through the streets. The people instinctively shrank back into their homes, peering through cracks in their doors and windows to see what was happening.

Soon, a figure in knight's plate came into view, galloping through the streets. A deep and steady voice called out.

"The heir of the house has returned! All assemble in the square!"

As the knight sped past, the townsfolk began to understand. A new lord had arrived. But what business was that of theirs? Sleep seemed a better alternative.

"The lord is distributing gruel in the square! First come, first served!"

Food? Why didn't you say so! The knight's second call immediately stirred the people. But they had been killed and terrorized before. They were afraid. Though there was the promise of food, they had never heard of a lord distributing grain to the common folk. What if it was a trap?

The knight's voice faded into the distance. Reynauld completed his circuit of the town and returned to the square. Dismas rode in from the other side. They both looked at the empty square. Only Lance stood at the foot of the central statue with several cloth-wrapped bundles. There was not a single towns-person in sight.

"My lord, we've been shouting for an age, and no one has come."

"We're giving away food and still they don't come? Are the people here fools?"

"Let the seeds sprout," Lance said, his expression calm, showing no trace of worry. His attitude soothed their own agitation. At that moment, another sound began to swell in the distance. At its head was a gaunt-faced woman, and behind her followed a great crowd of townsfolk. They were all chanting strange words.

"The lord is here, the town is safe!"

"The lord is here, we'll see better days!"

"Follow the lord, eat three times a day!"

"Milk and white bread for the morning meal, beef 'til you're full in the evening chill!"

"And for lunch, what's in store? Chicken, duck, fish, and more!"

"..."

The catchy, rhyming slogans spread like a virus through the crowd. If there was one thing they craved above all else, it was a full meal. That was what gave these slogans their magic. Every towns-person who heard them was captivated by the images they described, and soon found themselves humming along, unconsciously joining the growing procession.

"They're coming! They're here!" Dismas shouted excitedly.

Lance looked at the approaching townsfolk, who looked like a shambling horde of corpses, and felt a pang of pity. They were all gaunt and shriveled, like skeletons draped in skin, their protruding eyes giving them an almost comical look. The Ancestor ravaged this place too badly, he thought. How long will it take to restore its vitality?

"The audience is in place. Dismas, take your horse and blockade the road leading to the outlying farmsteads. Detain anyone you encounter and lock down the flow of information." Lance added, "At the same time, keep an eye on the farms. Do not let them know what is happening here, if you can help it."

"Yes, my lord!"

Dismas took the constable's badge without hesitation and galloped off. Reynauld remained silently by Lance's side, a stalwart guardian against any potential threat.