Ruin has come to our family

The townsfolk began to gather. Lance had not expected so many people to be hidden away in the desolate town. The once-quiet square quickly became as raucous as a marketplace, with those who had come for the food beginning to complain and shout.

But Lance did not speak. He simply stood there, letting his presence fill the space. His status as lord already held sway over them, and with his cold, unsmiling face and the sight of Reynauld standing beside him like a steel sentinel, his authority was magnified. The people instinctively kept their distance. As his gaze swept over them, the noisy rabble gradually fell silent, growing timid, or rather, afraid. It was a testament to generations of noble dominion over them.

Lance understood his position. He was the lord, and he had to project the authority of one. To speak of kindness to these people, who were so maddened by hunger they would do anything for a full belly, would only be seen as weakness. He would never be able to manage these wretches. What he needed now was stability. He had to take control of the Hamlet in the shortest time possible, and to do that, he would use the "wisdom" passed down by the nobility to tame these commoners.

Playing the part of the good man could wait until he had secured his own survival. To prattle on about liberty and democracy while the Ancestor's blade was at his neck would be the height of folly.

Seeing that his authority had been tentatively established, Lance delayed no longer.

"I am the heir of House Hamlet, and the new lord of this domain. Years ago, my Ancestor led his knights to slay a powerful evil and found this land. Through years of construction, he built this great estate, and you all lived here in peace and prosperity. But I did not expect that the steward would conspire with brigands to invade our home and slay the old lord, plunging this town into the flames of war."

As he spoke, he ripped the cloth from the bundle at his feet, revealing the kneeling figure of the Magistrate. He was trussed up like a fattened pig, his face a bloody mess, a gag stuffed in his mouth. He looked terrified, a far cry from his usual arrogant demeanor.

The surrounding townsfolk gasped. They had not expected to see the high and mighty Magistrate in such a state. A wave of schadenfreude washed over them; they delighted in the swine's downfall.

"The Magistrate, who should have organized the defense, fled his post," Lance continued, his voice ringing through the square. "He allowed the brigands to ravage your homes and slay your kin. After the brigands left, he did not restore order. Instead, he let his mercenaries oppress you, conspired with the landowners to drive up the price of grain, and let so many of you starve to death!"

Lance raised his hand and cried out: "Who is the traitor to the Hamlet!"

"The Magistrate!" a lone voice shouted from the crowd. It was followed by a roar like the crashing of the sea.

"THE MAGISTRATE!"

Their anger had not vanished; it had merely been suppressed by long years of oppression and the vast gulf in power. It was a rage that, for many, might never have found an outlet in their entire lifetime. But now, their chance had come.

"Today, I will fulfill my duty as your lord! I will pass judgment upon this sinner!"

Sensing the atmosphere had reached its peak, Lance seized the mercenary's longsword he had captured the night before and, in full view of the public, beheaded the Magistrate.

The head fell, rolling across the stones. Blood erupted from the neck like a fountain, spattering the ground two meters away.

A moment of shocked silence fell over the square. Perhaps they had not truly believed the Magistrate would die here. But in the next second, they began to cheer. The square erupted, a sea of smiles on nearly every face, with no fear for the dead man.

Lance watched their carnival with a blank expression, then raised a hand and gave a signal.

"Bring him forward."

The crowd turned to look. The Mercenary Captain was being brought out on a flatbed cart, bound to a cross. Though he was tied, the raw power in his burly frame made the wooden structure creak and groan, as if it would splinter at any moment. It seemed as if he might break free and begin a slaughter at any second. The familiar terror of his dominion washed over them once more. The excited crowd fell silent, instinctively shrinking away.

"You all know who this is," Lance's voice boomed. "He fled when the brigands invaded, only to return and call himself a 'constable'. In just over a fortnight, he has murdered many. Who among you has suffered at his hands?"

The crowd's silence was broken by the voice of a man. "He stole my wife and tortured her to death!"

Then another, and another. "My poor daughter... she lay in bed for three days, covered in wounds, before she died."

"..."

"Does such a man deserve to die?" Lance roared. The crowd roared back with even greater force.

"KILL HIM!"

"KILL HIM!"

All manner of crimes were laid bare. Each person looked as if they wished to eat his flesh and drink his blood. The captain looked out at the enraged mob, his earlier arrogance gone, replaced by a dawning terror.

"Wait! I served the Hamlet! I bled for this town! I demand to see the Magistrate!"

"The Magistrate is on the ground," Lance said with a smile, pointing his sword at the head on the stones. Only then did the captain notice the headless corpse, previously obscured by the crowd. Fear, stark and absolute, seized him.

"My lord! It's all lies from this rabble! I was protecting the town! Without me, the brigands would have overrun us long ago!"

"So you feel you've been wronged?" Lance looked at the captain, a faint, unreadable smile on his face.

The captain, though brutish, was cunning. It was how he had survived the raid and become the head of the constables. He immediately sensed an opportunity for survival. "It was the Magistrate! He made me do it! I was forced! Spare me, my lord, I beg you! I swear to the gods, I will mend my ways!" He cast off all responsibility without a second thought. Though he had profited handsomely under the Magistrate, he did not hesitate to switch masters.

"Fine," Lance said, raising a hand and sweeping his gaze across the crowd. "I will give you a chance. I will choose one from among these people. If you can defeat them, I will let you go."

The captain was ecstatic. He guessed the new lord wanted a way to save face while accepting a valuable warrior into his service. All he had to do was kill one of these pathetic commoners, and he could continue his life of bullying and debauchery under a new master.

At Lance's signal, Reynauld stepped forward and, with a single swing of his sword, cut the captain's ropes. He was free.

The captain flexed his wrists, his predatory gaze sweeping over the townsfolk, who could barely stand on their own two feet. He knew a hundred ways to kill them. At the sight of him, the excited crowd fell silent in an instant. They shrank back, quickly forming an empty circle around him. His powerful frame and brutal reputation were too much for them.

CLANG.

Lance threw the sword he was holding onto the ground before the captain. "Who is willing to come forward and fight him?"