Ruin has come to our family

"So you have a grudge against the Magistrate and the landowner, then."

After listening to the shopkeeper's tale, Lance had a clearer picture of his situation. The shopkeeper's name was Walter. Before the brigands came, he had been a prominent merchant in the town, owning the largest trade caravan, which specialized in grain and its derivatives, shipping them to other towns for sale. This very grain shop had originally been his, and the landowner had been nothing more than his supplier, even being at a disadvantage due to Walter's control over the sales channels.

Everything had changed with the arrival of the brigands. First, his caravans were robbed, crippling his business. Then, the Magistrate, in the name of fighting the brigands, had demanded men, money, and grain from him. He had given it all, even actively organizing his own guards to resist the attack. When the brigands broke through and began their rampage of burning and killing, he had been lucky. His two children were studying in the city, and his wife was with them, otherwise it would have been a "family reunion" in the grave.

He had thought that once the brigands left, everything would return to normal. But they had instead taken up positions on the Old Road. His own guards had been wiped out in the fighting, and without them, he was trapped in the town. Meanwhile, the Magistrate had consolidated the remaining mercenaries and militiamen under his control, and the landowner, whose holdings were further out, had suffered little damage in the raid and retained most of his strength.

And so, in the aftermath, the Magistrate bled him dry. In the end, the landowner swallowed his grain shop. That he was kept on as manager was likely just so the landowner could humiliate him.

"Then why do you still help the landowner?"

At Lance's question, Walter looked helpless. He hesitated for a moment before finally speaking. "Those guards... they aren't just watching the grain. If anything were to go wrong, I would not be able to escape the blame."

In the end, it was fear. His life was in the landowner's hands, and he was afraid of being implicated. Of course, there was another important reason: he doubted Lance had the strength to defeat the landowner.

"Heh," Lance laughed. "You think I will lose?"

"This town is more than just the Magistrate. Even if you take his place, there will be many troubles, especially now that they are on their guard." Walter spoke like a riddler, not stating things directly, but implying that the town's power structures were a tangled mess. Had Walter not lost all his own guards, he likely would have been one of those powers himself. He believed Lance's success against the Magistrate was due only to the element of surprise. Now that everyone was wary, things would be much more difficult.

"I am not the Magistrate," Lance stated simply. "I am the lord. Everything here belongs to me."

Walter did not reply. He didn't know that Lance had eliminated the entire band of constables in a single night. He assumed that Lance had only managed to capture the Magistrate through a surprise attack, and that the man's noble status had prevented him from fighting back. In his eyes, Lance was too young. Executing the Magistrate this morning had been a rash, satisfying move, but why did he think the Magistrate had paid to keep those men around? It was to placate them, to dull their edge with wine and women. Now, with the Magistrate's control gone, what would those mercenaries do? They were all desperate men!

And distributing free gruel? It was an unheard-of precedent. No matter how much grain he had, it wouldn't be enough to feed all those people. After three days, when the food ran out, what would they do? It was easy to imagine the town's security deteriorating even further. Walter was certain that his only path to safety now lay with the landowner's guards. This new lord was too young, too naive. It would be impossible for him to outmaneuver the old foxes of this town.

Walter even foresaw this new lord being quickly sidelined, the Hamlet descending into a criminal's paradise, perhaps even becoming a new foothold for the brigands themselves.

Lance could feel Walter's disdain, though he didn't guess it was because of his youth, nor did he know the man had so thoroughly condemned all of his plans. Not that he would have said anything if he had known. He preferred to convince people with facts, not waste his breath on arguments.

"Then let us make a wager. On who will be knocking on this door next. If I lose, I will let you go. If you lose, you will serve me obediently."

The conversation had been so casual that Walter had momentarily forgotten he was a hostage. The reminder sent a jolt of fear through him. The lord was here. His target was obviously the grain shop.

Before Walter had more time to think, there was a knock at the door. He tensed, his head snapping up, waiting to see who was behind it. If it was the landowner's guards, the lord had failed. If it was anyone else, the lord had won.

"My lord," Little John's voice came from outside. "It is done."

"It seems I've won," Lance said, the corner of his mouth turning up in a smirk.

A strange expression crossed Walter's face. Five fully armed men... even if they lost, shouldn't there have been some noise? How could it be over so quickly?

"I'll make you another wager," Lance said. "On who will be the master of this place after tomorrow."

Without waiting for a reply, he left the stunned Walter and walked out. As Walter watched him go, he had a strange premonition that this young man would truly change the town. But in the next second, he dismissed the thought. As much as he disliked the landowner, he knew the man had over a hundred men at his command. Even if the lord had dealt with these five, he could not stand against a hundred. But since he had lost the wager, he had no intention of getting involved. He would pack his things, and when the time was right, hire some mercenaries and get out...

...

Back at the grain shop, Dismas had the men under control. When Lance arrived, Dismas was full of praise.

"Just as you predicted, my lord. The moment they saw the wine, they forgot everything else and drank themselves into a stupor. Not one of them could react when we came in."

Dismas's admiration for Lance's prophetic abilities grew. If they had fought head-on, the two crossbows alone would have given them a world of trouble, to say nothing of the one in armor. But the lord had dismantled their entire defense with a single barrel of wine.

"This was not a guess," Lance said with a smile, clapping Little John on the shoulder. "It was based on the information Little John provided. These men are used to a life of drinking, gambling, and whoring. My actions cut them off from their usual sources of pleasure, and they couldn't leave the shop. They were bored and restless. And with tomorrow being their last day, their last chance for fun... of course they couldn't resist the wine."

Lance looked over the five captured guards. Besides one who was slightly more muscular, the rest were clearly untrained commoners. Their combat experience likely consisted of whipping serfs.

Seeing his tormentors brought low, a wave of satisfaction washed over Little John.

"Go to the tavern and buy some food," Lance said, handing a few copper coins to the boy and sending him away. The work that came next was not suitable for children.