Ruin has come to our family

"Wake them. I want to know the number of guards at the farmstead, their equipment, and their disposition."

Some tasks, naturally, did not require his personal attention. Dismas was more than happy to oblige.

Lance picked up the two captured crossbows and examined them. From the weapons, he could get a good sense of their general equipment level. The captain's breastplate was just a thin sheet of iron, nothing like Reynauld's heavy knightly plate. Its protection was average at best; it could likely stop a glancing blow or two, but a direct thrust from a longsword would probably pierce it, to say nothing of a bullet.

The two crossbows, however, were not common goods. Though the markings had been ground off, Lance's expertise still allowed him to identify them as military-issue. He was surprised. This was equipment for a regular army. How did the landowner of a remote fishing village get his hands on such items? But from their condition, they had seen much use, and the removed markings suggested they were likely decommissioned equipment sold off by a corrupt quartermaster.

"My lord, they're talking."

Dismas's words brought Lance back to the present. He looked over at the captured captain, who was now hanging from a rope, his face as white as a sheet. Dismas had clearly been persuasive.

"Cut him down."

At Lance's command, Dismas lowered the man and dragged him before the lord.

"Speak," Lance said. "Your next words will determine whether you live or die."

Men like this were not knights. They knew nothing of loyalty. A few hundred coppers a month, Lance thought, hardly worth dying for.

As the captain began to talk, Lance quickly got a clear picture of the situation at the farmstead. Though the landowner had not been directly affected by the brigand raid, he was terrified of another attack. He had hidden himself away on his farmstead, concentrating a large number of troops around him for his own safety.

The landowner had more than fifty guards. Of those, only thirty were true combatants: twenty warriors and ten crossbowmen. The remaining twenty or so were common guards without armor or ranged weapons—some didn't even have weapons beyond the whips they used to oversee the serfs from whose ranks they had been promoted. Of the twenty warriors, five were elite captains, each wearing a breastplate like the one this man had.

This meant that after capturing these five, the forces remaining at the farmstead manor consisted of eight crossbowmen and seventeen warriors, four of whom were elites.

The only good news was that the landowner was a traditionalist. According to the captain, the man distrusted firearms, which took two to three minutes to reload. This meant that the gunmen Lance feared most were not present at the manor.

He also learned the locations of the defensive posts and the guard rotation schedule. An elite captain led a squad of three guards and two crossbowmen, operating in a three-shift rotation that ran day and night. There were also three checkpoints on the only road leading to the farmstead, checking all who came and went. The interlocking guard posts formed a dense protective net. Breaching it would be difficult indeed.

"Who designed this defensive layout?" Lance asked. The arrangements were too rational, too competent. It was hard to believe a simple landowner had come up with it.

"It was that brat, David."

Now that the captain had started talking, he held nothing back. But when he spoke this name, his voice was tinged with jealousy. It was clear he held a grudge against this David. This, in turn, piqued Lance's interest.

"Tell me more about this man."

According to the captain, David had been an orphan, a common street urchin. When the brigands invaded, he was conscripted as a militiaman and received some training. During the battle, he had reportedly killed a brigand. When the militia collapsed, he fled, but somehow managed to survive, even gathering a few other deserters to his side. After the raid, when the Magistrate was gathering the remaining militiamen and mercenaries, David had refused to join. Instead, he took his three closest followers and joined the landowner's forces.

Upon his arrival, David had immediately defeated the strongest of their guards to prove his worth. The landowner, impressed, had married his daughter to him and put him in charge of all security for the farmstead. Just like that, he became the new head of the guards. But David's arrival had threatened the position of the original guards, like this captain. Of the five original captains, only two remained. The other three were David's men. After taking command, David had launched a major reorganization, forcing the guards into rigorous training and assigning them all manner of tasks.

Damn him! the captain spat. In the old days, all he had to do was sit in his rocking chair and watch the serfs. If one stepped out of line, a few lashes from his whip was all it took. Now, he had to train and patrol just like them. If he was caught slacking, he would be whipped himself. No wonder they all cut loose the moment they left the farmstead. Life there had become unbearable.

The captain poured out his grievances, complaining endlessly about David. But Lance heard a threat in his words. This David, an orphan who had lived in obscurity for decades, suddenly "awakens," becomes a skilled fighter after a little training, survives against all odds, and gains a loyal following. If that were just luck and talent, it would be one thing. But David's choice to join the landowner over the Magistrate proved he was not so simple. In the Magistrate's forces, full of seasoned mercenaries, he would have had little chance to stand out. But the landowner's guards, though numerous, were useless. By joining them, he could gain far more.

And the results spoke for themselves. These few trained militiamen, with their weapons and equipment, had completely steamrolled the original guards. David had gone from a street urchin to the landowner's son-in-law and military commander. It was a direct leap in social class. What's more, he wasn't satisfied with that. He had trained the guards, ostensibly to defend against the brigands, but in doing so had elevated the farmstead's power to a level that could rival the Magistrate's. And he had profited handsomely from the scheme to raise the price of grain.

This man had intelligence, ability, and long-term vision. He was, without a doubt, a genius.

If it were only that, it would be fine. But Lance was more afraid... afraid that this David was...

Lance fell silent, a grave look in his half-closed eyes. But he quickly composed himself, a faint smile returning to his lips as he addressed the captain.

"The Magistrate and the landowner endangered the safety of the Hamlet during the crisis. You have seen his fate. Do you know what crime you are now guilty of?"

"I... I don't know," the captain shook his head, a look of confusion on his face.

"As a guard for the landowner, you are an accomplice. That is a capital crime. Did you know that?"

"Wha—!" The captain was stunned. He began to stammer a defense. "But I'm innocent! I didn't do anything!" He would admit to bullying and abuse, but endangering the town's safety? He didn't even understand the charge. How had he suddenly committed a capital crime?

"I am the lord," Lance said simply. "Do you have an objection?"

The captain's guts turned green with regret. How could he be so unlucky? He would have been heading back home tomorrow morning.