Ruin has come to our family

"Of course," Lance said, noticing the man's reaction. He added, slowly and deliberately, "And seeing as you have been cooperative, and your attitude toward confessing is good, I have decided to give you another chance."

"My lord... you intend to attack the farmstead?" the captain asked, though he already knew the answer. Even a man as dull as him understood what the previous questions implied. He asked only to gauge the lord's strength.

"I like clever men," Lance said. He could see the man's submission was not genuine, but merely a product of circumstance. He didn't care.

"Then what would you have me do, my lord?"

"Tomorrow, I need you to help us ambush the grain convoy. Then, you will lead us into the farmstead manor."

"But I cannot bring so many people with me," the captain said, looking helpless. But Lance's next words shocked him to his core.

"You, plus four of my own. Five people in total. The precise size of a relief guard detail."

"What!" The captain was stunned, as if he couldn't believe his ears. "Just five people?" he asked again.

"I believe it will be sufficient," Lance nodded. "Too many people would only make it more difficult to enter the farmstead and approach the manor."

Receiving this confirmation, the captain felt compelled to stress the point. "But the farmstead has over fifty guards, and hundreds of serfs! The servants in the manor alone number more than five! What can five of us possibly do?" He was beginning to suspect this new lord knew nothing of such matters. With his fragile, scholarly appearance, it was entirely possible he was a complete amateur.

"In your opinion," Lance asked calmly, "who is stronger? The Magistrate's constables, or the farmstead's guards?"

"The mercenaries, of course," the captain answered without hesitation. Thirty men versus thirty men, the mercenaries were clearly the superior force.

"The constabulary was dealt with last night," Lance said, his tone utterly flat as he spoke the most terrifying words. "We killed all of them. The man before you did most of the work."

The captain's head snapped toward Dismas, his eyes wide with horror.

"Are you questioning the lord's decision?" Dismas asked, playing his part perfectly. The captain nearly wet himself in fear.

"No... I wouldn't dare..."

"You should know that David does not trust you old-timers," Lance continued, pressing his advantage. "If you remain, he will surely suppress you. Soon, you will not even be a captain. You will spend your days in grueling training and patrols, enduring his punishments. But if you obey me, when we take the farmstead, I will not only pardon you, but I will make you captain of the guards. You will never have to answer to David again. The choice is yours."

Lance's words had struck at the heart of the captain's own crisis. He had felt the pressure from David, the marginalization of the original guards. If David hadn't arrived with only three men, he probably would have lost his captaincy already. If this continued, David would surely find a way to replace him, and then he truly would be nothing.

"I'll do it!" the captain declared, knowing it was time to make his gamble. "Tell me what needs to be done, my lord."

"You only need to get us inside. Once we are in the manor, you will go to the original guards, the ones who resent David. You will tell them that David has murdered the landowner and now plans to kill them to seize the farmstead for himself. Incite them to attack David's faction. Leave the rest to us."

The captain considered the plan. He realized his own role carried little direct risk. He only needed to spread a few rumors. It was an acceptable proposition.

"My power is greater than you can imagine," Lance said, his voice laced with an imperious confidence that made the captain feel the true aura of a nobleman. "I could take the farmstead by force, but I require it intact, not as a field of ruins. That is why I require your assistance. You may kill, but do not destroy the farmstead. Do you understand?"

The captain's own schemes and doubts completely vanished. "Rest assured, my lord. I will carry out your orders to the letter." He was now completely subservient, fully aware of his position.

"I like clever men." Lance tossed an object that landed before the captain. When the man saw it was a gold coin, an irrepressible grin spread across his face. He scrambled to pick it up, turning it over and over in his hand, repeating himself like a mantra.

"Thank you, my lord! Thank you, my lord!"

He had never seen a silver coin in all his years with the landowner, and now this new lord was rewarding him with gold at their first meeting. The noble masters truly were generous. Following him was surely the right choice.

"Do your job well, and there will be more rewards to come."

Lance rose and left. As soon as they were outside, Dismas could not help but ask, "Wasn't giving him a gold coin a bit of a waste?"

"A single gold coin in exchange for a farmstead. I think it a fine bargain," Lance waved a hand, unconcerned. His professor had given him ten gold coins as starting capital, and with his own savings and the hoard from the cellar, he was not short on money. The captain was crucial to tomorrow's operation. Besides threats and warnings, a little sweetness was necessary. Under too much pressure, he might bolt, which would be troublesome.

...

The Magistrate's former office had been commandeered by Lance. He was now looking over the records the man had left behind. According to the previous census, the Hamlet had at least one thousand three hundred registered inhabitants. Including the unregistered serfs, beggars, and ruffians, the number was likely closer to fifteen hundred. In a world where a population of ten thousand was a city, and a thousand was a town, this decrepit "fishing village" did indeed qualify as a town.

But in the last two days, only eight hundred and twenty-one people had come for the gruel. While this was not the entire population, it couldn't be far off. This meant the brigand invasion and the subsequent famine had killed more than five hundred people—nearly a third of the population, most of them able-bodied young adults.

These were all my subjects.

His heart ached. But more than sorrow, he felt anger. His fields have been savaged. How much time and money would it take to rebuild? The strongest stalks had been uprooted, and the previous tenants did nothing but harvest the rest, leaving behind a field of withered shoots without so much as spreading new seed.

In his heart, Lance had already sentenced the brigands to death. They must pay the price!

But for now, his most pressing problems were population and reconstruction. Of the eight hundred survivors, most were old, weak, sick, or disabled. The most common professions were fisherman and farmer, and most of the farmers had already lost their land to the landowner, becoming vagrants.

Lance shook his head and rose, placing the tax ledger he was holding back onto the bookshelf behind the desk. But as he did, he felt something was not quite right.

He tapped the floorboards. The sound was dull, solid. But when he sat down again in the chair and rested his feet in their natural position, he tapped once more. This time, the sound was hollow.