Ruin has come to our family

A wagon entered the town, pulled by a single draft horse. The carriage itself was simple, just a few wooden planks nailed together, with no fancy decorations or markings. It was purely utilitarian.

This was a squad of guards from the farmstead, coming for their rotation. One of them, squeezed in the carriage with sacks of grain, could not help but stick his head out the window to look.

"What are they doing?" another guard asked, noticing the lively crowd in the square and calling out with some excitement.

The high-pressure training and patrols at the farmstead had been torture for these men, who were used to a life of leisure. These three days in town were meant to be a release for them. They had heard all about it from the guards who had returned before them: wine, gambling, and women were waiting.

"Sit down!"

A sharp reprimand came from within the carriage. The guards, their minds already wandering, instinctively straightened up, looking at the elite captain in the breastplate. Though they were annoyed, they dared not say anything. They sat back down sullenly, the budding excitement replaced by a dull silence.

Soon, the wagon stopped in front of the grain shop. Led by the elite captain, the men disembarked. They actually managed a semblance of a formation, looking almost like real soldiers.

"Are these bastards still asleep?" the elite captain said with displeasure. He pointed to one of his men. "You. Go knock."

The soldier obeyed and knocked on the door. A casual shout soon came from within.

"Coming, coming!"

A man in a breastplate opened the door. It was the "old" captain. Seeing the new arrivals, he grinned. "Just in time. We have half a barrel of ale left from last night. Your luck."

At his words, the discipline of the new squad immediately crumbled. From the hungry looks in their eyes as they stared into the shop, it was clear what they were thinking.

"How can you drink while on duty!" the elite captain admonished him.

But the old captain was not intimidated in the slightest. "Who are you to say? The lads have been guarding this place, working hard. What's wrong with a little drink?" Before the elite captain could say more, he waved the other guards inside. "If you don't want any, fine, but don't stop the lads from enjoying themselves."

The guards, already chafing from the strict training, now had someone to take the lead. They cast aside their reservations and streamed inside, some already asking the old captain about the women. "Easy now, women are everywhere," he said, slinging an arm over their shoulders and leading them in.

The elite captain, though furious, was helpless. To be honest, he wanted a drink and a woman as much as any of them, but his pride wouldn't let him. He could only swallow his anger and follow them inside, resolving to report them all to Captain David when he got back.

But the moment he stepped inside, he felt something was wrong. Before he could react, the door slammed shut behind him. At the same time, two armored figures charged out from the sides.

"Look out!"

Their training did grant them a certain level of preparedness. At his shout, the other guards reacted, scrambling to draw their weapons. But the old captain, already in their midst, made his move. He disrupted the two crossbowmen, preventing them from loading. At that same instant, Reynauld and Barristan were upon them.

Their skills were honed in the crucible of war, far superior to these half-trained rabble. Not a single guard could withstand a single blow. The elite captain couldn't even follow their movements; all he could hear were dull thuds and the cries of his men as they fell, one by one. He instinctively reached for his own shortsword, but someone had closed in behind him, and he felt something cold pressed against the back of his head.

The elite captain froze. The old captain stepped forward and snatched the weapon from his belt.

"Are you mad? You've betrayed the farmstead!" the elite captain cursed, clearly not having expected this betrayal.

"And whom has the farmstead betrayed?" Lance asked, stepping slowly out of the shadows.

"My lord, as you can see, they are all here," the old captain said, bowing and presenting the captured sword with both hands. His allegiance was now unmistakable.

Lance took the sword and approached the elite captain. "Tell me," he said with a smile, "what has happened at the farmstead these last three days."

The elite captain did not recognize the young man before him, but he turned his head away with surprising defiance. "Hmph. Kill me. Master David will avenge us."

"Fine. Kill him," Lance agreed without a moment's hesitation. He waved a hand at Dismas. "Take him to the back and deal with him. I dislike the sight of blood."

The elite captain was stunned. He had been prepared for a beating, but by all rights, shouldn't there be a dramatic interrogation, after which his captor, admiring his courage and loyalty, would spare him?

These damned knightly tales are all lies!

To be honest, Lance's command had caught the others off guard as well. Seeing their surprised looks, Lance shrugged. "What are you all looking at me for? He asked for it himself."

Dismas, of course, would not question Lance's decision. He immediately began to drag the elite captain towards the back.

"Wait! I'll talk... I'll talk..."

The elite captain, without any further hesitation, betrayed the farmstead, spilling everything he knew, terrified that a moment's delay would get him killed. He was not one of the original guards, but a former serf who had lost his land and been promoted by David. The original captain of his squad had been demoted to a regular guard. Of the five captain positions, David now controlled four.

The situation at the farmstead was mostly normal. Production was running as usual, and things within the manor were calm. But one thing was noteworthy: David had begun training the guards with firearms, requiring all of them to know how to use them. This news put Lance on high alert. The only saving grace was that the farmstead only had the one long-barreled flintlock that David himself had brought, and they had no ammunition reserves. Their "training" consisted of nothing more than striking poses.

In an instant, Lance processed all this information. He turned his head to the old captain.

"I was not wrong, was I? If you had returned, he would have stripped you of your captaincy, demoting you to a common guard, or perhaps even back to a serf."

Hearing that another familiar face had been replaced by a former serf, a powerful survival instinct flared within the old captain. If his earlier submission to the lord had been for money and his life, now, he was fighting for himself.

"Rest assured, my lord. I know what to do."

Lance looked at him and said nothing more. He gestured for his men to tie up all the captured guards. They were then loaded onto the wagon, and the party set off.

The Hamlet was situated on the coast. To the east was the sea. To the southwest was the Old Road leading to the outside world, the direction from which the brigands had attacked. The farmstead was located to the northwest of the town. For the brigands to raid the farmstead, they would have had to pass through the town and then travel some distance further. This was how it had been spared the worst of the raid.