Ruin has come to our family

"Halt!"

On the only road leading to the farmstead, a wooden cheval de frise blocked their path. Two guards stepped forward to stop the wagon. But before it had even come to a full stop, an irate voice erupted from within.

"Don't you recognize this cart?" the turncoat captain roared, sticking his head out of the carriage door and barking at the two guards. "Tired of living, are you, stopping my cart? Get the hell out of the way, now!"

Faced with the captain's belligerent attitude, the two guards dared not say more. They quickly moved the barrier aside. As they passed through the checkpoint, the men inside the wagon let out a quiet sigh of relief.

For better concealment, they had all changed their gear. Their weapons—including the two crossbows, a large bag of bolts, and the several flintlocks contributed by the dead mercenaries—were hidden under burlap sacks. Barristan and Reynauld were hunched in a corner of the carriage, also covered by sacks. Lance and Dismas were dressed in the coarse linen of the farmstead guards. Even if the guards had inspected the cart, they wouldn't have found anything unless they lifted the sacks. But it was far better to not be inspected at all.

Lance peered through a crack in the wagon, observing the farmstead. It was mostly farmland. He could see serfs toiling in the fields, land that had once belonged to free farmers but was now part of the estate. From time to time, he saw whip-wielding guards walking among them. If a serf was caught slacking, or looked at them wrong, or sometimes just for their own amusement, they would deliver a lash or two. The checkpoints on the roads were there to prevent the serfs from escaping. Any who were caught were given a vicious beating. The beaten serf would be laid up for a few days, and when he finally got back on his feet, he would have learned how to be obedient. Some, whose bodies were too weak, would not survive the ordeal and would die in agony. Their bunkmates would then, with a curse for the inconvenience, drag the body out to be buried as fertilizer. Killing a serf by accident was not a major issue, though it might earn a guard a scolding. Because the serfs were the landowner's property, and a dead serf was one less worker. The guards' special skill, therefore, was knowing how to inflict the most pain without actually killing the person.

The men in the cart listened as the captain explained these things, their expressions unchanging. It was as if the person being beaten to death was not a man, but a head of livestock. They lived in this world; their attitude towards serfs was one of indifference. It had nothing to do with them.

Lance remained silent. He knew it was better to focus on how to eliminate the landowner and seize the farm than to dwell on the plight of the serfs.

Soon, the wagon entered the manor grounds. Here, the buildings grew more concentrated: a cattle barn, a horse stable, a sheep pen, a chicken coop, a windmill, and a granary. Seeing these, a smile touched Lance's lips. This was why he was so eager. To revitalize the town, he had to control the food supply. His conflict with the landowner was irreconcilable. There was only one word for it.

Kill.

As was custom, the captain had to take the account books and the money into the manor, so no one stopped the wagon as it proceeded.

"We're at the manor."

Hearing this, Lance looked outside. At the center of the buildings, he finally saw the wall of rammed earth, and within it, several brick and stone houses, the tallest of which was only two stories. It seemed the landowner had not been doing well before, and even with his recent rapid expansion, he had not had time to put up a more impressive front. Lance had imagined a defensible landlord's fortress, but it was nothing more than this simple courtyard. No wonder only one squad of guards was posted here.

"Two guards at the gate, no armor... Found the crossbowmen. Watchtowers on either side." Dismas, driving the cart, had been observing from a distance. His sharp eyes had easily located the crossbowmen. He reported the targets' information in a low voice.

"Alright," Lance began, issuing the final orders. "In a moment, he will get out and distract the two gate guards. Dismas, you will take out the one on the left. We must kill both of them in the first instant. Then, use the wagon to block the gate, using the carriage as cover to obstruct the enemy. Use the crossbows to eliminate the remaining watchmen. Avoid using the flintlocks if possible. Barristan, Reynauld, and I will push forward and storm the building."

Lance then looked at the turncoat captain. Remembering the man's character, he added a warning. "After you break away, go find the guards who are dissatisfied with David. Tell them David has killed the landowner and is seizing power. Rally the men you know to control David's faction. Remember, no tricks. If something goes wrong, you won't escape either."

"Rest assured, my lord. I understand," the captain said, slapping his chest to show his absolute compliance.

"Prepare to move."

Lance threw back the burlap sacks. They took out the crossbows and their bolts, loading them. The flintlocks were also loaded. He put on the captured breastplate; it offered little protection, but it was something. The others checked their own equipment, bracing themselves for what was to come.

"Halt," a guard at the gate said, seeing the wagon approach and stepping forward to block it.

At that moment, the captain emerged from the carriage, hopping down and grinning. "It's me. Here to deliver the accounts."

The two guards seemed to recognize him and relaxed a bit.

"Is the Master inside?"

"He is."

"Good, good," the captain said with a smile, walking toward them. They did not seem to suspect anything, even offering a reminder.

"New rule. No weapons inside."

"Here you go," the captain said, drawing the axe from his belt as if to hand it over. But as the guard on the right reached for it, the captain, his smile instantly vanishing, swung with all his might, the axe cleaving deep into the man's neck, nearly beheading him.

The other guard had just begun to react when a crossbow bolt shot out, entering through his eye socket. At such close range, the bolt penetrated deep into his brain, the tip protruding from the back of his skull. It was a shot from Dismas, who sat on the driver's seat of the wagon.

Before either man knew what had happened, they were dead. The captain glanced back once, then immediately turned and ran. Lance, using the carriage as cover, [Sacrificed] the two bodies and pushed open the gate.

At that moment, Dismas pulled sharply on the reins, controlling the horse and driving it forward. The carriage slammed into the gateway, perfectly blocking it, with only the rear of the cart exposed.

The entire sequence had taken less than a few dozen seconds, but any crossbowman who wasn't blind would have seen what happened at the gate. But the sudden attack in this peaceful environment had caught them off guard. Their first instinct was not to sound an alarm, but to peer out from their perches.

What's going on? Where did that cart come from?

In the next moment, the crossbowmen realized something was wrong and scrambled to load their weapons. But then, Dismas stepped out alone. Without even taking aim, he raised the weapon and fired. Without even checking to see if he had hit his mark, he took the second, pre-cocked crossbow from Lance.

He took it, raised it, and fired. The entire sequence was a single, fluid motion, so fast that the two crossbowmen fell almost simultaneously. Lance glanced up. Both were shot through the chest. A single, fatal blow for each.

Precise and powerful!

Reynauld and Barristan emerged from the wagon. Realizing the commotion they had already made, Lance knew there was no time to waste. He immediately called out to them.

"Go! As planned!"