A horse-drawn carriage entered the small town, pulled by a worn-out horse. The carriage itself was nothing more than a few wooden planks joined together, lacking any extravagant decorations or insignias, emphasizing practicality and simplicity.
This was a group of Guards on rotation from the farm, currently crammed into the carriage along with sacks of grain. The high-pressure training and patrols at the farm had been a miserable experience for these habitually lazy Guards, so these three days of rotation felt more like a vacation.
They had heard from the Guards who had previously returned from this post that life here was filled with tobacco, alcohol, gambling, and women waiting for them.
"Sit down!"
A sharp reprimand came from inside the carriage, instantly causing the fidgeting Guards to compose themselves. They instinctively looked towards the elite warrior clad in a breastplate.
While displeased, they dared not voice their complaints and reluctantly took their seats. The budding excitement was replaced by a heavy silence.
The carriage soon stopped in front of the grain store. Under the elite warrior's lead, several men disembarked. They surprisingly showed some semblance of formation, hinting at a touch of Regular Army discipline.
"These fellows are still not up!" the elite warrior grumbled, then pointed at one Guard. "You, go knock on the door."
The Guard obeyed and went forward to knock. Soon, a casual shout came from behind the door.
"Coming! Coming!"
A man wearing a breastplate emerged; it was the squad leader. He greeted them with a smile, saying, "Perfect timing! We have half a barrel of ale left over from last night. It's all yours, lads."
At his words, the discipline of the formerly solemn group instantly crumbled. Their eager gazes, fixated on the interior of the house, revealed exactly what they were thinking.
Seeing this, the elite warrior rebuked, "How can you drink while on duty!"
But the squad leader was unfazed and retorted sharply, "Who do you think you are? The lads have been working hard standing guard. What's wrong with them having a little drink?"
Before the elite warrior could say more, the squad leader waved the other Guards inside. "If you don't want a drink, fine. But why stop the lads~"
The Guards, already parched from the pressures of training, needed no further prompting. They walked right in, some not forgetting to eagerly ask the squad leader about women.
"That's easy enough. Women are everywhere around here~" The squad leader said, slinging an arm around their shoulders and leading them into the house. The elite warrior, though furious, was helpless.
Honestly, he too wanted to drink and play with women, but his pride held him back. He could only follow them in, seething with frustration and silently vowing to report this to Captain David when they rotated shifts.
The moment he stepped inside, however, he sensed something was amiss. Before the elite warrior could react further, the door behind him slammed shut, and simultaneously, two armored enemies charged out from either side.
"Careful!"
Their training still afforded them some defensive capability. Upon his shout, the other Guards reacted, frantically trying to draw their weapons.
But the squad leader, who was among them, struck first. He directly interrupted two Crossbowmen as they were loading. At that exact moment, Reynard and the veteran also charged forward.
Their skills had been forged in the crucible of war, making them far superior to these rookies who had only been hastily trained for a few days. Not a single Guard could withstand even one of their attacks.
The elite warrior couldn't even see their movements clearly. He could only hear a series of dull thuds and the agonized cries of his men as they fell one by one.
He instinctively reached for his Short Sword, but then he realized someone had silently closed in behind him. Something cold was pressed against the back of his head.
The elite warrior froze. At that moment, the squad leader lunged forward and snatched his weapon away.
"Are you insane? How dare you betray the farm!" the elite warrior couldn't help but exclaim, clearly never having expected such treachery.
"Then whom did the farm betray?" Lance asked, stepping forward slowly.
"My Lord, please see, all the men are here." The squad leader bowed, offering the Short Sword with both hands. His attitude spoke volumes.
Lance accepted the Short Sword and walked over to the elite warrior. He smiled and asked, "Tell me, what has happened at the farm these past three days?"
The elite warrior didn't recognize the young man before him, but he stubbornly turned his head away. "Hmph! Just kill me. Captain David will avenge us sooner or later."
"Fine. Kill him." Lance agreed to his request without any hesitation. He waved at Dismas, saying, "Drag him to the back and dispose of him. I don't like seeing blood."
The elite warrior was stunned. He had braced himself for a beating, sure, but wasn't this supposed to go differently? Shouldn't they interrogate him, beat him, and then, impressed by his courage and loyalty, ultimately spare him?
These damned Knight novels are all lies!
Truthfully, Lance's words had caught the others off guard as well.
Seeing their shocked expressions, Lance shrugged and said, somewhat exasperated, "Why are you all looking at me? He asked for it himself."
Dismas, naturally, wouldn't question Lance's decision. He immediately began dragging the elite warrior towards the back.
"Wait! I'll talk... I'll talk..." The elite warrior instantly chose to betray the farm. He hastily spilled everything he knew about the farm's situation, terrified he'd be killed if he spoke too slowly.
He wasn't one of the original Guards. He was a townsman who had gone bankrupt, sold his land, and become a Serf, only to be later promoted by David.
This meant that the previous squad leader he had replaced had been demoted to an ordinary Guard. David now controlled four of the five squad leaders.
The situation at the farm was largely unchanged; production continued normally, and affairs within the manor remained as they were.
However, what was noteworthy was that David had started training the Guards in the use of muskets, requiring all of them to learn how to operate them.
This news put Lance on alert. The only slightly reassuring detail was that the farm possessed only one Long-barreled Flintlock Gun—the one David had brought—and had no ammunition reserves. Their training consisted merely of going through the motions, striking poses.
Lance processed all this information in an instant, then turned to the squad leader. "See? I wasn't wrong. If you had simply returned, he would have definitely stripped you of your captaincy, making you an ordinary Guard, or perhaps even a Serf."
Hearing that another acquaintance of his had been replaced by a Serf, the squad leader's own will to survive intensified.
If his earlier submission to the Lord had been merely for money and to stay alive, now he was fighting for himself.
"Rest assured, My Lord. I know what to do," the squad leader replied.
Lance looked at him but said nothing more. He signaled for his men to begin. They tied up all the Guards, hung them from the ceiling beams, then loaded onto the cart and departed...
The town was situated by the coast, with the ocean to the east. To the southwest lay the old road leading to the outside world—precisely the route the bandits had taken when they invaded.
The farm itself was located northwest of the town. Bandits wanting to raid the farm would first have to pass through the town and then travel some distance further before it even came into view. It was precisely because of this that the farm had been spared the worst of the bandit raids.