Our Family Has Fallen

When Alvin led the Cavalry closer to the target village, there were no signs of villagers moving about. These villages, surviving in such a chaotic environment, were typically extremely sensitive to special circumstances. In the past, whenever he led the Cavalry into towns for supplies, the locals would scurry back to their humble villages from the fields like startled mice, seeking some sense of security. But today, despite the considerable noise of their approaching cavalry charge, there was no movement from the village; instead, a deathly silence hung in the air.

Alvin reined in his horse, a bad feeling already stirring within him, though he was unwilling to believe it. Has something gone wrong with my very first step in controlling Hamlet?

”You two, go and see what’s happened. The rest of you, spread out and scout. Watch out for ambushes and be ready to provide support at any moment.”

The Baron had naturally sensed something was amiss. He remained calm; as Alvin’s advisor, it was his duty to step forward at such a time. With a few concise orders, he managed the situation, quickly quelling the burgeoning headless panic. The designated Knights immediately rode out, fanning out to guard against ambushes, while a few others entered the village.

Soon, those who had entered the village returned, but the news they brought was not good.

”There’s no one here, and no sign of an ambush. The entire village is empty, but we found some bloodstains and there’s a foul, rotten smell.”

These words undoubtedly described a village that had been slaughtered. Does this mean I was too slow again? Alvin thought. Have the Barbarians already killed everyone and left?

”Damn it!” Alvin seethed, clenching his teeth, on the verge of an outburst. Just then, the Baron turned to the two reporting Knights and asked a question.

”You didn’t see any bodies?”

”No, none.”

”Then it probably wasn’t the Barbarians,” the Baron judged immediately, then turned to Alvin to explain. ”These Barbarians don’t come here to plunder, nor can they take people back to the Mountains. So, whenever they strike, they invariably kill everyone as a Sacrifice to their Evil God. If that were the case, there would have been a sacrificial ritual, and bodies would have been left behind.”

”So, no bodies means it wasn’t them,” Alvin realized, his mood lightening slightly at this news. After being outmaneuvered so many times, if I were a step behind again this time, I might really lose it.

He was a noble of the Bastia Family; his father was the man who had suppressed the Barbarians so thoroughly they could only bow their heads in submission. Although his father had intentionally allowed some Barbarians to escape and be driven to this region, Alvin, as a young man, lacked the Baron’s steady composure.

”Let’s go in and see what happened here,” the Baron said.

The Cavalry advanced into the village. The Baron led Alvin on a tour, explaining and analyzing the village’s condition. ”The wheat is nearly ripe, so the villagers would never have abandoned their homes. They were likely slaughtered by bandits, or perhaps by deserters fleeing the chaos outside. As for bodies, there should have been some; the traces here indicate as much. However, they might have been collected and buried by someone passing through. Judging by the numerous and irregular hoofprints, it seems it might have been a kind-hearted merchant caravan.”

Then, the Baron added, muttering to himself in puzzlement, ”But why are there so few wheel ruts?”

The experienced Baron noticed the aged hoofprints. He couldn’t imagine that Hamlet, fragmented as it was, could still support a sizable cavalry force. Those wheel ruts must simply be from carts transporting supplies, he concluded. In any case, bandits and Slave Catchers would never bother with burying bodies. It could only have been a merchant caravan that regularly passes through.

”Now that everyone here is dead, will those Barbarians still come?” Alvin asked.

He didn’t care how these people had died, nor who had dealt with their corpses. He didn’t even care about the people of Hamlet Territory. His sole focus was on that band of Barbarians and whether he could seize this opportunity to become the master of Hamlet.

Faced with this question, the Baron hesitated for a moment. ”The stench of decay here is so strong. We humans can’t smell it once we’re out of the village, but wolves can detect it from a great distance. Once they sense it, they certainly won’t risk coming closer. It means this place has lost its value as bait.”

”Worthless peasants!” Alvin snarled. ”Couldn’t you have died sooner or later? You just had to ruin my important plans!”

True to form, Alvin began to curse furiously upon hearing the Baron’s assessment. Those around him seemed accustomed to his outbursts and showed little reaction, though one could sense their desire to keep their distance, lest they incur the wrath of the enraged Alvin and suffer a verbal lashing. Even the sole remaining member of their Eagle Flock escort lowered her head, trying to make herself inconspicuous. Yet, she could almost feel the old whip scars on her arm throbbing painfully.

The Baron noticed this. His earlier hesitation in stating his conclusion hadn’t stemmed from the conclusion itself, but from anticipating Alvin’s reaction to it. It seemed his concerns had materialized; the young noble’s temper was on full display. However, such a rift between a leader and his subordinates was a significant problem.

He’s still too young, the Baron mused. He has youthful drive, but that can also manifest as a volatile temperament. Coupled with his status in Bastia, where no one dares to provoke him, he hasn’t faced significant trials. It makes him seem rather thoughtless at times.

The Baron understood. According to the Earl’s original plans, Alvin was never meant to threaten the Heir’s position, so little effort had been invested in his upbringing or development. His Knight training was merely a nod to the martial traditions of the Bastia Family.