Our Family Has Fallen

It was this man who drew Warwolf’s attention.

The man pulling the cart was markedly different from the others. His broad frame and tall stature were evident, and he bent slightly to tug the heavy cart.

Yet, his steady gait while pulling the cart showed that he didn’t suffer the physical withering as the others did.

His body was also covered. While others were wrapped in scraps of cloth and bandages, this man was clad in a brass-colored breastplate. It came complete with shoulder guards, gauntlets, and a tunic, forming a comprehensive set of armor.

An old, somewhat torn white cloth wrapped around his head, the excess draped over his shoulders like a cape and extending down to his waist.

He wore a brass-colored Frog Eye Mask on his face, seemingly part of the same set as the breastplate and likely custom-made, given how well it fit.

This apparel, even without the breastplate and mask, wasn’t something a refugee could afford.

Warwolf’s realization came when he noticed a Great Sword lying next to the cart. It was exaggeratedly large and half-broken. Its Sword Blade bore numerous marks from combat and neglect, and the jagged notches along its edge spoke of countless fierce battles.

He was a warrior!

Warwolf felt it, even a vague sense of crisis that not even facing a Cavalry charge had instilled in him. He instinctively tightened his grip on the Battle Axe in his hand.

Perhaps Warwolf’s vigilant action had caught the attention of the One-Eyed Wolf Kings. Their coordination, honed through countless battles, was instinctual; they instantly lowered their bodies, ready to attack at any moment.

Like a chain reaction, the white wolves followed the Wolf King’s lead, and the Barbarian Tribes warriors couldn’t help gripping their weapons, readying for battle.

Fortunately, Warwolf came to his senses and raised his hand to signal the restless crowd to stop.

But this obvious movement startled the man. He lifted his head for a brief glance in their direction, his gaze lingering slightly on Warwolf but without conveying anything, before he lowered his head to continue pulling the cart.

The other refugees seemed oblivious to anything amiss, mindlessly following the man’s steps, exhibiting a state of extreme numbness.

Only that man, with his firm strides, seemed to emanate an extraordinary strength from within his peculiar physique.

Warwolf made way, standing aside to let them pass. As they came closer, he saw the man with the mask give him a slight nod of acknowledgment.

Neither party spoke a word, nor was there any more interaction.

It wasn’t until after the group had left that the impatient warriors questioned Warwolf.

”Boss, why didn’t we take them out?”

”Exactly, they could expose our trail!”

”...”

They hadn’t forgotten that a Cavalry unit was searching for them. Leaving witnesses alive could easily compromise their location.

”Those people are plagued with disease,” Warwolf said. ”What if we contracted it while engaging them? The Deerhead Tribe was wiped out by us; now there’s no one in the Mountains who can treat the plague. Do you want to bring the plague into the Mountains, or back to our tribe?”

Warwolf’s thinking had indeed changed, but he wouldn’t tolerate his men questioning his decisions.

Sure enough, upon hearing the word ”plague,” fear crept onto the faces of even those warriors who did not fear death.

”That leader gives me a bad feeling,” Warwolf continued. ”Despite being tormented by illness, there’s no doubt he’s a true warrior. Right now, our priority is to complete the ritual. It would be foolish to provoke a strong adversary over such a trivial matter.”

This statement further surprised his men. Earning the chief’s recognition meant the stranger’s strength was comparable to his own.

But just a guy weakened by illness?

”Let’s go; we’ve already wasted enough time,” Warwolf said.

He offered no further explanation. Some things were pointless to discuss with those who hadn’t reached a certain level of understanding. The warriors were correct, however; traveling on the old road made them easy to spot, so they once again slipped into the edge of the wilderness, moving swiftly.

However, Warwolf was unaware of the terrain, not realizing this old road led to but one place.

Nor did they notice a figure trailing them at a distance, eyes sharp as an eagle’s, as if able to pierce through the dense wilderness.

「Hamlet, an unnamed village.」

SCREECH!

A sharp bird call shattered the quiet of the dawn; a black shadow circled above the village.

Shortly after, bird calls responded from below. The Hawk descended, landing on the burly arm of the Baron, who held a bone whistle. Once Warwolf’s location was confirmed, this piece of Extraordinary Equipment had been reclaimed.

Although at first glance, the device was clearly from the Eagle Flock’s predecessor, the Eagle Claw Tribe, it was not in their possession.

But such is the price of reliance. One must always offer something in return.

The Baron removed the paper strip from the Hawk’s leg. He then lifted his arm, holding the Hawk aloft.

The next second, the Hawk took flight, disappearing quickly into the sky, its speed unmatched by most other birds.

Upon unfolding the note, the Baron’s expression became somewhat peculiar. He refrained from any immediate reaction, instead seeking out Alvin, who was already awake.

Under the Earl’s strict governance, the entire family never slacked. This was one of the essential factors behind their rise to power.