Our Family Has Fallen

Lance and the Werewolves were engaged in fierce combat, and Grendel’s attention was entirely focused on it; neither party noticed a pair of peculiar eyes observing the battle from within the distant forest.

The distance was simply too great, even beyond the limits of an ordinary person’s vision, but those eyes could clearly see the battle unfolding before them.

Surely, this ability did not belong to an ordinary person; she was a member of the Eagle Flock who had been tracking them all this way.

She had caught up with the Warwolf the moment it burst out of the forest, witnessing with her own eyes the battle that unfolded on this land.

The teachings of the Barbarian Tribes taught her that the weak were meant to die, yet a child had dared to attack an Evil Wolf to protect another, even weaker child.

She also saw those soldiers who went against the flow, getting injured to save ordinary people, still shouting indistinct words and holding their ground against the Barbarian Tribes, even though they faced enemies far too powerful to defeat.

She was no stranger to the soldiers of the Empire; on the contrary, as a member of the Eagle Flock, they often fought alongside them.

And it was through this contact that she knew just how rotten they were. If the earlier situation had involved Bastia’s soldiers, they would probably have been the third fastest to run away.

Why not the fastest? Because the fastest would have been the Nobility and the Bureaucrats. And naturally, the second fastest would have been their own Eagle Flock.

The soldiers’ duty was to protect the private property of the Nobility; they never had the responsibility to protect the commoners.

As for the Nobility themselves, it was even less likely for them to protect the lowborn. The Knights talked a good game, but how many of them actually lived up to it?

And yet, she knew that the soldiers of Bastia were considered quite decent. The treatment in their territory was good, and very few actively plundered and looted, though of course, everyone pretended not to see some of the things done in secret.

So the scene that unfolded in Hamlet had given her a considerable shock, witnessing the boy’s courage and the soldiers’ steadfastness.

It was astounding. But to her, it seemed nothing more than the futile struggle of the weak, especially after seeing the Warwolf overpower them with a single move.

Indeed, the only ones who could kill this horde of Barbarian Tribes are...

But at that moment, Grendel stepped forward, entangling the Warwolf by using the Force of Nature to control plants. This left her—a second-generation member of the Barbarian Tribes raised in the Empire—completely dumbstruck.

Then another troop of soldiers appeared, with a tall individual intercepting the Warwolf.

What had seemed like a collapsing situation suddenly stabilized, and she even felt a bit shaken. But then the Warwolf easily defeated them, making all their perseverance seem like a joke.

At that moment, I was even more convinced that the only ones who could kill this horde of Barbarian Tribes are...

Then gunshots rang out, interrupting her thoughts. She saw that this time, only one person had arrived on horseback.

This is never-ending, isn’t it! She was tired of this futile struggle of the weak and didn’t want to waste any more time, until she saw a strange scene unfold.

When he appeared, the previously injured soldiers suddenly erupted with a bizarre Life Force; even those gravely wounded quickly stood up and rejoined the battle.

By the time she processed this, the weapon in his hands was even more terrifying.

A giant sword taller than a man!

The intensity of the ensuing battle completely overturned her understanding of human physical strength; even at this distance, she could feel the overwhelming pressure.

Now she felt somewhat relieved that her squad leader had reassigned her, and somewhat frightened by the arrow she had shot during the ceremony earlier.

If I had faced the Warwolf myself... I would have died... In that moment, she clearly realized she too was merely one of the weak, despite having previously identified with the perspective of the strong.

Her views were shifting. She was beginning to appreciate how precious the resistance and persistence of the ’weak’ truly were.

After all, I’ve never experienced assistance from teammates, nor has anyone ever stood up to protect me.

A fledgling cast out of the nest is shunned; it must take flight on its own. Indifference is the defining characteristic of the Eagle Flock.

It turned out it wasn’t disdain I felt, but envy for something I deeply desired yet could not have... In this moment, her heart sided with those she considered the ’weak,’ as if she belonged to their ranks.

Especially when she saw the once-unrivaled Warwolf being overpowered, she felt an intense rush of satisfaction. She was so exhilarated that she almost wished she could notch an arrow and take a shot herself.

But sometimes situations change in the blink of an eye—the Warwolf gouged out one of its eyes and transformed into a Werewolf. All these abrupt changes happened in just over ten seconds.

The horrific stature of the Werewolf and the terror it exuded could be felt even from afar, causing the Hawk perched on her shoulder to flap its wings uncontrollably, eager to flee.

Similarly, when the Werewolf launched its attack, her heart leaped into her throat as if she herself were among those soldiers, her hand involuntarily tightening around her bow.

A shield was thrust out horizontally; he actually stood before the soldiers, blocking the Werewolf. This brought her a sense of relief, as if she herself had been saved.

But then she grew curious. Why would such a powerful individual protect a soldier? The influential figures I’ve encountered would never bother with this. She couldn’t figure it out and became intensely curious about him.

However, she had no time to dwell on these thoughts, as her attention was completely engulfed by the battle ahead.

Just as she was thoroughly engrossed, the Hawk beside her suddenly let out a CAW.

The woman spun around, her bow already drawn, and with a swift release, shot an arrow.