Our Family Has Fallen

The castle itself naturally belonged to the Baron. Outside the walls lived the commoners, who could only seek refuge within the castle during enemy attacks, allowing them to hide inside. For thousands of years, the castle had been synonymous with safety for the commoners. Therefore, locations closer to the castle were more valuable, and dwellings were scattered in its vicinity. In this era, there was no such thing as city planning, so the buildings outside appeared somewhat haphazard. The town was not very large, nor was it bustling with activity like Hamlet; instead, it seemed very peaceful. The people walking on the streets, while not beaming with joy, appeared to be in normal condition. The fact that passersby didn’t hastily avoid the approaching carriage spoke volumes about Baron Lawrence’s good governance.

The carriage also began to slow down, and it received greetings from the people it passed.

”Good morning, Miss Margaret!”

”Take this.” Margaret was not stingy, tossing the Wood Rat to the person.

She enjoyed hunting, but sometimes she didn’t care for the game, or it was too large to finish. She also wouldn’t eat animals riddled with bullet holes, so she gifted them to the commoners instead.

”Oh! Thank you for your gift! May the Holy Light bless you, my dear young mistress.”

Margaret, who was unpopular among other nobles, was very well-liked by the commoners. The reason was simple: if they were lucky enough to encounter her, they might receive unwanted game. For instance, she had once kept only a single leg from a deer, distributing the rest among them. Although it usually wasn’t the best cuts of meat, in an age where even rats were scarce food, who would turn down meat? Indeed, for the commoners, encountering Margaret returning from a hunt was akin to being blessed by a goddess.

By the time Margaret returned to the castle, all that remained of her hunt was a relatively well-preserved grey rabbit. It was just enough to hand over to the staff to prepare for lunch.

”Miss, you’re back!”

Her personal maid hurried over, helping Margaret remove her hunting attire and then bringing new clothes for her to change into. The maid was nimble with her hands and feet but also somewhat talkative.

”I heard there’s a festival in town tomorrow, Miss. Would you like to go?”

”You’re the one who wants to go, aren’t you?” Margaret laughed, tossing the towel she had used to wipe her face to the maid.

”So, are we going?” The maid caught the towel and followed up, adding, ”I found out there’s a shooting competition at the festival. With your skill, Miss, you’re sure to win the championship! Everyone’s jaws will drop.”

The young maid grew excited as she spoke, as if she couldn’t wait to see her mistress become the Champion.

They were of similar age and had played together since childhood. It was clear their relationship was good; the lines between master and servant were not strictly drawn.

Hearing this, Margaret, who initially had little interest, perked up. She was extremely confident in her marksmanship; winning a shooting competition was no challenge for her at all.

”Of course! The title of Champion can only be mine.”

Early in the morning, before dawn, people from the surrounding towns and villages were also getting ready, then setting out towards the city with their belongings. They had no conveyances like carriages, mostly traveling on foot. Some even carried heavy loads on their backs; only a fortunate few had crude carts. But this was just the beginning. To enter the city, they needed to walk for two to three hours, and those coming from farther away would walk for five. It was no exaggeration to say they rose late at night to begin their journey, just to reach Bastia City in time.

One positive aspect was that within Bastia’s territory, especially around the city, soldiers were often deployed to clear out bandits. This meant they at least didn’t have to worry about being robbed while traveling at night. However, things had become unstable recently, and the influx of refugees posed a significant danger. These people living near the Mountains often clashed with the Barbarian Tribes, so the local populace was fierce, and everyone carried weapons when leaving home. The courageous young people even formed Guard teams. Some merchant caravans passing through would pay to hire Guards for their journey, and they too were all heading to Bastia City on this day.

Among them, flickering torches revealed that some mercenaries were even intermingled with members of the Barbarian Tribes. This didn’t seem to surprise anyone; it was, in fact, a distinctive local feature. Regardless of their origins, the continuous convergence of these people formed a massive procession, making even the wide main roads feel congested. Nevertheless, they finally reached their destination before dawn.

Before them lay an enormous city that even the dark night could not entirely swallow. From afar, it resembled a reclining giant, dotted with faint, star-like points of light. Only as they drew closer did they truly appreciate the grandeur of its walls; any enemy seeing them would surely have fallen into complete despair. The members of the Barbarian Tribes within the procession could only lower their heads at this moment, their thoughts unknown to anyone.

Normally, it wasn’t time to open the city gates, but today was an exception. Flames blazed in the raised braziers, illuminating the sleepy faces of the gate-keeping soldiers. Entering the city required payment: commoners paid per head, while merchant caravans with large quantities of goods also had to pay taxes. As for how much was levied, that depended on the tax officials who hovered around the wagons like Wood Rats eyeing bread. The potential for kickbacks was immense, and everyone knew exactly how things worked...

But that wasn’t all. Inside the city, the prime spots in the main plaza had already been sectioned off. These stalls cost money; if you couldn’t pay, you had to clear out. Festivals and celebrations held many meanings, but pondering them was a luxury for those privileged enough to enjoy the festivities. For these common folk, such thoughts were irrelevant. They only knew that on this day, business would be much better, their goods would fetch higher prices, and they could earn more money.

The sky gradually lightened. While the commoners were still waiting in a seemingly endless line, carriages of the Nobility were already entering and exiting through a dedicated side passage. The soldiers, who wore fierce expressions when facing the commoners, contorted their faces into almost grotesquely obsequious smiles in the presence of the Nobility, their demeanor as deferential as a dog fawning for scraps. The youngsters would steal glances at the nobles, their faces unconsciously revealing expressions of envy and desire.

Perhaps because of the day’s celebrations, the Nobility seemed to be in a decent mood. Knights sat tall on their magnificent horses, heads held proudly aloft. For the festival, they had donned armor polished to a brilliant sheen—a symbol of their status. High-born nobles inside their carriages would have no interaction whatsoever with these ”lowly commoners”; one could only catch fleeting, disdainful glares through the carriage windows as they passed. Some noblewomen even cast their gazes towards the commoners from their carriage windows, hiding half their faces behind fans, a faint, elusive smile playing in their eyes. A single glance could make these youngsters utterly smitten. The young commoners could hardly bear such attention; their faces flushed red, and their hearts felt as if they would burst from their chests. Observing the youngsters’ foolish, infatuated expressions, the noblewomen would let out strange, shrill laughs, reveling in the display of their own charm.

The older commoners, however, didn’t even dare to look. They kept their heads bowed and did their utmost to shrink away from the nobles, appearing timid and fearful even at such a distance. Only after the nobles’ carriages had passed did the older folk dare to quietly warn the youngsters around them: ”Be extremely careful not to offend the noble lords. If you cause trouble, and you end up dead, no one will care for your fate.” They cited many examples, such as witnessing a noble beat someone to death merely for being slightly in the way. Another similar story involved a noblewoman who felt offended by a commoner’s gaze; a man accompanying her promptly gouged out that person’s eyes. Although the victim didn’t die, being blind in this world was little different from death.

”You never know when a lord will lose his temper, or why,” the older folk cautioned. ”So, I advise you to avert your gaze and think of your families.”

After receiving the warning, the youngsters, when faced with the Nobility again, couldn’t help but lower their heads, daring not to look. Deep within their eyes lay a profound sense of inferiority and fear.