Our Family Has Fallen

That’s to tell them what they will eat later, in order to calm them.

”You need to undergo a three-day treatment, where food will gradually change from liquid to solid, like some boiled vegetables and roots, eventually becoming regular food.”

Whether it was the porridge being easy to digest, or just psychological, only a few minutes after drinking it, the body felt like dry land finally refreshed by rain, and the trembling muscles relaxed.

The body replenished, the brain received nutrients and regained sanity, gradually overcoming the impulses and leaving that hunger and thirst behind.

But in the moment of release, those intense emotions were uncontrollable and finally erupted.

”I!” The black-haired woman suddenly shouted uncontrollably, then quickly broke into sobs, her eyes still red, holding the bowl and crying with her head down, muttering indistinct words, but the expressions of gratitude were still audible.

”Thank you... Thank you...”

”You don’t need to thank me, it was the Lord who gave you food, it was My Lord who saved you.” Susan came over, naturally understanding the woman’s intense emotional outpouring.

Luckily she didn’t shout it was the Church, or Susan wouldn’t have shown a good face.

Compared to the black-haired woman, Margaret was much calmer, almost unnaturally so.

Since experiencing these hardships firsthand, she could no longer return to being the cheerful and sunny noble lady she once was.

However, Margaret didn’t forget the reason she came to this place and asked Susan a question.

”Is this Hamlet?”

Susan was busy comforting the woman, and upon hearing this, couldn’t help but look over.

”Yes, this is Hamlet.”

”And who is he?” Margaret asked with some hesitation; she might have already guessed the answer but couldn’t help asking.

Her question wasn’t directed but Susan understood; there was only one answer here.

”Yes, he is our Lord.”

Margaret received the confirmation and fell into silence. She was part of the noble class, so she had some understanding of the territories.

Upon learning her father and Alvin leading an entire Order of Knights had been captured, she had many speculations about this place.

A Lord who could rival Count Bastia should be similarly powerful.

As she progressed among the refugees, she carried a hint of yearning for the lush territory described in the rumors, as that was her psychological support at the time.

But these mental constructs were swiftly overturned after she arrived at Hamlet, ate well, and her brain was able to think clearly.

This place wasn’t even bigger than her family’s castle; a Lord lived in such a common place?

I fear even Knights would decorate with some family crest shields, but here, the furnishings were simple, with no sign of noble identity.

Let alone such a young man, about the same age as herself, could actually capture her father, an experienced veteran?

The overturned impressions quickly filled with new doubts; clearly in Hamlet, but feeling a strong sense of unfamiliarity, as if a fog enveloped the surroundings.

Margaret wasn’t sure if she was starved foolish, but such irrationality made her difficult to understand, naturally leading to silence.

Yet her curiosity gradually sprouted...

”Alright, you’ve been tired for long enough, let’s leave it here for tonight.”

Lance ended the conversation as it was about time, the Count Bastia’s tactics could be pieced together from the scattered clues.

Laura responded upon hearing this. Talking with Lance didn’t have the pressure like facing the Count; it was comfortable and casual, almost like a relaxing chat, until she didn’t realize the man before her was a Lord.

”I will have arrangements made; go take a good rest, you are safe here.” Lance reassured her, addressing her main concern.

Which was her safety.

As a former assassin, she had killed many opposing the Count, and feared this day would come for herself.

Lance’s words struck at her core.

When they left the study and returned to the hall, Margaret and the woman had long finished eating; the scene was somewhat chaotic but understandable.

Lance’s gaze fell on the red-haired woman, Margaret, and their eyes met without avoiding, directly engaging in a stare.

Eventually, it was Lance who broke the gaze, speaking to break the atmosphere.

”Susan, please arrange for them, it’s getting late, let’s talk tomorrow after resting well.”

Saying this, Lance left the scene directly, uninterested in dealing with such matters; he had something to handle now.

And his path undoubtedly led outside the town.

Warhorse whinnying, casting aside the light behind and rushing into the darkness.

The night is still long...

...

On the land under the Ancestor’s power, the bustle wasn’t limited to Hamlet Town; a ”carnival” was about to begin in this remote place.

Count Bastia mingled a large number of mobs among the refugees; these people weren’t refugees, and likely were keenly aware of the anomaly at first, most didn’t die in the massacre but detached from the refugees upon entering Hamlet.

These people were originally bandits and looters, engaged in murder and plunder; without restrictions, they quickly formed a large looter team of two to three hundred people.

Two factions faintly visible, one being the Barbarian Tribes, though from different tribes, under certain circumstances, their execution was strong, soon abandoning resentments, all for survival.

As for choosing a leader, they broke custom using fists instead, electing the most experienced yet sly wise person to lead, as only this could ensure survival.

The tribes respected wisdom widely, as an extension of respect for tribal Priests.

Under such circumstances, a Barbarian who wasn’t tall, even weakened from years of imprisonment, became the group’s leader.

His most prominent feature was the face marred with sinister scars, nearly tearing half his face apart; one eye whitened, blind, but the remaining eye was more sinister and grim.

Because back in the day, he caused quite a stir opposing Bastia, even outsmarting the newly initiated Bruce in the mountains.

Later, suffered severe losses alarming Count, adding Eagle Tribe Leader to track him; with Eagle Flock’s assistance, Bruce spent long in the mountains before capturing him.

He survived only as Bruce’s stepping stone for validation, akin to a hunting trophy head on the wall.

However, the tribes preferred his other name — Cunning Fox.

The other faction being Imperial People, with more complex makeup: bandits, mercenaries, scoundrels; finding such many due to poor security.

It seemed Count stripped Bastia’s prison bare for such ”talent”.

Their leadership selection mirrored the tribes, familiar within the circle, knowledge of each other’s deeds.

However, internally they lacked a true leader figure, just several smaller head figures, mutually unreconciled.

They didn’t split partly due to tribal pressure, fearing backstabbing.

Also, freshly escaped lacking suitable weapons, everyone thirst-ridden, prioritizing survival is immediate.

Thus resorting to cooperative with tribes, because nightfall led a town into sleep.

”Brothers hungry so long, it’s time for meat.”

”Damn, haven’t tasted woman in ages.”

”Kekeke! Brothers charge.”