Chapter 72: Who Was at Fault?

The long caravan creaked slowly along the winding road, the heavy vehicles making the sturdy wheels groan and leaving deep ruts in the thawed earth.

Sarah held her son Evan close as they sat together in an open carriage, her mind adrift in confusion. Just over ten days ago, Sarah had lost her husband. Since Barry had left with Boss Hook’s men that day, he had not returned. Sarah had no idea where Barry had gone; she had searched for him, but he was nowhere to be found, and even Boss Hook’s gang had vanished without a trace.

Without a man’s protection, it took only a few days for Sarah and her son to be driven out of their hut. Not only had they lost their tiny shelter, but they now faced hunger. The bread from the church was never enough to fill their stomachs and was often snatched away by others. So, Sarah needed to find a new man.

As a still relatively young woman, there were men willing to take her in, but none would accept Evan, now ten years old—he ate a lot and had his own ideas. Gritting her teeth, Sarah decided to become a barmaid; this would not only support her and her son, but also allow them to move into a somewhat more stable part of the slums.

With an intermediary’s help, Sarah met one of Blackcastle’s big shots—Lord Monkey. Yet Lord Monkey gave Sarah a choice: she could go far away, to Victor’s domain, to become a wife—and she could even bring her child.

“Ina, how much land does your husband have?”

“Harry? He’s got thirteen acres of fief. Oh, and he has 2,700 work points—enough to exchange for two more acres. What about yours?”

“Ah! Our Ait has only twelve acres, but he’s got 4,000 work points.”

The conversation among several women in the carriage caught Sarah’s attention. They were all women recruited like herself, widows, most traveling with children.

“By the way, Sarah, how much land does your family have?” the young woman named Ina asked. They knew each other already; their men had once worked together under Boss Hook, and both had disappeared without a trace.

“Our fief is smaller than yours. Kerry only has ten acres,” Sarah replied blandly.

“Ten acres is still good. After all, you’re already a vassal, isn’t that right?” Ina tried to sound comforting, but the raised pitch of her voice betrayed her pride.

“Kerry also has over 10,000 work points,” Sarah added, glancing at the women in the carriage and relishing the looks on their faces.

Such is the way of women: whenever they gather, they cannot help but compare their men, even if the man in question is barely more than a stranger. Thinking this, Sarah’s own pride faded; she, too, had found herself a new man and a new father for her child in just the short journey of a dozen days.

Sarah’s gaze drifted outside to a middle-aged man on horseback—her new man, Kerry. Though already forty, Kerry was skilled in arms, stronger and more vigorous than many younger men, and he was a landed gentleman, a lord’s guard—and, most importantly, he was kind to Evan.

Sensing her gaze, Kerry turned and gave Sarah a smile, making her lower her head in shy embarrassment. Meanwhile, young Evan was still engrossed in his roasted rabbit leg—a treat Kerry had hunted along the way.

Barry, wherever you are, please bless us, Sarah thought, hugging her son even tighter.

The women’s chatter in the open carriage grew quiet as drowsiness settled in; long journeys are always wearying, and even the majestic fields of purple cane could grow dull with time.

A burst of cheers startled Sarah awake. She leapt upright and hugged little Evan, fumbling around in search of something to defend herself.

“Sarah, it’s all right. We’ve arrived.”

The steady, gentle voice soothed her. She looked back to see many people already dismounting, the caravan halted at the entrance to a camp.

As Sarah prepared to jump from the carriage, a strong arm reached out—Kerry’s.

“Thank you,” Sarah murmured, face flushed as she took his arm and leapt down. Kerry moved to help Evan as well, but the boy stubbornly jumped by himself, refusing to give him the satisfaction.

“Evan’s just a bit shy,” Sarah explained awkwardly.

“No matter! A little spirit is good in a boy,” Kerry laughed, his hearty tone easing Sarah’s anxiety. In truth, she did not realize that Kerry had chosen her precisely because Evan reminded him of his own lost son.

Sarah looked curiously at the camp before her. The tall palisade stretched beyond sight, with two arrow towers already erected behind it. In front, many people were digging a moat, while flour-laden wagons rumbled into the grounds.

“Mother, I want to go inside too!” Evan tugged at her hand, bouncing with excitement as he saw other children entering ahead of them.

“Kerry, may we go in?” Many other women and children were already being led in by their men, and Sarah could not resist the urge to see her future home for herself.

“Of course. Here, you may look wherever you wish,” Kerry nodded.

The camp was nearly the size of a village, its tamped earth firm underfoot, with ditches for drainage in the lower areas to prevent mud, even during rain. On the left, a square opened up, lined with long tables and benches; in one corner stood a row of sheds, their eaves hung with smoked pork.

To the right stretched rows of low huts—familiar structures to Sarah. When she had been a commoner, she had lived in such a shelter. Though low, these huts were partly dug into the ground, making them less cramped inside than they appeared. Their walls were built from packed earth and woven brambles, sturdy and resilient; the roofs were wooden frames covered in reeds, like giant umbrellas sheltering the huts below. These half-buried dwellings kept a comfortable temperature, but were always vulnerable to flooding.

Sarah noticed how neatly these huts were arranged, each spaced precisely from its neighbors, with ditches to keep out water. The ground was clean—nothing like the reeking, filth-ridden slums of Blackcastle.

“Kerry, which of these huts is our home?” Sarah asked eagerly.

This village—clean, orderly, familiar—filled Sarah with satisfaction. She believed that in a few years, life could only get better, for her man was a respected vassal.

“Here? We’re not living here,” Kerry shook his head.

Before Sarah could show her disappointment, he continued, “This is just a temporary settlement for the freemen—smells just as bad as the slums in Blackcastle. How could we live here?”

“We live in the Hillside Camp!”

At the mention of Hillside Camp, Kerry’s eyes shone. It was the first time Sarah had seen pride on this usually steady man’s face.

“Come, I'll take you home. You can have a nice bath in the women’s bathhouse, and I’ll take care of Evan—give him a good scrub. Then we’ll eat our fill in the canteen. I haven’t had a decent meal since Blackcastle.”

With Kerry leading them, Sarah and Evan left the freemen’s camp behind. At the gate, Sarah spotted a beautiful woman with straight legs and an alluring figure, speaking intimately with Captain Nelson.

“Who is that woman?” Sarah asked curiously. The woman’s bearing and beauty made her feel somewhat inadequate, yet why was she so close to Captain Nelson, who had neither land nor work points?

In fact, shortly after the journey began, most of the women had cast suggestive glances at the burly Nelson; some bold, self-assured ones had even directly offered to be his companion, but he had politely declined. When they heard he had no land or precious work points, they turned their sights to the other guards.

“That’s Linda, Lord Victor’s chief constable—and Captain Nelson’s partner,” Kerry explained.

“Captain Nelson’s wife is the constable?” Sarah exclaimed in surprise.

“Yes, and Captain Nelson’s sister, Lady Lilia, is the lord’s personal maid,” Kerry said, stroking his chin, wondering if Lilia had begun serving the lord yet. Still, calling her “lady” was certainly appropriate.

“Nelson is Lady Lilia’s brother? Then why doesn’t he have land or work points?” Sarah asked, perplexed. His sister was a lady, his wife the constable, he himself a captain, yet he had neither land nor work points—a situation she struggled to understand.

“No idea. Anyway, neither Linda nor Lilia has land or work points either. Who knows what the lord is thinking?” Kerry shrugged indifferently. He didn’t begrudge Nelson; so what if he had none? They alone, out of everyone in the camp, were free to enter the upper grounds—except, of course, the legendary forbidden zone.

Nelson and Linda had no idea they were already the subject of Kerry’s gossip.

“Isn’t this a bit like taking advantage of your position? The lord sent you to recruit women, and you snatched them up on the road?” Linda planted her hands on her hips, glaring at Nelson.

“What could I do? They were all eager, you know. Now that everyone has land, they’re all keen to settle down—wife and children, the whole lot,” Nelson replied sheepishly.

“And you? Did you take a lover?” Linda’s eyes blazed with the question that mattered most to her.

“Absolutely not! Those women aren’t interested in me,” Nelson protested, waving his hands.

“What? Are they blind? Are you less of a catch than Kerry, that bearded ox?” Linda bristled at the thought her own husband might be unwanted.

Nelson’s head throbbed; he knew better than to argue further. He planned to slip away now—he would calm Linda’s temper tonight, preferably in bed.

“Linda, where is Lord Victor? I have important matters to report.”

“He’s out hunting to the west. If you go now, you should find him.”

With Nelson off to see to business, Linda let the matter drop; after all, she was the constable now.

—

Dozens of fierce, fat wild boars crashed through the purple cane forest, desperate to escape.

Three powerful arrows tore through the air with a humming whistle, piercing straight into the eyes and brains of three leading boars, sending them into convulsions on the ground.

Without the lead boars, the herd scattered in chaos, fleeing in all directions. This was when the human hunters could surround and pick off the mighty beasts.

Victor stood at the forest’s edge, hunting bow in hand. He loosed another three arrows in rapid succession; from deep in the cane, the sounds of heavy bodies falling and boars squealing in agony echoed back.

Nelson listened to the boars’ dying screams, stunned beyond measure.

Victor had loosed three arrows in a single breath, killing three boars running in different directions, all outside his line of sight. More astonishing, his arrows flew straight and fierce, undeterred by the dense cane—snapping several stalks as they went. Only a crossbow should have such power, yet Victor used a simple hunting bow!

“My lord, your archery is divine!” Nelson exclaimed in genuine awe.

Victor smiled slightly and withdrew from his heightened state, pleased with himself. The shortbow had fast firing speed but short range and weak power; yet with the arrows swathed in a gentle breeze, they flew swift and hard, rivaling a crossbow. In his seamless state, Victor could shoot four arrows a second, and with his heightened senses, not even targets beyond sight could escape him. With X-3’s adjustments and targeting, his arrows struck like lightning, never missing.

However, Victor could only maintain this state for forty seconds. Afterward, he was left weak and dizzy, unable to continue. It would take five hours to recover.

The shortbow’s strength was also insufficient—it would soon break under his rapid fire. So Victor planned to have Busso craft him a mithril shortbow.

“Nelson, let’s walk and talk,” Victor called, seeing the guards, led by the old hillman, beginning the orderly roundup of the boars.

“My lord, much happened during our trip to Blackcastle,” Nelson said quietly, head bowed. He had, on his own authority, given the York family half their share of the purple cane liquor—something he was reluctant to admit.

“Trouble is only to be expected. Tell me the details,” Victor replied coolly.

Nelson trailed behind, recounting the entire Blackcastle incident.

“How convenient…” Victor remarked after Nelson finished. “Nelson, don’t you find it odd that you arrived in Blackcastle just as the constable was making an arrest?”

“My lord, you mean…?” Nelson asked, uncertain.

“Too convenient, and too smooth. How could a gang boss like Barrol be dealt with so easily?” Victor said with a cold smile. “He knew you were after him, yet he played with women as if nothing was wrong? If he’d been that foolish, how could he have become a gang leader? I suspect the man you killed wasn’t Barrol, but the steward from the Villepant family. This was all arranged by the York family.”

“That bastard Monkey dared deceive us! I’ll tear him apart!” Nelson raged. Nothing angered him more than being used. Since the old captain’s death, the War Bear Mercenaries had lacked strong leadership, which was the cause of their decline.

“That’s enough—Monkey did nothing wrong. Nor did the constable. And neither did you,” Victor said, clapping Nelson on the shoulder to calm him.

“Then who was wrong?” Nelson scratched his head, puzzled.

“The Villepant steward, of course. He’s dead; that makes him wrong,” Victor said scornfully. The steward had known his family was at odds with the Yorks, yet stirred up trouble in Blackcastle—he had courted death.

“My lord, I acted without orders—about the share of the purple cane liquor…” Nelson hung his head, ashamed.

“Nelson, you handled it well. Honestly, had it been me, I’d have killed the Villepant steward too. The Baron plotted against my men; why shouldn’t I retaliate? I would also have given the Yorks half the share. The York family is signaling that someone is out to get us, and they are willing to shield us.”

Victor exhaled deeply, as if trying to release the pent-up frustration in his chest.

“So I didn’t lose out this time?” Nelson asked, delighted.

“It’s hard to say who lost and who gained,” Victor replied, half to Nelson, half to himself.

“Oh, and the women you recruited—have Linda settle them in together for now. Once they grow familiar, they’ll naturally pair off with our men,” Victor added.

“My lord, those women… they’ve already become companions with our men on the road. They should already be in their new homes.”

Victor: “So, in the end, you all went to Blackcastle just for a matchmaking fair?”

He could only roll his eyes at the speed with which his men moved.

“My lord, what’s a matchmaking fair?” Nelson asked, emboldened since Victor seemed unbothered.

“No need for you to worry about matchmaking. But tomorrow you’re to attend a roundtable meeting.”

After Nelson left, Victor weighed the purse Nelson had given him—inside were just thirty-one gold sols.

“Half the share of purple cane liquor? Am I just your vassal now?”