"So, you have a grudge against the mayor and the farm owner,"
Having listened to the storekeeper's explanation, Lance got a rough idea of his situation.
The storekeeper, named Walter, was a merchant in town before the bandits arrived. He had the largest trade caravan in town, dealing mainly in grains and derivatives, transporting them to sell in cities and towns.
This grain store was originally his, and the farm owner had been nothing more than his supplier, even falling slightly behind because the sales channels were under Walter's control.
Everything went awry when the bandits came. First, his caravan was robbed, devastating his business. Then, the mayor demanded people, money, and grain to fight off the bandits—all of which Walter provided, even organizing his own Guards to resist them.
When the bandits stormed in, looting and killing, he was fortunate that his two children were studying in the city, and his wife was also there. Otherwise, his entire family would have been wiped out.
He had thought that after the bandits left, everything would get better. But the bandits didn't leave after the incident and instead entrenched themselves on the old road. His Guards had all died fighting the bandit invasion, and without them, he couldn't escape the small town.
Then the mayor rallied the remaining mercenaries and militia. Meanwhile, the farm owner, who hadn't suffered much from the bandit invasion, retained most of his strength.
So, afterward, Walter was directly bled dry by the mayor, and his grain store was eventually taken over by the farm owner. He was likely left behind merely as the farm owner's way of humiliating him.
"Then why do you still want to help the farm owner?"
Confronted with Lance's questioning, Walter appeared quite helpless, hesitating for a moment before finally speaking.
"It's not just the grain that those Guards are watching. If something goes wrong later, I can't escape either."
Ultimately, he felt his life was in the farm owner's hands and feared being implicated if anything went wrong.
Of course, another important reason was his doubt about Lance's ability to defeat the farm owner; he questioned Lance's strength.
"Heh." Lance laughed casually. "Do you think I'll lose?"
"The town isn't just about the mayor. Even if you take his place, there will be a lot of trouble, especially once they're on guard."
Walter, like a riddler, didn't spell it out but hinted that the town wasn't as simple as Lance might think, with various forces tangled and chaotic. If I hadn't lost all my Guards, I might still be one of them.
Taking down the mayor previously was only possible due to a surprise attack. If everyone prepares, it's a different story.
"I am not the mayor. I am the Lord. Everything here belongs to me."
Walter didn't continue the conversation. He was unaware that Lance had wiped out the security group's mercenaries overnight. He thought the mayor hadn't fought back due to the suddenness of the attack and Lance's noble status.
In his view, Lance was still too young. Sure, executing the mayor this morning was gratifying, but why did the mayor pay to keep those people around? It was to use alcohol and women to sap the mercenaries' vigor.
Now, without the mayor's restraint, what will those mercenaries do? They're all desperadoes!
Not to mention handing out porridge—something unheard of! No amount of grain on hand is enough for those people. What will they do after three days without food?
One didn't need to think hard to know the town's security would only worsen. Walter was clear that only by relying on the farm owner's Guards could he ensure his own safety. This Lord is too young, too young to fight those cunning old hands.
Walter could even see this Lord soon being rendered powerless, and Hamlet turning into a paradise for criminals, or even a foothold for those bandits.
Lance could feel Walter's aversion, though he hadn't expected it was because he looked too young, let alone that Walter had outright criticized all his arrangements.
However, even if he had been aware, he wouldn't have said anything. He preferred to persuade others with facts rather than engage in verbal sparring.
"Let's make a bet. Who will be the one knocking at the door next? If I lose, I'll let you go. If you lose, you stay put."
The previous conversation had been quite casual, and Walter had unwittingly forgotten he was actually being held hostage.
Now that it dawned on him, he couldn't help but feel a surge of alarm. If the Lord appeared here, his target was clearly the granary!
Before Walter could contemplate further, there was a knock at the door. He jumped in surprise, subconsciously looking up, anticipating who was behind it.
If it was the farm owner's Guard, it would mean the Lord had failed. If it was someone else, it would mean the Lord had won.
"Sir, the matter is taken care of," came Little John's voice.
"It looks like I win." Lance's mouth curved into a slight smile, his triumph evident.
But a strange expression appeared on Walter's face.
Five fully armed men? Losing without even a hint of a struggle? How could it be over just like that?
"Let's make another bet: who will be the master of this place after tomorrow."
Saying this, Lance paid no attention to the somewhat dazed Walter, stood up, and left him there.
Watching Lance's retreating figure, Walter suddenly had a strange premonition: this man might truly change the town.
But the next second, he dismissed the thought. Although he disliked the farm owner, he knew the farm owner had hundreds of men at his disposal. Even if the Lord had taken down these five, it would be difficult to confront a hundred men.
However, since he had lost the bet, he had no intention of getting involved in their dispute. He'd quickly pack and then, depending on the situation, find a few mercenaries to escort him if he needed to flee...
Meanwhile, inside the granary, Dismas had already subdued those men. When Lance arrived, Dismas immediately began to praise him.
"Just as you predicted, sir! Those men saw the wine, cared about nothing else, and drank themselves into a stupor. Not one of them reacted when we came in."
Dismas's admiration for Lance's almost prophetic ability grew. If it had come to a real fight, their two crossbows alone would have caused significant trouble, not to mention the one Guard with armor-piercing bolts. Yet, the Lord had simply used a barrel of wine to neutralize these Guards!
"This wasn't a guess; it was based on Little John's intelligence," Lance said with a smile, patting Little John on the shoulder as he explained.
"These men normally indulge in eating, drinking, whoring, and gambling. My recent actions cut off their usual sources of entertainment, and they couldn't go out, so naturally, they grew restless. Not to mention, they're supposed to leave tomorrow—this was their last chance. Of course, they couldn't resist the sight of wine."
Lance surveyed the five subdued Guards. Except for one who looked a bit sturdier, the rest were clearly untrained ordinary men. Their combat experience was likely limited to whipping Serfs.
Little John felt a surge of satisfaction seeing these men's misfortune; they had often bullied him.
"Go buy some food from the tavern," Lance said, handing a few copper coins to Little John to send him off. The matters to follow were somewhat unsuitable for children.