Ruin has come to our family

He could not simply deny the validity of the land deeds, as they were issued by the lord. It was a problem he could not pin on a dead man. The land deed represented a kind of contract, a spirit of credit. It was the bedrock of governance. If he did not recognize the deeds issued in the past, no one would trust the decrees he issued in the future.

Fortunately, the brigands had helped him by clearing out a number of landowners. Then, the Magistrate had repurchased most of their land. After sorting through the deeds he had recovered the previous night, Lance found that the majority of the town now belonged to him. The few remaining small parcels could be bought out for a pittance; in the town's current state, they were practically worthless.

After a long day of work, with the help of the artisans, Lance finally completed a regional map of the town. Though it was only a rough sketch, he had already marked out several zones and noted his plans for each building. It would be an invaluable reference for the coming work; at the very least, he could now hand it to a foreman and would not need to oversee every single step himself.

Lance glanced at the time. It was getting late. He called his men over to head back.

"Alright, that's enough for today. Go and get something to eat. I've already made the arrangements."

These builders had been brought here by carriage early in the morning and had followed Lance around the town all day, with nothing but a bit of bread for lunch. They were, of course, delighted to hear the lord's dismissal for dinner. Lance did not go with them. He stood in place, watching their retreating backs, a faint, knowing smile suddenly appearing on his otherwise placid face...

Back at the square, the line stretching from the brothel now reached well into the public space. This was to be the final meal. Everyone wanted to secure a good spot, lest they arrive late and find nothing left. Looking at them now, you could no longer see the gaunt, sallow look they'd had at the start. A bit of color had finally returned to their faces.

To be honest, these three days of free gruel had been a fine thing for them. No work was required. All they had to do was lie about until the appointed hour, then pick up a bowl and eat. Life was good. Some lazybones would eat their morning meal and then lie about in the square, sunbathing, until it was time for the evening meal, before heading home. It was all very comfortable.

But this good life was coming to an end today. Some among them could not help but voice their concerns.

"If this stops, what will we eat tomorrow?"

The question spread through the crowd as if by magic, sparking a chorus of agreement.

"The lord is a good man! He will continue to provide."

"Yes, yes, the lord will surely provide for us."

"I've seen a lot of seaweed wash up on the shore lately, and the forest is full of mushrooms. We won't starve."

"..."

Some placed their hope in Lance. Others had simply given up. And a few expressed their purest, simplest thought.

"Why don't we just rob the brothel? There must be a lot of grain in there."

It is unknown who said it first, but the idea caused a great stir in the crowd.

"That's not right... the lord has been so good to us."

"Are you mad? The lord will have you hanged!"

"I don't want to die..."

It was clear that most of the townsfolk did not want to oppose the lord. They lacked the courage. They quickly distanced themselves from the idea, afraid of being caught up in it. But the crisis of survival pressed down on them relentlessly. As time wore on, their denials began to sound strange.

"How can a group of whores be allowed to distribute food? It's a blasphemy against the gods!"

"Why do they get to eat more? Why do we only get this stuff?"

"That's right! I bet their porridge has more than just vegetables in it."

They did not dare to voice their opinions against the lord, but against those he had put in charge... that was another matter. A feeling of discontent began to spread among them. As the emotion fermented, their words grew harsher. The crowd was a powder keg, needing only a single spark to explode.

And at that exact moment, the workers who had been busy with Lance all day walked right past the long line and into the brothel.

"Who are they? Why don't they have to wait in line?"

"It must be those bitches! They've deceived the lord and skimmed our grain!"

"Let's take back our food!"

"There are so many of us! The lord can't arrest all of us!"

Once they had found enough reasons to convince themselves, the process from complaint to riot was often instantaneous.

One... two... Soon, a large group broke from the line and began to storm the brothel, sweeping up others in their wake who didn't even know what was happening. And once they had started, they completely forgot their fear. Their words became more direct.

"I want to eat my fill!"

"I want meat!"

"I want women!"

In that moment, order dissolved. Chaos began to spread. Perhaps it was because their bellies had been full for a few days, or perhaps they were under the influence of some unknown power, but they felt an endless strength coursing through their bodies. A strange madness took hold of them, as if they had lost their reason, completely driven by their basest desires. To destroy everything, to kill everyone!

But in that instant, a gunshot echoed, drowning out the chaotic din. The man at the very front of the charge crumpled to the ground.

It was followed by the thunder of hooves, like the wrath of a thunder god. The crowd looked for the source of the sound and saw Reynauld, charging towards them with his sword drawn. None could stand in his path. With just one man and one horse, he projected the oppressive presence of a military formation, instantly crushing the townsfolks' mob courage.

"All of you, on the ground! Disobey and die!"

The most primal terror pierced through their madness. The mob, which had been about to attack the brothel, instantly broke and scattered, running towards another exit, trying to escape. But at that exit stood Barristan, a one-man mountain with his shield raised, blocking the street. As the crowd approached, he banged his mace against his shield and roared.

"All of you, on the ground! Disobey and die!"

That single shout made them freeze in their tracks, not daring to come a single step closer. They had all seen him beat the mercenary captain to death with that very mace.

Two of the three exits from the square were now blocked. The crowd, like a school of fish pursued by a shark, panicked and swarmed towards the last remaining path.

And there, Lance stepped out, walking calmly. Compared to the other two, he was alone, and his thin figure gave them a flicker of insane hope. But before they could get close, another gunshot rang out. The new leader of their charge fell to the ground mid-stride. Only then did the others see the bloody mess of his body, the ground already stained red.

"Your last chance," Lance said, raising his pistol, standing perfectly still, his gaze cool and unwavering, his presence no less imposing than the other two; in fact, it was even more intense. "All of you, on the ground. Disobey... and die."

Under the threat of death, the crowd instantly halted. The three thwarted escape attempts had exhausted their stamina and their courage. The first person gave up and prostrated themselves on the ground. The rest immediately followed.