Ruin has come to our family

Humanity is a fragile and yet tenacious creature. Like the weeds by the roadside, though they are trampled countless times, as long as their roots remain, they will always grow again when they meet the sun, stretching towards the light.

After sending Dismas off early in the morning, Lance began his inspection of the town. Everywhere he went, the people welcomed him with sincere enthusiasm. It could truly be said that he had won their hearts and minds. The town was filled with a vibrant, thriving atmosphere that was a world away from the despair he had first encountered.

His promises had been kept. The prices posted at the grain shop were affordable for all, and every morning, all the workers received a loaf of black bread and a bowl of coarse grain porridge with minced fish. With full bellies, they were full of energy, eagerly looking forward to their evening wages.

The main work at this stage was demolishing the collapsed and abandoned buildings, salvaging what materials they could, and then repairing and renovating other structures. The war with the brigands was not yet over, and there was no guarantee the town wouldn't suffer another attack. For this reason, Lance had no intention of building anything new. Instead, they would repurpose the old buildings: the Sanitarium would become a prison, the Mercenary's Guild a Town Hall, the brothel an inn, and the abbey a public hall. The goal was to first build the framework of a functional town, one that could meet most of its people's needs.

There was, however, one new construction. The training ground.

Lance had cordoned off a plot of land at the town's entrance for the purpose of training soldiers. It did not need to be overly elaborate: a leveled field, some training equipment, and a high wall built around the perimeter. It would serve as both a guard post and a bastion, his first line of defense against external threats. Of course, this was still a work in progress and would take time to complete.

For now, the new recruits were training in another open space. Lance approached, observing the young men as they drilled under Barristan's command. For breakfast this morning, they had been given fish porridge and milk. Some of them had long forgotten the sweetness of milk, while others had never tasted it at all. What's more, their instructor had told them that whoever performed best in training today would be rewarded with an egg tonight. This had ignited their enthusiasm even further.

"My lord." Barristan greeted him. The new recruits all shouted with all their might, as if hoping Lance would remember each of them personally.

"My lord!"

Lance's gaze swept over them. The state of the recruits was acceptable. He had selected them mostly from the sons of farmers and fishermen. These were boys who had known hardship and hunger; they could endure the current intensity of the training.

But he could not accept it.

The brigands were nearby and could attack at any moment. At this rate of training, in ten days or half a month, they would be no better than the farmstead guards—not even fit to be used as cannon fodder.

"The enemy you will face is formidable," he roared, his voice incomparably harsh, "and you are the shield of the Hamlet! At this level, how do you expect to protect your home? Double the training intensity! All of you!"

His command stunned the recruits into a terrified silence. Double the training? Was that something a human body could even do? Barristan, too, was perplexed. He also wanted to increase the intensity, but these boys' bodies were too weak. They could not withstand such a regimen.

"Each man will receive an extra egg and a cup of milk per day," Lance continued, his voice ringing out. "The top performer in training each day will be rewarded with five copper coins. Second place, three coins. Third place, one coin. Anyone who fails to complete the training will be placed under observation. Accumulate three such marks, and you will be eliminated."

The conditions Lance laid out immediately ignited their motivation. To eat eggs and drink milk every day, to say nothing of earning money for training—they had never heard of such treatment. Barristan watched as the recruits, who had been deathly silent a moment ago, now looked eager to try. He could only marvel at how much money the lord was willing to burn. In all his years as a soldier, he had never heard of such a thing.

But Lance was not finished. He announced one more piece of news.

"Finally, I will be joining you in your training."

At this, everyone, from Barristan to the newest recruit, was plunged into a state of shock. He was the lord. When had a nobleman ever mixed with commoners like them? Barristan sensed something was amiss. He thought perhaps Lance was only making a gesture, a show for the men, and quickly tried to give him an out. "My lord, you are busy with the affairs of state. Matters like training should be left..."

But before he could finish, Lance raised a hand and cut him off. "Say no more. I will be treated the same as them. Whatever they do, I will do."

Barristan could hear that his lord was not joking. He truly intended to participate in the training. He had only heard from others of the lord's noble qualities, but now, he was seeing with his own eyes how different he was from other nobles. No wonder Dismas and Reynauld were willing to serve a lord of a fallen house, to stand with him against a great evil, forgetting their own lives. Barristan, who had initially joined out of gratitude and a thirst for battle, suddenly felt a new understanding. He nodded.

"Join the ranks."

Without another word, Lance joined the formation. This was not for show. In both his past life and his present one, he had grown up in a city, well-fed and well-clothed, without having suffered much hardship. But to survive in this world, he had to learn to fight. From the ambush on the Old Road to the series of encounters that followed, he had come to realize that he could not rely solely on the effects of his panel; he had to learn how to truly convert the panel's abilities into his own strength.

Though Lance's body was slighter than Reynauld's or Barristan's, standing among these common boys, he was a crane among chickens. The new recruits, seeing Lance join their ranks, grew nervous. They had never imagined that a nobleman would train alongside them. At once, they began to train with even greater effort.

...

On a flat piece of ground, a group of men stood in a circle. In the center, two men with longswords were sparring. The flash of sword light, the continuous clash of blades—every skillful move drew a cheer from the onlookers. Though the fight looked intense, everyone could see it was a one-sided affair. One man stood his ground, as steady as a mountain, his movements light and effortless, as if he were playing a game. The other was breathless, his footwork seeming fierce but in reality chaotic, his powerful slashes all easily parried.

It seemed the first man had had enough of playing. After blocking another blow, his steady swordplay suddenly became aggressive. A single, unadorned thrust was all it took. His opponent could not parry it. The sword's tip stopped just before his neck.

"The Lord is victorious!"

With the outcome decided, the crowd erupted in cheers. The man standing in the center of the ring was Lance. After several days of high-intensity training, he had changed. He was no longer the pale-faced scholar. His features had become more resolute, sun-hardened. His body had grown lean and powerful, the muscles in his arms now clearly visible. The price was that he was a bit tanner, but this only made him look more mature. The frame of a bookworm was gone.