But in truth, Lance knew that a good deal of luck had been involved. As he had said, this last battle had not been part of the original plan. The moment he saw Dismas being led out as a prisoner, he knew something had gone wrong. After a moment's observation, he had decisively launched the attack. To be honest, the fact that some had escaped was not intentional. It was just him, and the loading speed of a flintlock was not fast. To have eliminated most of them was the absolute limit of his ability, even with the enhancement from his equipment. He had been afraid that he had disrupted his own plan, but he had to act to save Dismas. He could not abandon such a skilled and loyal fighter. At least, not over something like this.
He had been prepared to abandon the mission and return to the town to make other plans. But after hearing Dismas's report, he was no longer in a hurry. Letting that man escape... it was a good thing! Without him, the plan could not proceed.
Dismas did not know what Lance was thinking. He only knew that his lord was never wrong.
"Bring that man over," Lance gestured, and Reynauld pushed the captive before him.
Number Three, who had been somewhat crazed before, was now completely docile. But he was still intensely curious about the identity of Lance's party. "You are their leader? What is your relationship with those barbarians? To attack us... do you know who you have provoked?"
"Guess," Lance said, removing his helmet and revealing a face that was, compared to the others, rather young.
Now, Number Three could see his face clearly, but his curiosity only grew stronger. How could an ordinary young man command three seasoned warriors? The only explanation was a difference in status. Was this man a nobleman, or some kind of imperial official? But how could a nobleman or an official be on the front lines like this? And his attire did not fit the part. For a long while, Number Three could not figure it out. In the end, he could only lower his head.
"I do not know."
Lance had been studying him, and seeing his reaction, he understood. He began to explain. "We are in the service of a great lord. He has tasked us with tracking down the 'Claw of the White Wolf' mercenary company. The bounty is a mere one hundred gold coins. However, if we can retrieve the transcendent item they possess and present it to our master, the reward is eight thousand gold coins."
At these words, Number Three understood. If they were all the retainers of a nobleman, then it all made sense. Reynauld and the others, however, were a bit confused, exchanging glances. But they knew their lord would not speak carelessly; he must have a reason for saying this. They all remained silent.
"Then why did you attack us? We are not the barbarians," the lieutenant said, carefully watching the young man's reaction.
"Hahaha," Lance laughed. "You know very well what we are doing. We are all clever men here. Let's not waste time."
At this, the lieutenant fell silent. He knew his probe had been seen through. In truth, he had already guessed their plan. If they were truly just a three-man advance party, all they had to do was find the mercenaries' location and report it. Their master would then send a force to wipe out the barbarians and take the item. But it was clear these men were greedy. They were not satisfied with the reward for simply reporting the information; they wanted the prize for themselves. However, their small group was obviously not strong enough to do it. So, they had faked a scene, and then had one of their own lure his men into a trap, with the intention of letting the two sides fight until they were both crippled, after which they would swoop in and steal the fruit.
It was a good plan. What was more terrifying was that Number Three now realized that this was exactly how things were unfolding. I've been played... A sense of powerlessness washed over him.
"Being a brigand isn't a good life, is it?" Lance's voice, tinged with a smile, pulled the lieutenant's attention back. "You don't eat well, you don't sleep well, and you have to worry about enemies who could appear at any moment."
"What are you trying to say?"
"My meaning is simple. Join us," Lance said with a smile. "Join us, and when we get the item and the reward, you'll get a share. That's eight thousand gold coins. Think about it. With that kind of money, what could you not do that would be better than being a brigand?"
It had to be said, Number Three was tempted. There was no future in being a brigand, and life lately had been an ordeal.
"How much do I get?"
"Six hundred," Lance said, holding up a hand.
"Two thousand."
"Eight hundred."
"Those were my brothers in arms. You'll have to add more."
"Twelve hundred," Lance said, tired of the haggling. "Not a copper more. We have been preparing for this for a long time. It would be difficult for us to give away so much of the prize to you."
Number Three knew that his demand for two thousand was just a starting point for negotiation. Twelve hundred was already in line with what he had hoped for.
"Fine. We have a deal."
"So, what do we do now?"
"We wait. We wait until they have fought until both sides are crippled. If your side wins, we will kill your Captain and Number Two and install you as the new leader. If the barbarians win, you will step forward, rally the survivors, and continue the fight."
"You would make me the leader?" Number Three was surprised by this arrangement. "Are you not afraid that I would kill you and take the prize for myself after I am in charge?"
"Hmph," Lance sneered. "There are three other teams that took this contract. We just found them first. And their teams are stronger than ours; they don't need to cooperate with brigands. Without us, even if you get the item, you'll just be the next 'barbarian' for them to hunt."
The lieutenant understood immediately. But then, he thought of something else. "Then what's to stop you from killing me after you get the item?"
"Fool," Lance said with a look of disdain. "I need you to lead the survivors and strengthen our team to compete with the other parties. As long as you're helping our master, do you think you'll ever be short of money? You have no vision."
The insult did not seem to humiliate Number Three. On the contrary, he seemed pleased. To be able to attach himself to a nobleman was certainly better than being a common soldier or a brigand. "My apologies, brother. I was wrong. I will not ask such foolish questions in the future."
Dismas and the others, watching this, could not help but admire their lord. He could spin such tales out of thin air, and this brigand leader had been completely won over by just a few sentences.
"Now," Lance said, "tell us your story. How did you all end up here?"
"It's a long story. We were originally an artillery company stationed in the city. We received orders..."
From his words, Lance began to understand. A great drought had occurred in the central provinces of the Empire, leading to a crop failure and then a famine, which was gradually spreading throughout the Empire. In such a situation, where would the refugees go? To the rich and fertile eastern provinces, of course. The refugees, on their long trek, had become mobs, attacking several towns. But the Empire had not responded. The eastern provinces had been forced to take matters into their own hands, using their own armies to block the refugees. And his company had been sent by a single order to this front line.