Chapter 489 The Crowd and the Choice
The last rain of late autumn already carried a biting chill.
Serf threw the last bundle of soaking wet straw into the barn, raised his arm to wipe away the sweat, and exhaled a heavy puff of white air.
"Finally finished!"
The harvest season is finally over.
Although fate wasn't perfect—for example, he forgot to pay attention to the weather, causing the wheat straw he was drying to soak—and the lord didn't hunt this year, leaving no wild boar or venison to share, this autumn was still passable.
He is an easily satisfied person.
The most arduous work of the year can finally come to an end, and he will spend the long and comfortable winter in his warm bed.
This was Campbell's coldest time of year, but also the most beautiful season of his life, because it was only then that he had time to have children.
Perhaps before next spring, another little life will be added to his family.
Thinking of this, Serf felt a warmth rise in his heart. He hummed a little tune as he returned to his little shack and rubbed the dirty but clever little heads of the dogs.
Although he is only in his early twenties, he is already the father of three children.
Unlike the citizens of Thunder City, the people of the Earldom of North Creek Valley always marry very young. They are considered adults at sixteen and start having children as early as fourteen.
The same was true of the estate of Baron Lukeville, where Serf grew up. They had a diligent baron who generously exempted them from the "chastity tax" and promised newlyweds priority in receiving their own shacks and fields.
In most parts of Os, it was customary for a serf's daughter to have her father pay a fee to the lord when she married.
Especially if she marries into a neighboring village, it would be a huge sum of money for an ordinary person.
Here, I must explain for the Baron: the citizens of Thunder City always like to exaggerate. In their novels, they distort the "chastity tax" into the "right of the first night," and incidentally, they slander the peasants they despise the most, saying that these ignorant fellows voluntarily offer their wives to the lord for protection.
That's an incredibly foolish statement!
Why not seek out priests and nuns for warding off evil spirits?
In fact, these guys only need to take a trip to the countryside to find out, they don't even need to go too far, Silverpine Town is enough.
If even they themselves look down on their wives, how could a more discerning lord possibly be interested in them?
Anyone who was even slightly pretty would have gone to Thunder City or to the manor of a lord or knight, and would never have become the wife of a serf.
However, Serf had also heard that some barons would use this as leverage, but their purpose was not to take the bride's virginity, but to extort extra money from the groom.
If you don't have money, you can exchange it for labor, and most normal people would agree to that, since most of the time it's just repairing fences or raiding bird nests for the lord's servants.
Why was it repaired for the servants?
God knows why!
However, repairing a fence at their doorstep is better than clearing land dozens of miles away, so they wouldn't dare to argue at this time; they would have finished their work by now.
In short, thanks to Baron Lukeville's diligent governance, the peasants living under his rule flourished just like the crops in the fields.
Though flimsy, it was full of hope.
Without the little devil's harassment, Serf lived a happy life, working from sunrise to sunset, planting in spring and harvesting in autumn, repairing tools in winter, and then sleeping with his wife... If there were a next life, he hoped that his soul would be reincarnated in this blessed land.
Especially after meeting the refugees of the Twilight Province, the little joy in his heart was stronger than ever before.
Serving Baron Lukeville was a blessing he had earned through countless reincarnations.
However, this year seems different from previous years.
Just three days after the barn doors closed, before he could even enjoy a few days of leisure, the manor bells rang.
"Everyone, assemble in the front yard of the manor! Immediately!"
The tolling of the bells sent shivers down everyone's spines. Serf and his companions, filled with confusion, gathered in the muddy courtyard, craning their necks to look around.
"What are they trying to do?"
"Could it be that they're looking for work for us...?"
"Work? This season?"
"Has our master gone mad...?"
Serf's friend, a burly young man named Pete, suddenly lowered his voice and whispered in his ear, "We can't exactly go clearing land this season, can we? The ground is almost frozen."
Serf also felt that something was off about the matter.
Clearing land?
Now?
The mud in the field is harder than ore!
Thinking it through, he felt that even if the lord didn't cherish them, he should at least consider the hoes and shovels in the warehouse.
Those antiques are quite old; he would feel it would be a pity to damage them.
Serf's confusion did not last long.
A gaunt man quickly walked up to the crowd.
He wore a respectable cotton-padded coat, his expressionless face like the frozen soil outside the manor, and his wrinkles like the ridges of a field, revealing no emotion.
Everyone instinctively held their breath, afraid to even breathe.
They all recognized the gentleman; he was the Baron's butler, and everyone in the entire manor except for the Baron's family had to bow to him.
The butler's indifferent gaze swept over the crowd. He didn't say a word, but simply pointed to the several covered wagons parked in the yard.
"Keep up."
No one said a word.
Everyone obediently followed.
The wagon soon set off, and the clattering of horses' hooves not only made people uneasy but also added to their anxiety.
Serf and Pete followed behind the covered wagon, their eyes constantly glancing at the tightly drawn curtain at the back, watching the cargo boxes that occasionally peeked out, and a sense of unease crept into their minds.
What exactly does the master want to do?
Unfortunately, no one answered their questions.
Everyone was taken to a barren clearing on the north side of the manor, with sparse woods not far away. It looked like a black bear had darted through the woods.
A cold wind swept by, cutting like knives across their faces. Serf and the other hundred or so serfs huddled together, not knowing what awaited them.
Until the butler gestured to the servants to lift the curtain on the carriage.
The vehicle was not carrying farm tools.
There were no hoes, no axes, and no heavy plows for clearing land; instead, there were rows of flintlock muskets neatly stacked.
The dark gun barrels emanated a chilling aura in the late autumn sunlight, causing a sudden sinking feeling in the hearts of the farmers standing there.
Is... going to war?
"Everyone step forward and take a gun." The steward didn't speak, but this time it was the servant driving the carriage who shouted the order.
The serfs began to stir.
An older man mustered his courage and asked nervously, looking at the lord's servants who were handing them the guns.
"My lord, is this...is this the start of a war?"
The servant clearly didn't know much either, and while shoving the gun into his hand, he said something ambiguous.
"Not necessarily, it's just routine training. Things haven't been peaceful in the north lately, there's been banditry. The lord is doing this for your own good. Those guys with green turbans are ruthless killers..."
Hearing the servant's perfunctory tone, the crowd exchanged bewildered glances and whispered amongst themselves.
They all thought the Baron had probably gone mad.
Although they were serfs, they were neither deaf nor blind.
Long before autumn arrived, they had heard from the merchants from the north that the trade route along the Benliu River had been restored, and that Princess Eileen's army had routed the Green Forest Army, and that the bandits had long since vanished.
Where are there bandits in the north now?
On the contrary, ever since the court moved there, it has become incredibly safe!
They looked around but couldn't find any opponents to fight. Was the lord ordering them to fight the dwarves in the Ten Thousand Ren Mountains?
However, the butler's deadpan expression clearly indicated that he had no intention of answering any questions.
The serfs dared not defy the lord's authority.
Here, the baron's will is the law, and the butler's words are commands.
They could only suppress their fear and doubt, line up, and with their frozen hands, take the heavy weapons from the box.
Training began soon afterward.
The newcomer was a strong and powerful stranger with a burn scar on his face and a thick accent from the Kingdom of Ryan.
It must be said that although the Ryans were not as good at fighting as the Campbells, this mercenary-looking man was far more professional than the Baron's guards.
He taught them obedience and discipline in less than fifteen minutes.
"Form three horizontal lines! Quickly!"
"Raise your guns! Aim! Fire! I've heard that you Campbells can shoot from the womb, is this your level? Hurry up!"
"First rank, retreat and reload! Second rank, advance—!"
The reprimanding voice made Serf temporarily forget his confusion, and he joined the other serfs in filling the neat rows.
They are indeed born warriors.
The farmers of the Kingdom of Ryan had to start by learning how to load ammunition and get used to the sound of gunfire, and once they got their hands on a gun, they could begin practicing formations.
They actually know the formations, but they forget them over time. They need someone to scold them to awaken their muscle memory.
The sound of gunfire rang out.
The out-of-town instructor seemed quite pleased with their performance, exclaiming, "You guys are fucking geniuses!" This was the first compliment Serf had heard all year, and a smile crept onto his honest face.
People always say that the Duchy of Campbell is a model of a land of knights, but he never thought so; clearly, firearms were their pride.
It is said that in the distant past, the king's army needed to gather thousands of spearmen and pay a heavy price to defeat a single silver-level superhuman knight.
However, now, a hundred-man squad from Campbell is enough; their concentrated firepower is enough to make even Silver-level superhumans retreat.
Gold-level and even Platinum-level superhumans can be defeated through coordinated formations and artillery support.
Of course, if the opponent is a mage, it will be more troublesome, requiring the commander to demonstrate strategic planning and familiarity with various spells.
However, those are things that commanders need to consider; as a soldier, he doesn't need to worry about those complicated matters.
All he needed to do was stand firm, load, and fire.
Until victory in the war.
The intense and busy training lasted all day, until dusk, when the serfs, drenched in sweat, finally got a brief respite.
They tried to get closer to the instructor, but he remained cold and silent, refusing to answer any of their questions, as still as the distant woods.
"Who exactly are we fighting?"
When do we set off?
What exactly happened in the north?
The instructor's response was only one sentence—
"Shut your mouths, keep your guns under control, and if you want to live, train properly. If you have any questions, go ask your master."
They dared not ask their master.
The entire training ground was silent; everyone was dejected.
Perhaps sensing their dejection, before they were driven back to their shacks, the instructor finally spoke again, offering them his only promise.
"This training session won't last long; you'll be able to go home before winter ends."
I'll be able to go home before winter ends...
Although this meant their vacation was ruined, people still showed relieved expressions, feeling that there was something to look forward to and that the training didn't seem so difficult anymore.
After returning the gun, Serf dragged his weary body back home along the same route he had come from, pondering the instructor's meaningful expression.
Despite having many questions, he felt that the promise was still quite reasonable.
Farm work on the estate always needs to be done by people.
We can't expect the Baron and his butler to farm the land themselves, can we?
...
Even in difficult times, we always move with ease.
At first, the group trained in the open space north of the manor, but soon the training location was changed to a more discreet place—the Earl's hunting grounds.
Here they saw young men from other villages, and they were surprised to find that it wasn't just their own village that had been mobilized, but also several villages in baronies.
The next training exercise will focus on joint operations by multiple units.
They will advance in units of a thousand men, under the cover of friendly fire, and return fire once they are close enough to the enemy.
There were other teams not far away.
At least Serf heard more than one burst of gunfire; in the distance, there were shouts of bayonet practice and charges coming from the forest.
The weather is getting colder and colder.
However, his heart was colder than the sky. One day, he suddenly found himself unable to go home, and he could only ask someone to help him send a message home.
The servant readily agreed, but whether he actually did it or not, he could only pray that the gentleman's conscience wouldn't deceive him for the sake of his ancestors' service to Baron Lukeville.
The days at the training camp, like the weather in North Creek Valley, grew colder day by day.
The cold wind in early December was already whipping up snowflakes, lashing against the tents like gravel, making one worry that the wind and snow would uproot them.
Serf and his companions were still wearing the thin, coarse linen autumn clothes they wore during the autumn harvest. The Baron seemed to have forgotten to issue them winter clothes, and the Earl had not thought of it either.
He only recently learned that this plan was not the Baron's idea, but the Earl's. As for who was behind the Earl, that remained a mystery.
Some well-informed fellows seemed to have guessed that I was going on a long trip, so they brought some dried pumpkin from home with them, but they had already finished it last week.
The only food source for everyone now is the porridge distributed by the lord's servants.
It was a thin porridge so runny you could see your reflection in it, served twice a day, just like when we did our regular corvée labor. But with so many people, there was a problem: the rations distributed per person couldn't possibly feed everyone.
Those who arrive first will always get their fill, while those who arrive later will never get any.
Despair and discontent spread silently through the camp like the frost outside the tents. People began to complain and curse the wicked people of Twilight Province for not giving their masters a break and for making them go hungry along with them, even though they had plenty of food.
"The bandits in the north..."
At night, Selph couldn't sleep amidst the thunderous snoring. He stared at the dark tent ceiling, repeatedly chewing on the word that was becoming a blur.
They've been training here for almost a month, scaring the birds in the forest so much they dare not land, yet they haven't seen a single bandit.
A few days ago, a few clueless guys tried to sneak home, but they were tackled by a group of fierce mercenaries and hanged over such a trivial matter.
Baron Lukewell never did that.
He cherished his serfs as much as he cherished his farm tools; he was even reluctant to use a whip on them. If they stole something, he would usually give them a few lashes and then let them go.
But these guys are serious.
Before the war even started, their wide eyes were already red...
...
The turning point came on the second weekend of December when a rapid hoofbeat shattered the deathly silence of dawn at the camp.
A cavalryman, disregarding the mud, galloped all the way to the centurion's tent. He dismounted, his armor still covered in ice, and rushed inside without stopping.
Serf's heart skipped a beat, its pounding rising and falling with the hurried footsteps.
Just then, Pete nudged his ribs with his elbow and said excitedly in a low voice.
"It's the messenger! We can go home now!"
He paused here, as if worried that Serf had forgotten, and added a sentence at the end.
"Do you remember what the instructor said to us before we set off?"
Serf's face then showed a look of realization.
If Pete hadn't brought it up, he would have almost forgotten about it. It seemed that someone had indeed told them they could go home before the end of winter.
His nerves, which had been on edge for a month, finally relaxed, and he was even thinking about how to deal with his wife and children's complaints and make up for the time he missed this winter.
Unfortunately, the harsh reality soon shattered his illusions.
The centurion and the cavalryman came out together, but instead of announcing that they could go home, they shouted in a loud voice.
"Everyone, assemble!"
gather?
Pete was stunned.
Where should we meet?
Serf was also stunned.
They knew the way home. Give them some dry food to take with them, and they'll walk back on their own. That's how they always did it.
But this time it's different.
He clearly heard the centurion's last words not be "Go home," but a resounding "Go to war!" Before he could voice his pent-up questions, he was swept away by the vast crowd, along with the swirling snowflakes, into the blizzard...
...
Serf finally left the camp he had cursed for almost three months, joining the other bewildered serfs carrying flintlock pistols.
Having witnessed the fate of being hanged, no one dared to run away. Besides, with mounted soldiers watching them intently, no one dared to gamble that they would be the fastest to escape.
In short...
Let's just follow along for now.
However, the direction they were heading in confused everyone again. They were training to guard against bandits in the north, but their commander's boots were pointing south.
The group was led to the bank of the Benliu River.
There is a small dock here, with flat-bottomed barges of all sizes moored along the edge. They are mainly used to transport grain, and sometimes they also carry passengers.
However, this year is different from previous years.
The merchants who came to buy grain were all driven away, especially the Andean family's caravans, not a single one could be seen. Naturally, the dock was abandoned and deserted, as if it had been occupied by the dead.
The river water churned with gray waves in the cold wind, just like the bewilderment in the hearts of the serfs, who did not know where to go next.
Fortunately, the cavalryman who was with the centurion came over, shouted at the top of his lungs, and urged them to board the ship.
"Get on the boat! Quickly!"
Filled with confusion, the people jostled their way into the cramped cabin. The cabin reeked of fermenting grain husks, much like a livestock shed.
"Hurry! Squeeze in a little more—"
"This ship can take on three more."
"Go inside right now!"
Amidst the urging, twenty fully armed soldiers were crammed into the cramped cabin. They were packed like sardines under the shed, rifle butts against the floor, knees pressed against each other's buttocks.
The barge's mooring lines were untied, and the boat quickly began to move, its bulky body swaying in the icy river water as it drifted downstream.
The turbulence caused many young men's faces to turn pale and then red. Although the Principality of Campbell is located by the sea, not everyone has ever been on a ship.
The oppressive atmosphere was suffocating, but what was even more suffocating was the sudden sound of vomiting and the stench that filled the air.
Selph was squeezed into a corner of the cabin, peering through a narrow gap at the receding shore, praying for Saint Sith's protection.
Just then, heavy footsteps came from the bow of the ship, and a serious-looking knight squire stepped onto the deck.
He wore fine chainmail, his hand on the hilt of his sword, his gaze sweeping over the serfs huddled together in the cabin like a hawk's.
Although he was not a Silver-level expert, his gaze was clearly more intimidating than that of a Silver-level extraordinary power.
At least Serf dared to look at a superhuman in the eye on a battlefield filled with gunfire, but he dared not meet this guy's gaze, let alone imagine how many hundred-man squads it would take to take him down.
perhaps--
Several tubes were useless.
An extraordinary person could simply kill him with a sword, but this guy only needed a glance to drown everyone around him in the icy river.
The commotion on the ship immediately subsided.
The squire stood at the bow of the boat, letting the howling river wind whip his robe, embroidered with the Glenston family crest, through the air.
The people in the cabin already knew who had mobilized them, but this was indeed the first time the Granston family crest had appeared before them.
It seems the Earl is finally ready.
The knight's squire also spoke up.
"Soldiers of Campbell! People of His Majesty the late King! Devout and kind servants of Saint Sith, the Granston family summons you!"
Everyone waited for him to continue, and some people already had a bad feeling that something terrible was about to happen.
And sure enough, it happened.
The entourage's next words completely exposed the count's conspiracy and pushed everyone present to the brink of utter ruin!
“Our Duke Edward Campbell has betrayed the high hopes placed upon him by his ancestors, betrayed our late King Aaron Campbell, and betrayed the people who were loyal to him!”
"This shameless jackal altered the will and usurped the ducal title that did not belong to him. The fact that he was not recognized by the 'Utawarerumono' is the most direct evidence of this!"
"The true will has always been kept in the Glenston family's castle, and the true heir is our His Majesty Gerlock, a fact that has been recognized and proven by the King of the Kingdom!"
"Baron Lukeville, and all the lords of the North, answer the call of Earl Derek Gladstone! We will enthrone His Majesty Gerlock as the new King of the Duchy!"
The cabin was deathly silent, then erupted into a clamor of angry and terrified voices that nearly capsized the small boat.
"What...what do you want to do?!"
"Are you crazy?!"
"I'm not going to argue with you anymore, let me down!"
A duchy has two monarchs!
Serf felt a chill run from the soles of his feet straight to the top of his head. He didn't understand what "the light of praise" meant, but he understood the second half of the sentence.
This guy—
They're rebelling!
Cold sweat soaked his back; he had never felt such terror. Because it wasn't just the Earl of Glenston who could hang his entire family; His Majesty the Grand Duke certainly could too…
"Quiet!"
The attendant drew his long sword from his waist with a clang.
By the light from outside the cabin, the gleaming sword blade reflected a chilling aura against the gloomy sky, silencing the restless voices of the people.
Only the sound of teeth chattering could be heard in the cabin.
Looking at the terrified serfs, the squire remained expressionless. He held his longsword upright in front of him, the tip pointing directly at the roof of the cabin.
"My friends, I know your hearts are filled with fear, but I hope that in your humble souls there is something else. For example, loyalty to the Lord, zeal for Saint Sith, and the determination to defend order at all costs!"
"You are fighting for Campbell's future! For the future of all of us, to avoid being dragged into that bottomless abyss, His Majesty Gerald needs your bravery!"
"If you do not wish to live in an era where farmers have no land, then fight alongside our Emperor!"
Serf's mind went blank; he could no longer hear the noise in the cabin, nor did he have time to sort out the chaotic yet meticulous logic.
If a smart person were here, they would probably refute that unreasonable logic point by point—
Utawarerumono did not choose Edward, but it also did not choose Jerok.
They are not defending order, but breaking it, simply because the choices of the masses do not align with their interests.
The idea that "the tiller has no land" is utterly absurd. The land cultivated by the serfs never truly belonged to them, nor did it become theirs simply because they defeated another lord.
But tyrants are all clever.
The moment Edward ceded power to the common people, they realized that a fool was undermining their foundations, and they showed no mercy.
The auction for the diamond was just a smokescreen. What this Grand Duke cared about was not the money or the sparkling diamond on his crown at all. Everything was about using the power of the Principality of Colin to do his own thing!
And Eileen is clearly not a better choice either.
She squandered the wealth she had accumulated through industry on useless welfare and education, which was worse than what her brother had done!
Once the Campbellians truly shed their ignorance, they will unleash a terrifying monster that will first devour the tumors on its own body.
That tumor was themselves.
In December of the year 1053 of the Os calendar, not a single grain of food was transported from the Valley Plains of the Duchy of Campbell to the port of Thunder City, but the river used for transporting grain was strangely filled with barges with their drafts below the waterline.
The massive army split into two groups: the nobles' allied forces headed straight for Campbell Castle, the capital of the Duchy of Campbell, while the soldiers disguised as grain transport ships went straight to the outskirts of Thunder City, to coordinate with the demons lurking in the labyrinth.
A catastrophe is silently approaching, engulfing the duchy...
Edward, sitting in his Andean estate, finished reading the secret letter in his hand, sighed, and gently placed it into the fireplace.
His worst fears came true.
That was also a reminder that Mr. Colin had been giving him all along.
No nobleman would tolerate the changes he was pushing forward; they wouldn't wait until Campbell's spring arrived before overturning the table.
Thinking of the king who was secretly enjoying himself in the shadows, a shadow crossed Edward's young and handsome face, and he clenched his fists tightly.
Just then, there was a knock on the door.
Edward, standing in front of the fireplace, didn't turn his head and said coldly.
"Come in."
The door opened.
His butler walked in and bowed slightly to him.
"His Majesty."
Edward turned around and said expressionlessly.
Where did they go?
The butler paused for a moment, then said with a serious expression.
"They...have arrived at your castle."
Edward nodded, then asked another question.
Where are our people?
"We have already set off as you instructed..."
A slight smile finally appeared on that tense face.
He walked to the window of the study, looked at the sparse birch trees outside, stared for a long time, and said coldly.
"very good."
After dealing with those disobedient vassals, the next one will be that drowsy old man.
He vowed to make that guy pay!
Every drop of blood shed by the Campbells will be repaid by the Lanes!
"His Majesty……"
Upon hearing the butler's voice, Edward turned his head and said expressionlessly.
"Is there anything else?"
Because he was filled with anger, his voice unconsciously took on a cold tone, like the cold wind pounding against a windowpane.
The butler stared blankly at his forehead, unsure of what to say for a long time, before finally silently handing him a mirror.
Edward frowned slightly, took the mirror, and was stunned when he looked at himself in the mirror.
The biting frost not only climbed up the windowsill, but also silently crept onto the top of his head. A few strands of silver appeared in his once dazzling golden hair, as bright as the midday sun.
In December of 1053 AD, the spirited Duke Campbell was in his prime, having just celebrated his thirty-sixth birthday.
Because of the delicate situation, he did not hold a grand celebration for his birthday this year. Instead, he had a small gathering with friends from the continent of Gana, as well as nobles and citizens of the city, at the "Embrace of Dawn" hotel on Queen Street to show the royal family's support for industrialists and merchants and overseas trade.
Edward touched his sideburns, and it took him a long time to come back to his senses.
His hair has turned gray...
(End of this chapter)
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