A storage room of considerable size had one corner piled high with sacks of grain, some of which were showing signs of mold from dampness or contact with the ground. On the other side stood several oak wine barrels, a faint scent of wine noticeable as one drew near.
Outside, people had devoured all the wild vegetables, and many had starved. Here, however, food was left to mold, and there was even surplus grain for brewing wine.
This Mayor really knows how to live it up.
Lance watched the scene in silence, continuing to inspect the room. There was also a bed, making the place look more like a shelter.
Back when the bandits broke in, the Mayor must have vanished by hiding here.
On another side was a wooden rack with boxes of various sizes. A few large crates sat on the ground, some already opened by Dismas.
There were portraits, busts, tapestries, and antique decorations. Lance, who specialized in archaeology, was quite sensitive to these. From their style, he recognized that many items were antiques with a noble decor.
Then, among those antiques, a distinct symbol caught his eye: a Spread-winged Raven at the base, a Shield in the center with a castle depicted on it, and behind it, a black family crest resembling rays of light.
Isn't this my own family crest?! How did it end up here?
Lance looked again at the noble decorations. These are my goddamn ancestral heirlooms!
Nobody knew what deals the Mayor and the Butler had struck, but it was clear from this room that his inheritance was being siphoned off.
Can I tolerate this?
"Wow!"
A cry of surprise drew Lance's attention. He found a crate full of copper coins.
Although they were just copper coins, it was the first time he had seen so many Coins at once, and the sight was quite startling.
Reynard, however, seemed uninterested. He merely glanced at the Coins before moving on without further reaction.
Looking further, another crate was opened. It was mostly filled with copper coins, with only a few silver coins scattered within.
There were five such crates. It was impossible to count exactly how much money there was, but it was certain that most of the town's Coins had been gathered into the Mayor's hands.
In a small town like this, there weren't many uses for money; copper coins were the main currency. These Coins were likely the blood and sweat extorted from the common folk by the Mayor and the farm owners, who had inflated grain prices.
Lance grabbed a handful, feeling the Coins slip through his fingers and clink with a crisp sound.
It had to be said, the sound of Coins had a calming effect; his previously restless heart soon eased.
"The Mayor and Butler steal my rightful inheritance, and that's not enough for them! They even exploit the townspeople alongside the farm owners," Lance said indignantly, putting down the Gold Coin he was holding.
"Such people truly deserve to die!" Dismas, hearing this, also joined Lance in cursing. Looking again at the Coins, he no longer felt his earlier desire but instead remembered the exploitation and oppression he had suffered as a child, which had eventually forced him onto the desperate path of banditry.
Lance rummaged through a crate and handed ten silver coins to each of them.
"We draw our swords for the future of the world. Following me offers no glory, no Fief, but there is money. It's not much, but it's there. When the town develops, I will raise your salaries."
Lance's seemingly joking words, however, failed to put Dismas at ease; on the contrary, Dismas showed great resistance.
"No! I don't deserve this money."
Lance, of course, knew Dismas was still dwelling on the recent incident and couldn't help but offer comfort.
"Everyone makes mistakes. I'm willing to give you a chance, so why won't you give yourself one?"
With those words, Lance stuffed the money into his hand. "Take this money, and then prove your worth to me."
Dismas gripped Lance's hand, momentarily speechless. He felt a suffocating pressure in his chest. His long-dry eyes involuntarily brimmed with tears, and he instinctively turned his head to prevent the others from seeing.
I was just intimidated by a monster, yet the Lord still trusts me this much, willing to give me a chance.
Reynard observed their reactions with some confusion. Recalling the commotion at the brothel, he suspected something had happened.
"What happened?"
"We just faced a powerful enemy. Dismas made a small mistake, but in the end, it was resolved."
Lance tried to cover for him, but Dismas could no longer endure his inner torment and confessed, "Upstairs, we encountered the corrupted Butler. When I saw him transform into a monster, I was too scared to move. It was the Lord who stepped forward and killed him."
After saying this, Dismas let out a long sigh. Lance glanced at him with an approving nod and offered a smile of encouragement.
"Only those who dare to face themselves can grow."
Reynard, however, seemed rather surprised, his helmet unable to hide his involuntary gasp.
"A monster?"
"Yes, the Butler had long been corrupted into a monster. Anyone seeing it for the first time would have been stunned; I was terrified myself. It wasn't I who killed the Butler, but the blood that flows in my veins—the power left by my ancestors."
He changed the subject.
"I learned from the Butler that he was, in fact, a member of the Heretics hiding within my family. The previous Lord had already been killed by the Butler and the Heretics, who usurped the bloodline. The Butler has actually been running things in the Lord's name. Those Heretics have begun to tamper with the Seal using the Lord's bloodline. They incited bandits to slaughter the townspeople to use the power of their Flesh to break the Seal."
"What!" Dismas, casting aside his earlier emotions, exclaimed anxiously, "Then isn't our time very short?"
"Don't rush. The Seal left by our ancestors isn't so easily broken." Lance appeared calm. "They called me back in the Lord's name because they encountered a problem breaking the Seal. We don't need to worry about that for now. Matters in town are more pressing. We need more like-minded people to unite."
Lance and the others exited the secret chamber, sealing it behind them, and returned to Susan's house.
After checking the old soldier's condition, Lance used Flesh Reconstruction on him.
Feeling the newly gathered tribute flow into the soldier's wounds like water, Lance didn't skimp on the energy, continuing to maintain the ability.
A miraculous scene unfolded before their eyes. Filth from the wound was squeezed out as the muscle pulsed, and the pits left by removed rotten flesh quickly filled with new muscle. Soon, only a tender pink scar remained where the wound had been.
But the old soldier still hadn't awakened. Lance had to switch the treatment to Strengthening. The consumption of tribute increased sharply, but under its powerful effect, the soldier's organs began to revive, and his heartbeat gradually grew stronger and more forceful.