Our Family Has Fallen

When the great sword swung down, another abomination was banished from our land.

Lance looked up. He saw no more monsters; only the scorched earth and scattered remains attested to the ferocity of the battle on this land.

He couldn't even remember how many monsters he had slain. Even a machine would grow weary, but it wasn't yet time for Lance to rest.

After dealing with the monsters here, he hurried back to the farm. It was almost entirely consumed by a fire that didn't stop until everything had burned to ashes. Along the way, one could see many charred corpses, though they were mostly monsters, not soldiers.

The soldiers had gathered at the grain barn. Except for a few instructors, many were trembling, their arms and legs shaking, unable to stand now that the adrenaline of battle had subsided. It was unclear if the intense skirmish had caused muscle strain or if it was simply lingering fear. At this moment, nothing more was asked of them; survival itself was a significant achievement. Fear and exhaustion washed over them.

Lance approached and saw the exhaustion and bewilderment on their faces. However, when they saw him, their expressions mostly turned to fervor.

This was exactly what Lance had tried to avoid. He disliked such gazes. But it seemed some things were beyond his control; he had to play by the rules of this era.

"No need to get up. Just sit down and rest well. You all did a great job," he said.

Lance offered them some comfort. He then turned his gaze to the other side, where the soldiers who had succumbed to illness or death lay.

"How are things?" he asked.

"Twelve have died in battle, and fifty-six are infected," came the reply.

Hearing this, Lance fell silent. These soldiers, the destroyed farm, and the polluted lands—it was undeniable. They had won the war, but at a steep cost.

The others shared this sentiment, understanding that today's events had exacted an unbearable toll on the small town of Hamlet.

"The enemy launched an attack, willingly risking exposure. It seems they can't sit still any longer. This also proves we're on the right track." Lance reassured everyone, then turned to Paracelsus and asked, "How are the infected doing?"

"After inhaling the spores, they exhibit symptoms such as coughing, inflamed and swollen throats, and some are experiencing blindness. The preliminary assessment indicates this is only the initial stage. If it progresses, the situation could worsen, and our treatment options are not promising," Paracelsus replied.

"I understand." Lance frowned. He felt powerless in this regard but knew he had to find a solution.

After all, these people couldn't be dismissed as easily as characters in a game. They were bound to Hamlet, and Lance couldn't bring himself to do such a thing.

They had to find a way to treat the illness. Relying solely on Paracelsus was impractical; they needed to locate the source of the pathogens.

"Notify the town about the cause of this incident: it was an attack by beasts controlled by the Wasteland Witch, attempting to plunder the farm. We have now killed and repelled them. Tell everyone not to be afraid. Inform the families of the deceased..." Lance paused for a moment before continuing, "The infected are to be isolated for treatment. All soldiers who participated in this battle must also be quarantined for observation. If anyone is found to be infected, they must receive treatment. Those caring for the sick must wear protective gear..."

Under Lance's direction, the aftermath was managed in an orderly fashion. Lance had also learned about the Heretics from Reynard and the others; he was even surprised to hear they had slain a monster.

"You've all done well. However, let's not spread word about the Heretics just yet. For now, attribute everything to this battle," he said.

If word gets out about Witches roaming, the Church might react, but their response won't be too intense. At most, they'll send one or two people or a small team. But if it's said there's an evil cult, there will undoubtedly be serious trouble. A Witch usually represents an individual, but an evil cult represents a group. Moreover, it's a group that could subvert the very foundations of the Church's rule. Therefore, a decisive response is necessary. Why else would that old fellow tolerate bandits and Witches but refuse to act himself? Right now, his interests align with that old fellow's. If the Church or the Empire were to intervene, then this place would no longer be Hamlet's domain.

"My lord, those soldiers..." Reynard, seeing the Lord fall silent, felt compelled to remind him of an unresolved issue: the soldiers who had survived the battle, witnessed the monsters, and experienced the miracles.

"They should know who the enemy is, but they shouldn't have to bear such despair," he said.

His meaning was clear: as soldiers defending against the enemy, they would inevitably learn of these things. However, matters concerning the Evil God were not for them to comprehend, as ordinary people could not withstand such immense pressure.

A wry smile touched Lance's lips. On the way back, he had been hesitant about whether to deploy the soldiers and how to motivate them. Now, there was no need for indecision; there was only one path to follow to the end.

Approaching the soldiers, Lance spoke directly, without much hesitation.

"The enemy today is simple: a coven of Witches that has taken over the wilderness. Our land reclamation threatened them, which is why they sought to invade Hamlet and destroy everything we have."