Chapter 50: The Lord's Vow

Bandak wore a bitter, helpless smile at the corner of his mouth, shook his head in resignation, and let out a long sigh.

"Things are different this time around. As for the King's army, though the treasury is scraping bottom, they at least manage to piece things together slowly over time. But the debts owed by the nobles are like a tangled ball of yarn, utterly impossible to untangle. The most lethal part of all is the influx of so many foreign armies. They have traveled from afar to shed blood for France, and who would dare demand payment from them? Those foreign soldiers do not abide by our rules, leaving the common people with no choice but to swallow their bitter teeth and accept their wretched luck."

After hearing this, Leserit fell silent for a long time, the surrounding air seeming to freeze completely. He slowly raised his head, drew in a deep breath, and spoke as if having made a resolute decision:

"Very well, I understand. Later on, help me find my serfs; I am going to take them home."

With that, he turned toward Roberto, his gaze carrying a hint of solemnity, and raised a hand to make the introduction:

"Bandak, let me introduce you. This is Roberto, a newly created knight by the Countess of Boulogne, Lady Joan. The village of Ges is now his fief."

As he spoke, he gestured toward Roberto.

Roberto stepped forward and executed a standard, respectful knightly salute:

"Captain Bandak, greetings. It is a pleasure to meet you for the first time; I ask for your kind guidance."

Bandak looked Roberto up and down, a fleeting flash of unspoken appreciation crossing his eyes, and nodded slightly:

"No problem at all, Sir Roberto. It is my honor to make your acquaintance."

Leserit then cast his gaze toward Carlo, his eyes brimming with pride and expectation:

"This is my squire, Carlo. Do not let his youth fool you; he is a brave, fearless soul imbued with the purest spirit of chivalry. I hold high hopes for him."

Hearing this, Carlo looked at Bandak with eyes full of eagerness and anticipation:

"Captain Bandak, I can tell you must be an absolute expert with the crossbow. I am also fond of using the crossbow and have always longed for an expert to give me some pointers. If you have any spare time, you must teach me a thing or two!"

Amused by Carlo's enthusiasm, Bandak burst into hearty laughter, strode over, and gave Carlo's shoulder a firm, hearty pat:

"Easily done, easily done! You're a fine lad, Carlo. With that kind of zeal and courage, you are bound to achieve great things in the future. This is the first time I've ever heard that cold-faced Leserit praise anyone like this."

Feigning annoyance, Leserit shot Bandak a fierce glare, knitted his brows, and scolded:

"Did you actually just call me an ice cube?"

Laughing even harder, Bandak pointed at Leserit and winked broadly at the others:

"Just look at him! If this expression isn't an ice cube, what is? Haha."

Carlo chuckled and said:

"Haha, Lord Leserit, I certainly had that impression when I first met you. You always wore such a stern, frosty expression that people didn't dare approach you. But after spending time together, I realized you are the most reliable person I have ever known. Like a towering mountain, no matter what violent storms or tempests we face, you stand firm to shelter us from the wind and rain."

Hearing Carlo's words, the others nodded one after another, their laughter echoing in the air.

At that moment, Luke Griffith nudged Charles with his elbow, his face etched with dissatisfaction and grievance, and muttered under his breath:

"Why wasn't I introduced?"

Charles curled his lip, rolled his eyes, and whispered back:

"Former Captain Luke Griffith, the two of us are nothing more than hired hands right now. Isn't it completely normal not to be introduced? We're just background scenery on a stage—who cares about us?"

Upon hearing this, Luke Griffith's face instantly flushed bright red, resembling a ripened tomato. He lowered his voice and growled:

"Who are you calling background scenery?!"

Not long after, escorted by Bandak, Leserit arrived at a wool workshop in Calais.

The moment they drew near the workshop, a pungent, heavy smell of lanolin assaulted their noses, a scent so dense it seemed to cling to the linings of their nasal passages.

Inside the workshop, wool-combers bustled back and forth, the tools in their hands dancing up and down to produce a rhythmic rustling sound.

The village elder, Nicholas, was an elderly man whose face was etched with the heavy traces of time and deeply carved furrows. His rough, calloused hands worked skillfully with the combing implements, every movement steady and powerful as he meticulously straightened the wool fibers while picking out impurities.

The instant he caught sight of Leserit, a bright flash of pleasant surprise broke through the cloudy film in Nicholas's aged eyes, and his parched lips trembled slightly as though a thousand words were choked in his throat. Without a moment's hesitation, he dropped the tool in his hand—it hit the floor with a loud clatter, though he paid it no mind—and hurried forward, shouting with great emotion:

"My lord! You've finally returned!"

Instantly, radiance bloomed across Nicholas's wrinkled face. Taking a few rapid strides forward, he grasped Leserit's hands tightly, his voice trembling slightly with emotion:

"From the very moment you departed, I firmly believed that a knight like you is invincible!"

Leserit smiled faintly, his eyes carrying a hint of exhaustion mingled with relief:

"The cruelty of war far exceeds imagination; it is simply by Christ's mercy that I have returned safely. Come, let me introduce you. This is my new squire, Carlo. And this gentleman is Sir Roberto, newly enfeoffed by the Countess of Boulogne; the village of Ges is now his domain."

Carlo and Roberto nodded slightly in acknowledgment, and Nicholas returned their greetings one by one. Afterward, his gaze anxiously swept through the crowd, failing to find the figure of Luwan.

His heart sank as if weighted down by a heavy boulder, and an ominous foreboding welled up within him.

He knew all too well the brutality of war, yet he remained unwilling to believe that such a cruel fate could befall someone familiar to him. Suppressing the grief and the urge to question further, he looked back at Leserit.

"My lord, can we finally return to the village of Sour? Here in the city of Calais, it is nothing but endless labor, day after day. Had it not been for the chaos of war and those ruthless armies, I would have led everyone back long ago. Working here without rest day and night, our bodies are shattered like broken wooden puppets, and our hearts are even more exhausted. Everyone is reaching their breaking point."

Leserit replied:

"Indeed, that is precisely why I have come to find you. Nicholas, would you also gather the people of Ges village? We shall return to the village together."

Nicholas nodded emphatically.

"Our villagers will certainly have no problem with that, my lord. We only left to escape the ravages of war in the first place, and now that you have returned, it is our bounden duty to serve you as our lord. A single word from me, and everyone will follow you back."

As he spoke, his gaze drifted involuntarily toward Roberto, flashing with a trace of hesitation before he paused. Sensing this keenly, Leserit felt a surge of doubt and asked:

"What is the matter? Is there a problem? Roberto is my trusted companion; there is nothing here that cannot be spoken of. What has happened to Ges village?"

Nicholas sighed, his face a mask of helplessness and sorrow. He bowed slightly, leaning closer to Leserit, and lowered his voice to a bare whisper that only those standing immediately beside him could faintly catch.

"Ges village was originally a domain under the direct jurisdiction of the Count, but how could His Lordship spare the energy to manage the trivial affairs of such small villages? During this war, those pitiful villagers suffered a devastating catastrophe; their livestock and grain, upon which they depended for survival, were ruthlessly and forcibly requisitioned without a single coin of compensation. Yet not a single one of those high-and-mighty nobles stepped forward to uphold justice for them. They have grown utterly disillusioned with both the King and the Count. I have heard that they are completely disheartened and intend to abandon that land soaked in blood and tears, preferring to comb wool in the city until they drop dead rather than ever return."

Leserit knitted his brows tightly: How could these villagers abandon their homeland so easily? This was the place where their ancestors had lived for generations. Yet, he also understood the injustice and suffering they had endured.

He said in a deep voice:

"They cannot simply do that. Most of them are serfs bound to the village. Now that the Countess has granted Ges village to Roberto, they are Roberto's serfs and have the obligation to serve him. Nicholas, take me to their village elder; I must speak with them properly first!"