Chapter 44: Collision

Reynolds was not a pure human; he was an alchemical militiaman recently created by the Alchemy Tower. This militiaman, with a physique of 17, spirit of 10, perception of 10, vitality of 3, and a lifespan of fifteen years, had cost Victor twelve hundred gold sol. According to Victor’s instructions, the Tower Spirit King had equipped him with four skills: cultivation, mastery of polearms, mastery of short weapons, and the secret form.

Initially, Victor had planned to equip the alchemical militiaman with forging and construction, so he could pour all his funds into producing alchemical soldiers as fierce as savage humans, without spending any gold sol on auxiliary troops. Unfortunately, the King informed him that only cultivation could be loaded as a productive skill for the militiamen, so Victor, frustrated, had to resume production of fifteen alchemical auxiliaries.

As for the upgrade from weapon handling to weapon mastery, this was due to the King loading Earth martial skills from X-3 into the will-side reserve of the Alchemy Tower, resulting in this change. The direct effect was that Reynolds not only killed an eight-hundred-pound wild boar with a single blow but also, in a feat of exaggeration, interrupted its charge.

Morin and the others witnessed this, but none of them understood how Reynolds had done it. In truth, within Reynolds’s seemingly simple attack, he had skillfully applied the force techniques of martial arts from Earth’s Hua Nation.

As the boar charged, Reynolds crossed over ten meters in four steps. From the very first step, his attack had already begun: ankle, knee, hip, spine, back, shoulder, elbow, and wrist—all contributed in sequence. By the fourth step, at the peak of his momentum, the power was continuous and unified, transmitted through the ax, so that in that instant, the blunt back of the ax, filled with overwhelming force, struck the boar’s sturdy neck with precision, instantly breaking the animal’s charge and killing it on the spot.

Of course, as an alchemical auxiliary with a physique of 17, even if only equipped with weapon handling, Reynolds could have easily killed the boar. However, he would not have been able to save the serf’s life: the wild boar’s massive inertia would have been enough to kill the man outright. Unfortunately, none of the serfs present could appreciate this. Had Baron Eskri witnessed it, he would have been astounded by Reynolds’s blow. Indeed, with weapon mastery, Reynolds’s displayed combat ability surpassed most apprentice knights, and was nearly at the level of a newly minted knight.

The secret form skill Reynolds had been given was a new technique generated after the King imported an ancient body-cultivation method recorded in X-3 into the Alchemy Tower. Victor was keen to see what changes this would bring about in alchemical humans and so sacrificed one of Reynolds’s precious skill slots for it.

The King believed the secret form would likely have a significant effect on alchemical humans, but the exact outcome would take time to verify.

“Big guy—no, Reynolds, you’re incredible! You killed such a huge wild boar in one strike!”

“Reynolds’s strength must be greater than Captain Gru’s!”

“With the big guy around, we won’t have to fear wild beasts anymore.”

As the dust settled, the serfs who had scattered now gathered again, chattering excitedly about Reynolds’s valor.

Yet, from behind the brambles nearby, the sound of rustling came, and those still shaken by the ordeal grew anxious once more. This time, though, they did not flee but instead gripped their axes and gathered closer to Reynolds.

Reynolds, however, did not assume a defensive posture. With a perception score of 10, he could clearly sense that those behind the brambles were human.

Soon, a dozen men armed with hunting bows, javelins, and spears emerged from the gap the boar had made. They were a band of free hunters.

Seeing that humans had emerged, the serf group sighed in relief, but soon their faces showed disdain.

“Who are you people?” Morin stepped forward and demanded loudly.

These newcomers, uncertain and wary, glanced at the forty-odd villagers armed with iron axes, then turned to a particularly burly man among them.

Pete frowned. The situation troubled him. He had led his men out to hunt, and after wounding a solitary boar, they had tracked it from afar, hoping to kill it once it tired. Unexpectedly, their prey had ended up with these people.

“This was our prey,” Pete said roughly. Though outnumbered, he felt compelled to argue—after all, they had spent half the day pursuing the boar. For freemen, yielding was never the way to survive.

“So it was you bastards who drove the boar here! It almost killed me!” The lucky survivor, who had barely escaped death, charged forward furiously at Pete’s words, only to be held back by Morin.

“Your prey? Everything on this land belongs to Lord Victor Wimbledon, Baron! This boar was slain by us! And we are the Baron’s sworn serfs—do you understand, freemen?” Morin sneered.

Though Pete had not stated his status outright, their crude equipment and unfamiliar faces betrayed them as local freemen.

Serfs always looked down on freemen, and now, with Morin regarding himself as a vassal, his contempt was even greater. In his eyes, these goblin-like freemen were nothing but thieves and bandits, though only two months ago, he himself had been a homeless freeman.

“Don’t you realize you have infringed upon the lord’s property?” Morin thundered, his voice sharp and angry. The recent accident had nearly cost him a man.

Victor measured the group leader’s ability by the welfare of the villagers. If Morin’s men had died today, Victor would surely have been disappointed in him—and all because of these reckless freemen. The thought made Morin’s anger burn all the more.

Morin’s words sent a ripple of unrest through the freemen, and Pete cursed inwardly.

Victor’s welcoming policy towards freemen was already well known throughout the territory, and as the head of a small freeman camp, Pete was well aware of it. At first, Pete had considered leading his people to join Victor’s camp and become proper serfs, but he was reluctant to give up his status and authority. While he hesitated, news came from a small free camp in the east: the new lord had no knights under him!

Pete was skeptical and chose to wait and see. In the meantime, some of his people left to join Victor’s hill camp. Pete did not stop them; he even sent a few trusted men to join Victor’s ranks.

As his confidants sent back intelligence, Pete confirmed that the new lord had no knights and no castle. Aside from the title of lord, he was little different from a freeman.

Ambition grew like weeds in Pete’s heart. He now wanted more: if he were to join the lord, he would demand the title of village head, negotiate the tribute, and seek greater autonomy.

To that end, Pete allied with other freeman leaders and began to use harsh measures to prevent his people from joining Victor’s camp. He even hanged three members of his camp who attempted to escape.

He had not expected, however, that a hunt would bring him into direct conflict with the lord’s serfs.

Pete decided to withdraw at once. It was not worth provoking the lord over a single boar—not yet.

“Forgive us, sir. We’ll be leaving now,” Pete said obsequiously to Morin, guessing from Morin’s overbearing manner that he must be a serf group leader. He had heard there were six such leaders under Victor.

Enjoy your arrogance while you can, Pete thought bitterly. Once the knights of House York leave, I’ll be the one called village head!

The consensus among the freeman leaders was not to resist, not to cooperate, and not to allow their people to join the lord’s camp. They would drag things out until the York family’s knights left, and then negotiate terms with the young lord. They believed Victor’s only support was the York knights, and that he would soon submit once they were gone.

But just as Pete was calling his men to retreat, something unexpected happened.

“I want to join you! I want to join you!” A somewhat frail freeman threw down his javelin and ran towards Morin’s group.

This was Pete’s worst nightmare. To prevent his men from joining the lord’s camp, he had tirelessly proclaimed that the new lord lacked the strength to protect them and that they could negotiate a better deal for serfdom. Yet, there were always those who failed to grasp the bigger picture and wanted status immediately. Pete had dealt with such people harshly, executing offenders publicly. After several such executions, no one dared voice a desire to join the lord again. But this sudden encounter gave one of his long-oppressed men a chance to break free.

Freeman leaders were all strong, ruthless, and daring. Pete felt a rush of blood to his head, and a murderous gleam flashed in his eyes. Without thinking, he raised his hunting bow and shot the traitor in the back.

The arrow pierced through the man’s chest, and he fell to the ground on his way to the serfs, mortally wounded.

“Outrageous!” A thunderous roar erupted from Reynolds, the militiaman, reverberating like a storm and leaving everyone’s ears ringing.

The towering Reynolds charged at Pete. In the blink of an eye, he covered more than twenty meters; his logging ax howled through the air, striking directly at the culprit.

Against Reynolds’s attack, Pete, though over two hundred pounds, was as helpless as a straw doll. He was cleaved in two, his body thrown ten meters, dead before he hit the ground.

The brutal scene left everyone chilled to the bone, not daring to utter a sound.

“Lord Victor’s order: No one may prevent freemen from joining the camp! Disobey, and death is your only end!”

Morin swallowed hard as he looked at the giant-like Reynolds.

Was this still the same clumsy big fellow?

——————————————

“Is that all?” Lilia’s delicate brows furrowed as she listened to Morin’s report.

In the past month, she had stopped going out on missions with her companions. Plentiful food and comfortable living had filled out her once-thin face into a lovely oval; her skin, once rough, was now soft and smooth, making her all the more radiant.

“Yes, Miss Lilia,” Morin answered respectfully, still a little pale.

Though Lilia was only eighteen, she now managed all the camp’s domestic affairs, including work point records, making her Morin’s direct superior and deserving of his deference.

Everyone in the camp believed Lilia would soon become Lord Victor’s personal attendant. Although Victor had not declared it, this was only because of his ambiguous relationship with Lady Nicole the Knight. Once Nicole left, everyone expected to address Lilia as lady of the house.

“Lock the captured freemen in the barracks for now. I’ll ask the lord how to handle them. If there’s nothing else, you may go, Uncle Morin,” Lilia said with a gentle smile.

She oversaw most domestic matters in the camp, except for the absorption of freemen, which Victor handled personally.

“Miss Lilia, about Reynolds…” Morin hesitated.

“What is it? You want him transferred?” Lilia raised her elegant brows.

“No, no, that’s not it,” Morin waved his hands. “I hope the lord will let Reynolds join the work point system. Although he hasn't been here a full month, he’s shown absolute loyalty to Lord Victor.”

Despite Reynolds’s ruthless efficiency, his formidable strength was undeniable. As an aspiring village head, Morin knew the camp’s defenses were inadequate and was eager for Reynolds to become his future militia captain.

“I understand. I’ll speak to the lord. You may go now.”

Relieved by her promise, Morin left, unaware that what concerned Lilia most was the mysterious origin of Reynolds.

When Lilia went to the upper camp to meet Victor, he was speaking with a farmer.

“So, Busso, you’ve confirmed there’s gold-thread grass in the territory?”

“Yes, my lord. The hillsides are covered with it, though the locals call it bramble-leaf grass.”

“Very well, you may go.” Seeing Lilia approach, Victor dismissed Busso.

“Good day, Miss Lilia,” Busso greeted her with a bow as he passed.

Lilia nodded politely. She knew this farmer.

Though Busso had only recently joined, his extensive wilderness experience had already helped the camp identify seven valuable plants. He also understood animal habits and was now working with his group to try to domesticate the territory’s native swift birds. All the Bear Warriors were eagerly watching their progress—Nelson had even assigned Gru to lead a special squad to help capture the birds.

“Lilia, let’s talk in the office,” Victor said with a smile, beckoning her into the elegantly crafted wooden house.

Blushing, Lilia curtsied and followed the baron inside.

“Try today’s coffee—see if you can tell the difference,” Victor said before she could speak, beginning to prepare the so-called coffee.

The ceramic cup exuded a rich aroma, but Lilia’s face scrunched up. This “coffee” was a new drink Busso had invented, made from the pits of a wild fruit. Only a handful knew the recipe, and Victor forbade anyone from revealing it—even Lilia and Nelson were kept in the dark.

Yet this beverage Victor treasured so highly—naming it “coffee” himself—was notoriously awful. Its fragrance was potent, but the flavor was bitter and astringent. Lilia, Nelson, Gru, Iron Hammer, and all the group leaders had been forced to try it, but none wanted a second cup. Only Victor drank it with relish, which Lilia suspected was due to his elven blood and peculiar taste.

Under Victor’s expectant gaze, Lilia braced herself and took a tentative sip. Though unpleasant, the drink did clear the mind and lighten the mood—a small consolation.

But this time, Lilia was surprised. The rich aroma remained, but the bitterness was gone, replaced by a sweet taste. The delightful flavor made her take another sip.

“Well?” Victor grinned as he watched her drink again and again.

“My lord, is this really the same coffee as before?” Lilia asked in astonishment.

“I added cane juice. Isn’t it delicious?”

“It really is!” Lilia laughed shyly and took another sip.

“I told you, coffee will make us rich! Was I wrong?”

Victor punched the air in excitement, then sighed. “But cane juice doesn’t keep well. We’ll have to wait until we can produce sugar before coffee can make real money.”

Turning back, he saw Lilia had secretly finished the entire cup. He shook his head, amused at the girl who, moments before, had looked as though she faced execution.

Finding Victor watching her with a smile, Lilia stuck out her tongue, then quickly straightened, smoothing her hair and assuming a ladylike pose, face flushing prettily.

“So, what brings you here?” Victor asked kindly.

“My lord, today a freeman leader killed one of his own in front of our serf group—just as the man tried to join our camp!”

“What?!”