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I Have A Damn Family Again - Chapter 93
🕑 Added 2024-08-17 16:54:00 +0000 UTCChapter 93: The Disgrace of Shatrain (7)
The Lusmire territory.
Its isolation stemmed not only from the deliberate suppression and interference of neighboring nobles but also from a recurring threat.
"Grrrr…!"
They resembled dogs or wolves, four-legged predators, but their fur wasn't easily pierced by blades. Instead, their bodies were covered in a thick layer of rock, a natural armor.
"Beasts! They're here!”
“Women, children, elders, everyone unable to fight, evacuate immediately!”
These weren’t mere animals.
They were beasts, monsters, the bane of this territory, a recurring threat that had plagued Lusmire for generations. In the game, I hadn’t given them much thought, simply classifying them as enemies to be defeated. But now…
▶ CHAPTER 2 - Episode II: Rejecting Hands in progress! ◀
▶ Beasts have appeared! ◀
▶ Protect the village! ◀
▶ The episode's completion rate will be determined by the extent of casualties among the villagers! ◀
※ Primary Enemy List
[ Waglu Hound ]
[ A wolf-type beast characterized by a rocky hide infused with magical energy. Its high defense reduces damage from inadequate weapons. ]
[ Waglu Lazan ]
[ A monkey-type beast characterized by a rocky hide infused with magical energy. Damage is significantly reduced when it assumes a defensive posture. ]
‘This explains why Lusmire has always struggled against these beasts.’
Their crude weapons, sharpened sticks, barely scratched those rocky hides.
And their lack of proper armor further compounded the problem. While those beasts weren't particularly strong, their attacks could inflict significant injuries. Armor, even the most rudimentary form of protection, would have made a difference.
Inadequate weapons, nonexistent armor, and no means of acquiring proper equipment. Isolated, ostracized, abandoned by the surrounding territories, their only option had been a passive one: delaying the inevitable, relying on outside intervention.
But this time, it was different. As Camilla had observed, they had taken a stand, their courage a flickering flame against the encroaching darkness.
‘I need to observe for a while.’
There was no question of inaction. I’d chosen Lusmire as my stepping stone, my proving ground for the upcoming Eastern Nobles' Conference. Protecting this territory, minimizing casualties, demonstrating my ability to lead, was essential.
Lusmire’s completion rate, a direct reflection of the village's safety, its residents' well-being.
But I had to abandon my gamer mindset, my instinctive urge to swoop in and save the day. This wasn’t a game where my actions alone determined the outcome.
“Uwaaaaaah!!!”
“Kyaaah!!”
"Hey, monkey! Over here! Face me!”
“Roarrr!”
Two young men, armed with crude spears, charged into the fray, their courage bordering on recklessness.
They were likely the village's strongest fighters, their willingness to confront the beasts head-on a testament to their newfound resolve.
“I’ve got him! Take down the others!”
"“Let's go!!””
Their strategy, their attempt to divide and conquer, was flawed, their bravery outmatched by the sheer number of beasts.
Every injury, every exhausted villager, would negatively impact the completion rate.
Minor injuries, a slight dip in the score, a manageable setback. But serious injuries, a significant drop, a cause for concern. And fatalities? A catastrophic failure, the episode deemed unsuccessful, a bad ending looming.
This episode, following its pre-determined path, inevitably led to Carsein’s direct involvement.
Because the villagers, even with their newfound courage, their spirits ablaze, couldn't defeat those beasts on their own.
Their strength, their rudimentary weapons, had limitations.
And so, Carsein, armed with his enhanced stats, his combat skills honed through countless training sessions, would step in, his sword a beacon of hope.
To maintain a high completion rate, I needed to intervene, to take control, to guide them to victory.
But was that the right approach?
‘No. It would be a mistake.’
If I relied solely on my own abilities, wouldn’t that reinforce their dependence, their belief that they needed a savior?
This episode, this test of leadership, it wasn't just about defeating the beasts. It was about empowering the villagers, about fostering a sense of self-reliance.
Lusmire faced these attacks regularly.
This time, I could protect them, my sword a shield against the encroaching darkness.
But what about next time? And the time after that?
Who would protect them when I was gone?
This was the flaw in the system's design. Even achieving a perfect score, maximizing the episode’s completion rate, wouldn't solve the underlying problem. The moment I left, they’d revert back to their old ways, their dependence on others a crippling weakness.
They’d cling to the protection of House Bagrand, or seek out other knights, their fate entrusted to strangers.
Or worse, they might even turn to those corrupt nobles, their desperation driving them into the arms of their exploiters.
Lusmire, its fate unchanged, trapped in a cycle of reliance and vulnerability.
So, I wouldn’t intervene.
I couldn't afford to offer a quick fix, to indulge their desire for a savior, to allow the completion rate to dictate my actions.
This wasn’t a game anymore. This was real. And the consequences, far more significant than a simple game over screen.
‘I need to find another solution.’
A way to minimize their dependence, to empower them, to guide them towards self-reliance.
I observed the battle unfolding before me, my gaze scanning the faces of the villagers, their determination etched into their features.
They had the will, the courage to fight, their teeth gritted, their bodies straining against the relentless assault.
But…
‘They need a new approach.’
They were attempting to shatter a boulder with pebbles, their bravery outmatched by the sheer strength of their opponents.
This wasn't a game. This was reality, a world where creativity and innovation could triumph over brute force. I could help them, guide them, offer a different solution.
“Camilla.”
“Yes, Young Master?”
“How long can they hold out against these beasts?”
Camilla, her hand resting thoughtfully on her chin, considered his question.
“The Waglu beasts are notoriously resilient, but… they’re poorly equipped. Typically, we’d send for reinforcements from other territories around this time. They should be able to hold out for about an hour.”
“An hour?”
I was surprised.
They were holding their own, their makeshift weapons a testament to their tenacity.
“It’s… difficult to explain, but… Lusmire’s resilience, their ability to withstand these attacks with minimal casualties, is linked to their diet. The crops grown here, they’re… unique. They offer a certain degree of protection against beast attacks.”
“I see. Interesting.”
When I’d first heard about the milk, their reliance on it to supplement the children’s diets, I’d dismissed it as a quirky game mechanic.
But after experiencing the effects of Lusmire cuisine myself, I realized it wasn't just a random setting.
These villagers, despite their outward appearance, their poverty, their lack of resources, were surprisingly resilient.
▶ You have consumed bread made from Lusmire whole wheat. Your Strength has increased by 0.05 for 3 hours! ◀
▶ Consuming this food regularly will permanently increase your stat! ◀
[ Limit: 0.30 ]
Viewing this from a gamer’s perspective, I’d simply classify it as a special food item, a temporary buff.
But in this new reality?
The old adage, “What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger,” seemed to apply here.
Lusmire whole wheat and whole grain rice, the staple crops of this region. They were… challenging, to say the least. Their texture, coarse and rough, even after extensive processing.
Harvesting these crops was a laborious process, and consuming them, even more so. No wonder the children needed milk.
But the adults, their bodies accustomed to this harsh diet, had adapted, their strength a testament to their resilience. This stat-boosting effect, a reflection of their unique physiology, made perfect sense.
Returning to the matter at hand:
One hour? More than enough time.
And a permanent Strength boost? Even better.
It meant they could wield heavier, more powerful weapons.
“It seems I won’t even need to intervene.”
“What do you mean, Young Master…?”
“Armor might be a challenge, but… we can create weapons. Plenty of them.”
“Create… weapons?”
“Yes. Take me to your village hall, your storage shed, anywhere with a collection of… junk. The more scrap metal and debris, the better.”
Fear had been their constant companion, but with proper guidance, with knowledge and innovation, they could overcome it.
Those beasts, weak compared to the enemies I’d faced in previous chapters, were merely a stepping stone, a test of their resolve.
***
“Ugh, why am I forced to endure this boring nonsense?”
Hemnon Modric, the eldest son of Count Modric, yawned theatrically, stretching languidly as he rose from his seat.
The Eastern Nobles' Conference was fast approaching, and as the heir to the Modric lineage, he was obligated to attend, to fulfill his duty as a member of the aristocracy.
But he couldn't fathom the importance of such archaic gatherings.
“What's so important about this stupid conference? What’s all this talk about commoners being essential for the survival of nobles? And saving those filthy peasants to save the nation?”
Hemnon clicked his tongue dismissively.
“Our blood is different, superior. Those without noble lineage are… defective. And we’re supposed to help them? Preposterous.”
He slammed his book shut, his voice dripping with disdain.
“They should be grateful for our existence! We shouldn’t have to… Ugh! The very thought!”
Commoners, mere tools to maintain the luxurious lifestyles of nobles.
And those dirty, foul-smelling peasants? A blight upon society, a stain on the otherwise pristine fabric of their world.
That was Hemnon’s worldview.
And this annual conference, this gathering that seemed to prioritize the rights of commoners, to undermine the authority of nobles, filled him with resentment.
“Hmm… Well, at least today promises to be… entertaining.”
A sly smile twisted his lips.
“Young Master Hemnon, the carriage is ready.”
“Excellent.”
He glanced at his reflection in the mirror, adjusting his cravat with a practiced air, confirming his impeccable appearance, then strode out of the room.
The Modric carriage, bearing its proud crest, rolled towards its destination: Lusmire.
That isolated territory, abandoned by all, ignored by the other noble houses, forever reliant on the “benevolence” of Count Modric.
He’d known about the beast attacks, their predictable schedule, their devastating impact on the villagers.
And he’d deliberately chosen inaction.
Helping them offered no benefit. It wasn't his territory, and any casualties would reflect poorly on his family, a stain on their reputation.
He’d been searching for a way to eliminate those pesky villagers, their existence a constant reminder of the count's… unconventional methods, and those beast attacks? A welcome opportunity.
But they’d proven surprisingly resilient, those villagers. They’d endured, their resistance a thorn in his side, their survival a testament to their stubborn refusal to simply disappear.
They'd even had the audacity to request assistance from his family, their pleas for help an unwelcome intrusion.
Hemnon, however, had finally devised a plan, a way to exploit their vulnerability, to turn their misfortune to his advantage.
“Hehe. Time to collect my reward.”
He’d brought only a handful of knights, despite knowing about the beast attacks.
Because he knew those villagers would have already weakened the beasts, their desperate struggle buying him precious time.
A small escort, a calculated risk, that promised a substantial return.
The credit for slaying the beasts would belong to him, to his knights, the ones who delivered the final blow. And those valuable carcasses? His to claim, their resources a lucrative prize. And let's not forget the young woman he'd been eyeing, a reward for his “generosity.”
This charade, this carefully orchestrated performance, granted him the authority to exploit the village, their gratitude a convenient tool to silence any dissent. Those ignorant peasants, unaware of his true intentions.
And even if someone dared to question his actions, to challenge his authority, Lusmire belonged to no one. There would be no consequences, no repercussions.
He was reaping the rewards, his pockets lined with ill-gotten gains, his conscience untroubled.
“So, I hear those Lusmire fools are running out of funds?”
“They’re barely scraping by. Once we collect our due, they’ll be completely drained.”
“Excellent.”
He licked his lips, anticipation swirling within him.
“Let’s increase our demands this time. I’ll make sure you’re well compensated for your efforts. Work hard, alright?”
““Yes, Young Master Hemnon!””
If they couldn’t afford to pay, they’d offer other… compensations. That village, devoid of any real assets, had nothing of value to barter with. Their options were limited.
‘Hehe. I’ve heard rumors of a young woman, just reaching her prime. This time, I’ll collect my due.’
They’d have no choice but to comply. Count Modric wasn’t a force to be trifled with.
Hemnon, his heart filled with greedy anticipation, entered the Lusmire territory.
But something felt off. The atmosphere, typically filled with a palpable sense of fear and desperation, was… quiet.
He’d expected to be greeted by a frantic plea for help, women and children cowering behind makeshift barricades, their voices trembling as they begged for his intervention.
But silence reigned.
He scanned the village, his brow furrowed with confusion, then ventured deeper, his curiosity piqued.
And then, he saw it.
“Woooaaah!!!”
The villagers, their faces lit by a bonfire, their voices a chorus of triumphant cheers, surrounded a pile of slain beasts.
‘What in the…!’
Those incompetent villagers had managed to defeat the beasts on their own?
The Waglu beasts, their rocky hides a formidable defense against conventional weapons, lay lifeless on the ground.
And unlike previous encounters, where they’d feigned death, hoping to catch their attackers off guard, their stillness was undeniable, their demise a certainty. It was clear, even from a distance, that they’d been slain by the villagers.
‘They shouldn’t have the weapons to do this! Wait, what are those…? What are they using?’
Their usual weapons, those flimsy spears, had been replaced by something new, something… ingenious. Clubs, studded with scrap metal and jagged shards of debris.
Those crude weapons, however, had inflicted grievous wounds upon the beasts, their bodies covered in deep gashes and bloodstains. He couldn’t claim credit, couldn’t fabricate a story of his own heroism, not with those unmistakable marks.
‘Damn it! I’ve lost my chance to profit from this!’
The beast carcasses, the extermination fees, the young woman he’d been promised…
All gone.
‘Who is it? Who dared to interfere?! Who dared to arm my… subjects…!’
Someone had helped them, guided them, empowered them. Those clueless villagers couldn't have possibly devised such a strategy on their own.
He needed to find the culprit, the one responsible for disrupting his carefully laid plans.
Hemnon, his teeth gritted, his voice a furious bellow, addressed the celebrating villagers.
“You insolent fools! You dare greet your lord with such disrespect?!”
They turned to face him, their expressions a mixture of defiance and disdain. Their eyes, filled with unspoken words, held him at bay.
But he didn’t care about their feelings, their opinions.
He found him. The stranger, an outsider, standing amongst them.
“You, in the black hood! Who are you, and what gives you the right to be here?!”
This was it. The culprit, the one who needed to be eliminated.
Excuses? Justifications? He’d fabricate them later.
Count Modric’s power, his family’s influence, would ensure his actions went unpunished.
“Get out of my sight! You dare trespass on my…!”
-Shing!
A blade, whistling through the air, sliced past him, a lock of his hair falling gracefully to the ground.
“W-What…?!”
“Young Master Hemnon!”
“You dare draw your sword against Young Master Hemnon?!”
“How dare you! How dare you do this to me!”
Hemnon, his face turning a shade of purple, his voice a sputtering rage, shrieked like an enraged toad.
“Remove your hood! Reveal your face and declare your name! I need to see who I’m dealing with before I decide your punishment!”
The stranger, his face hidden within the shadows of his hood, finally obliged, stepping forward, his gaze meeting Hemnon's.
“Introductions are… unnecessary, Hemnon Modric.”
“Y-You…!”
The others might not recognize him, his appearance altered, his demeanor transformed.
But Hemnon would never forget.
“Carsein… Bagrand…”
The memory of that night, of Arina Bagrand’s coming-of-age ceremony, of the relentless beating he’d received at Carsein’s hands, remained vivid, undimmed by the passage of time.
