Chapter 276: Too Much to Bear!

At dawn the next day, when the garrison stationed outside the town and the local militia patrol arrive outside the warehouse district, they find a battlefield in utter chaos—bloodstains everywhere.

The most striking sight is the neatly stacked pile of corpses.

The sheriff and the garrison commander, faces darkened, approach Orak.

“Sir, what exactly happened here? Who were these people? Why did they attack you? What went down last night?”

At this moment, neither of them cares about Orak’s noble status.

The night before, a merchant caravan was slaughtered inside the town, their cargo—lamp oil—completely stolen.

Additionally, a prominent family suffered a massacre, and their cattle also disappeared.

These are murders, but compared to the deaths of militias and soldiers, they are somewhat insignificant.

By morning’s count, twenty-two militia members and thirty-five garrison soldiers were killed.

More importantly, several small ballistae stored in the garrison camp were stolen.

These weapons, capable of killing knights, are strictly controlled by the rulers.

Every ballista undergoes a rigorous process from manufacture to destruction.

If one goes missing, everyone involved faces severe punishment.

Yet now, five ballistae stand mounted on rooftops around the warehouse, each guarded by three knights.

Facing the town officials’ questions, Orak points to the corpses.

“They did these. But most of them are dead now, so that’s some justice for the victims. The ballistae are here too; only a few bolts were lost, and the arrowheads can be retrieved and logged.”

“We regret the losses suffered by the merchants and townsfolk and will provide some compensation. Additionally, we’ll offer further funds as relief to the families of the fallen soldiers and civilians.”

With that, Orak’s captain of the guard, Waintu, steps forward carrying two bags.

They clink with the sound of coins, and the golden light glimmers from their openings.

Judging by the weight, each bag holds nearly a thousand gold coins.

The garrison commander speaks up, “Money isn’t the main issue. This is a serious case, and since you all were involved, we hope you can cooperate.”

Orak asks, “Cooperate how?”

The sheriff replies, “We’ve already notified the nearby noble lords and the city’s ruler. At the latest, the day after tomorrow, they’ll send investigators. When they arrive, you just need to explain the situation to them.”

Henwell steps forward, “You mean you want us to stay and wait? Don’t you see we’re packing up? We plan to leave by tomorrow morning at the latest.”

The garrison commander pleads, “That’s why we’re asking you to stay a few more days. This is a big matter, and we small folk can’t handle it alone.”

Henwell waves his hand, “You don’t have to take responsibility. Just report the facts honestly. The nearby noble lords and the kingdom’s city ruler already know what’s going on. Rest assured, they won’t hold you accountable. This has nothing to do with you and won’t affect you.”

The sheriff grimaces, “Sir, please understand us small folk. We really can’t just close the case with a pile of corpses!”

Henwell raises an eyebrow, pointing at the bodies. “Do you know why they wanted to kill us? Their main goal was to slow us down, and they were willing to commit all sorts of heinous crimes for that.”

”Attacking kingdom soldiers, harming citizens, stealing goods, robbing military supplies, organizing a frenzied assault with hundreds in the town—all just to delay us. So, do you still insist we stay? Or have some of you been bribed by them to waste our time?”

The garrison commander’s smile fades, voice turning serious. “Please don’t misunderstand, sir. We’re just following the kingdom’s laws. Even nobles must obey kingdom laws outside their own lands.”

Henwell narrows his eyes. “What if I say no?”

“Then we’ll have to offend you.”

With that, the commander gestures sharply, and a large number of armored soldiers form ranks, closing in around them.

Conrad steps forward from behind Henwell, drawing his longsword halfway out of its sheath. “How dare you!”

Seeing this, the garrison soldiers lower their bodies, raise their shields, and thrust their spears forward as they advance several steps aggressively.

Waintu pulls his spear from the ground and commands, “Form ranks!”

Over thirty knights immediately raise their shields, forming four shield walls of nine men each.

Henwell’s guards, Hubert and Waintu, each lead two of these formations, preparing for a sudden assault.

The garrison commander watches this unfolding scene with growing unease.

If a fight breaks out, he’s certain his roughly four hundred men stand no chance against these knights.

He realizes now that every single one of these dozens of men holds a knightly rank—something he’s never seen before.

As a seasoned battlefield veteran, he knows well the devastating power a cluster of knights can unleash.

Though his own troops are decently trained, they are far from elite.

Even with a tenfold numerical advantage, they can barely threaten these knights.

Just one charge from these thirty-plus knights could cut down nearly a tenth of his soldiers.

An army that suffers over thirty percent casualties yet keeps fighting is considered elite.

And his own forces would likely collapse after losing just twenty percent.

How could they possibly continue fighting?

But retreat is not an option, he simply can’t afford to fail his duty.

No direct orders compel him, but in a town of ten thousand people, over a hundred dead overnight, and hundreds of unidentified corpses—if he can’t provide answers, he won’t just lose his post, he might end up in jail.

He’s not trying to make things difficult for these men, only asking for their cooperation in the investigation.

He never expected such a strong reaction.

The sheriff is sweating profusely, knowing that if fighting breaks out, standing so close to Henwell, he’ll be the first to get cut down.

Looking up at Henwell’s nearly two-meter-tall frame, broad as a double-door fridge, and bear-like gaze fixed on him, he’s certain his head would be twisted off at the first strike.

With the situation spiraling out of control, the sheriff desperately looks toward Orak for help.

To him, Orak seems more like a noble lord compared to Henwell.

Orak raises his hand and gestures, “Stand down.”

Hubert and Waintu, ready to charge, immediately halt.

Their units wheel in a half-circle and fall back behind Orak.

Orak turns to the two officials. “May I have a word in private?”

The garrison commander hesitates briefly, then raises his hand to signal his troops to stop advancing.