CHAPTER 127: CHAPTER 127: DRIFTING HALF A LIFETIME, YET TO MEET A WISE RULER_1

The sheriff didn’t know what to say upon witnessing this scene, but he began to doubt Lance’s identity. How could a Noble Lord, and an Earl at that, be so uncharacteristically gentle toward a commoner?A sense of unreality struck him.

Reynard and Dismas, however, were not surprised by this scene. They knew what kind of person their Lord was and had chosen to follow him for that very reason.

Lance let go of the woman after only two or three seconds. His reason for selecting her was simple: he needed someone to stay here, observe the town’s situation, record everything, and report back when the caravan arrived. If the evil cult could brainwash people and plant them in various places, so could he. He needed not just one such person, but many. He planned to plant informants in every town and significant settlement within his territory, gathering information through the caravans. Forethought ensures success; lack of it courts failure. Although he didn’t intend to reclaim his territory now, gathering information in advance was always useful. This would help him understand what was happening in his domain and prepare for an eventual uprising. However, this was just a bonus; the real talent Lance sought hadn’t fallen into his hands yet.

He turned to the sheriff and asked, "So, what have you decided?"

The sheriff furrowed his brow at the question. Honestly, he didn’t know what to do. He felt completely lost.

"I know you are a man with a heart for justice," Lance continued. "But do you know why, after serving diligently for over a decade, you remain an ordinary sheriff and haven’t even become a police chief?"

"Why?" The sheriff snapped to attention, the question tumbling out subconsciously. He had pondered this for a long time but had never found an answer.

"You don’t accept bribes and insist on handling things strictly by the law. In the eyes of ordinary people, this makes you seem inflexible and unempathetic, a stubborn fool. When you seriously pursue cases, the chief of police sees you as a nuisance blocking his profits, a threat to his earnings. If you weren’t the only one in the sheriff’s department doing any real work, and if he didn’t need your accomplishments to burnish his own reputation, he would have kicked you out long ago. Influenced by these two groups, the mayor sees you as incompetent and pays you no mind.

"The harsh reality is that even though you helped save the town from an evil cult threat, you ended up dismissed and driven out. To the mayor, it was like casually discarding a piece of trash. The root cause is that you’ve followed the wrong people. They can’t see your valuable qualities, so your talents remain buried.

"But I see them. I can sense your pursuit of justice. I’m willing to believe in you and offer you all reasonable support. So, will you join me? I can give you a platform to achieve your potential. Or will you continue to let your days slip by, only to sigh with regret in your old age?"

As he spoke, Lance extended his hand to the sheriff.

It was true. In town, just as Lance had described, his adherence to justice and the law had made him an enemy to most. His fellow sheriffs rarely interacted with him; he was even ostracized. His only companion was his dog. Now, the Lord’s words gave him an unprecedented sense of validation.

"I’ll join!" The sheriff knelt on one knee, one hand raised high, the other resting on his dog’s head. His expression was solemn as he swore, "William pledges allegiance to My Lord!"

"WOOF!" The dog also seemed to sense the gravity of the moment. It sat upright beside its master, faced Lance, and barked softly, as if declaring its own allegiance.

"We’re all on the same side now; no need for such formalities. Get up, please." Lance quickly helped him to his feet. He had only intended to shake hands and hadn’t expected them to be so fond of such ceremonies.

"You won’t regret joining us. I’m Dismas. When we get back, I’ll buy you a drink." Dismas, who had been aloof earlier, suddenly became warm and enthusiastic.

"Welcome. You can call me Reynard." Reynard also nodded at him, acknowledging their new comrade.

Their reactions touched William, filling him with a sense of camaraderie he had never experienced before.

"I’m William, and this is Fergus."

They exchanged brief introductions, but Lance was eager to move on. "There will be plenty of time to get acquainted on the road. For now, help him pack whatever he needs to bring. We’ll leave together once you’re done. I’m going to meet with the farm owners."

After sending the men away, Lance turned back to the woman. He made her some grand promises, then instructed her on how to gather information and the secret signals for contacting the caravan.

"Here are one hundred copper coins. The next caravan will bring your allowance for the following month." Lance left the money with her.

Empty words were useless; only money could genuinely improve their living conditions, and Lance was never stingy about it. However, he didn’t fully trust this woman yet; she still needed observation. Besides, giving her too much money could be unsafe. A hundred copper coins would suffice.

By the time Lance returned to the caravan’s encampment, the Mayor was growing quite anxious. If the caravan hadn’t still been there, he might have thought Lance had fled. It had been difficult to find someone willing to take that grain shipment, and he certainly didn’t want to see the deal fall through.

"Young man, where have you been?" the Mayor asked.

"I heard there was something interesting on your back street, so I went to take a look," Lance replied, offering a casual excuse rather than provoking him.

"Ah, youth has its advantages! I don’t have that kind of energy anymore," the Mayor chuckled, teasing him lightly. But he was more concerned about another matter. "I’ve summoned everyone," he quickly reminded Lance. "Shall we go over now?"

"Let’s go," Lance agreed.

The banquet was held at the Mayor’s house. The lavish spread of food indicated he had spared no expense to secure this deal.

Lance didn’t have much to say. He hadn’t been idly chatting with the townspeople; he was crystal clear on the local grain prices. The prices he’d heard were retail prices for small quantities. Now, engaging in bulk trade, he was purchasing much larger amounts, meaning the price would naturally be lower. He directly pushed the acquisition price down.

Those farm owners complained bitterly, making it seem as if Lance were carving flesh from their bones, when in reality, they were just trying to squeeze out more profit. Lance paid no heed to their complaints. They didn’t have wages to pay; their grain production was essentially zero-cost. Furthermore, most townspeople had their own grain, some even selling it externally, so the local market couldn’t absorb the farm owners’ surplus. He now had them cornered: they couldn’t sell their stock, and it would just sit in their granaries and rot.

"You think you have it tough? Do you think it’s any easier for me?" Lance retorted. "Did you see those wagons of mine? They’re covered in sword and axe marks! We lost many horses and even entire wagons along the way. We don’t even know how many men we lost just to make it here alive.

"En route, we saw villages massacred by refugees—nothing but fields of unripe grain, with no one left to tend them. Don’t you understand? Grain isn’t worth much these days! How much do you think I can make from a single cartload? I chose your town as a stop precisely because I want to open up this new trade route. Otherwise, who do you think would willingly come to such a remote place, swarming with bandits?"