Chapter 119 : You Will Live On with the Children
Chapter 119: You Will Live On with the Children.
Kingdom of Paria
Haparos.
In a nameless village—right after the busy farming season—most of the able-bodied men had gone to work in the manors of the nearby Noble Lords to earn a few meager grains.
The village was left with the elderly, women, and children, who worked alongside the remaining blacksmiths and carpenters, doing whatever tasks they could manage so that their village could complete the assignments handed down by the Nobles.
Every Parian Noble was a cavalry commander, and their demand for armor was enormous.
The younger children went out to gather firewood and twigs, while the older ones stayed home to cook, wash, and care for their younger siblings.
“Sigh… Looks like there’ll be a war soon.” One old man said as he carried coal fragments and cinders.
“Don’t talk nonsense. What war? We haven’t fought one in years.” Another old man, struggling to shovel fuel into the furnace, retorted as he caught his breath.
“Who knows? The wars between our kingdom and the neighboring ones never really stopped. Haven’t you noticed? It’s been ages since we last saw any passing merchant caravans.”
“Who cares? I’ve got no money anyway. Whether they come or not, I’m not buying. Worst case, we’ll just buy a bit of emergency grain from the Lord.”
“I say you’re just too timid.”
“Rubbish! When I was young, I went to war and looted alongside the Lord himself. Have you ever done that?”
“Tch, then why are you still here working with us now? That’s ancient history. And it’s not like you were the only one who went to war—Old York’s son is in the Lord’s cavalry team, isn’t he?”
“Yeah, last time he came home on leave, he was riding a strong horse and brought back quite a bit of money and goods. Old York was so pleased. If his boy becomes an officer someday, he’ll get to marry a Noble’s daughter, and we’ll have to start calling him Lord York!”
“Being a mercenary isn’t bad either—pays even better. Didn’t Old Lys use to be one when he was young? Look at him now, he still hasn’t spent all the money he made.”
The half-naked young men nearby, sweating as they worked, listened with fascination. To them, the world beyond the village brimmed with wealth and opportunity—a chance to rise above their miserable, toiling lives.
If they could somehow be chosen by a Lord to join the cavalry, their families could escape this bitter poverty. No longer would they have to drown their starving younger siblings when there wasn’t enough food.
As dusk approached, the villagers were finally ordered to stop working and trudged home, exhausted and hungry.
Little John scratched his messy blond hair and slung his ragged cloth shirt over his shoulder, walking weakly home.
His family’s situation was dire. After paying taxes, their harvests were never enough to feed everyone.
They had been forced to borrow grain from the Manor Lord year after year, until now their debt had grown to a terrifying amount. If this year’s harvest wasn’t bountiful, the whole family would lose their means to survive.
And if that time came, they would become serfs… He didn’t want that.
When he got home, his mother had already prepared dinner—wild vegetable soup and a few pieces of black bread. His younger sisters sat obediently at the table, waiting for him and their father.
After a while, Old John came back covered in dust, his face full of fatigue. His job was harder—he carried heavy ingots and other metal goods.
The family ate silently. Little John resisted the urge to finish his bread and pushed half of it to his sister, then gathered his courage and said,
“Dad, Mom, I want to go be a mercenary.”
Old John scolded sharply, “What nonsense! How old are you? Can you even lift a weapon? Do you know how heavy a sword is? Do you even know the way outside the village? You haven’t even killed a chicken, and you think you can kill people?”
John’s mother, who had been hesitating to speak, finally said, “You’re still a child. Don’t listen to those old men’s tall tales. Back then, so many left, but only Lys came back alive—do you understand?”
John froze, struck silent by their questions. He truly didn’t know what to do—only that mercenaries earned a lot of money...
“But what about our money for next year?”
His parents’ faces changed at his words, weighed down by the grim reality of their situation.
John’s father stood up. John instinctively raised his arms to shield himself, but the usual storm of paternal “discipline” never came.
Instead, his father walked out to the backyard near the outhouse and dug for a long while before returning with a half-rotten wooden box.
Inside was a rust-covered iron axe spearhead.
“This… I found this years ago when the Lord seized a blacksmith’s shop. Never dared to sell it, so I hid it here. Sharpen it a bit, and it’ll serve you well.”
“It’s the only sharp thing our family owns...”
“You…”
John’s mother wanted to protest, but his father raised a hand to stop her. “There’s no choice. Let him try. Maybe he’ll succeed…”
“This spearhead fits onto a long pole. If you ever face an enemy, just thrust—safer that way…”
It sounded like he was comforting his son—or maybe himself.
That night, the village lay silent. The door of John’s house creaked open as he slipped out into the darkness.
Since the local Lord only oversaw material production and had no need to conscript soldiers, he had restricted travel to keep villagers from leaving. That was exactly why John wanted to escape.
If he could reach another place, he might find a Lord willing to hire him.
Far from the village, John’s father finally stopped. He placed a hand on the boy’s head and said, “No matter what happens by year’s end—you must come back alive.”
John nodded firmly. “I’ll make our family rich, just wait!”
Carrying his small bundle, he walked through the vast, dim wilderness. Insects and birds called from the trees and underbrush.
Clutching the axe spearhead to his chest, he planned: once he reached a town, he’d find a blacksmith to sharpen it and buy a shaft. Then he could join as a mercenary, fight in the war, and send money home. His sisters had never owned any jewelry like other girls…
He didn’t notice the silence creeping in—the insects and birds gone quiet. Red-glowing eyes watched him from the dark.
At midnight, Old John tossed and turned in bed, while John’s mother sobbed softly, her back to him.
He felt guilt—and helplessness—for sending his son to war.
He knew well what their yearly income amounted to. Without extra earnings, their only fate was to sell themselves as serfs. If so, better to take one desperate gamble.
“Sigh…”
Just as he sighed, a commotion erupted outside. He thought it was his imagination until—
Bang!
He bolted upright, rushed to the door, and peered through the cracks. Firelight flickered rapidly toward his end of the village.
John’s mother sat up. “What’s happening outside?”
Bang!
This time, the sound was closer, waking the two little ones, who began to cry.
From the neighbor’s yard came the sound of doors being kicked open, followed by screams, cries for help, and wails.
Old John’s dark face turned pale. In the moonlight, he could see the shapes—huge wolf heads illuminated by the fire.
He spun around, rushed to his daughters, and with one punch each, knocked them unconscious. Then he lifted the trapdoor to the cellar and said to his stunned wife, “Quick! Take them down there.”
She obeyed numbly, clutching their elder daughter as Old John carried the younger. Once she descended, he handed the child down and closed the lid.
“Why aren’t you coming?”
Her panicked voice rose from below.
Old John exhaled. “If even one of you survives, it’s enough. No matter what you hear—don’t make a sound!”
He overturned the bedding and scattered the soft straw, covering the cellar door with a thick layer.
Then he smashed the night pot above it, letting its foul yellow-white filth seep into the straw, filling the room with a choking stench.
Thud!
The fence outside splintered as something kicked it down. Old John gripped a wooden stick and hid behind the door, waiting for the final moment.
“Tessa, you’ll live on with the children.”