Chapter 357: Our Family Has Fallen

As the first ray of morning light pierced through the crevices between strange rocks and twisted trees to stab into his eyes, Field finally realized he could not catch up with Dominic.

The courage born of a momentary impulse had cooled in the night faster than hot soup splashed onto snow; after narrowly escaping fate in the form of broken bones or a fatal fall, he had no choice but to slow down.

Perhaps only someone mad enough to the core would dare gallop on horseback through mountain roads in the dead of night.

Ahead, a series of hoofprints deeply embedded in the mud clearly pointed the way, proving the horse had maintained an unbelievably high speed, barely slowing even through sharp, tricky bends, as if it had traversed this route countless times and knew every inch by heart.

If there was anything worse than a madman, it was a madman who still retained normal faculties.

He had to be grateful he had taken Dominic's sword beforehand; otherwise, he would now be facing an armed madman.

Considering both of their weapon experience was limited to training, he had no confidence in winning.

Even facing an unarmed Dominic, he hadn't figured out how to effectively control the other man. Add the constraint of causing no significant injury, and the task became even harder, the possibility so low it bordered on despair.

But turning back was absolutely not an option.

Setting aside the bond of years of acquaintance, having left his post without authorization and lost a comrade, he didn't know how to face his colleagues and superiors; on a larger scale, it would bring shame to the academy he attended and to the mentor who recommended him for his post.

To spend the rest of his life in decay under the weight of guilt and the strange looks of others, unable to return to the embrace of the Heavenly Father after death—just imagining that scene made Field feel that dying in the line of duty while rescuing a brother of the Order would count as a good ending.

Besides, the priest had informed him before departure that ahead lay a knightly fiefdom with which they had occasional dealings, a family that had worshipped the Heavenly Father for generations, and they should be able to request a detachment of men to help... right?

With this thought in mind, he navigated another sharp turn, and the tree barrier grew sparse.

A rare gentle slope stretched along the valley, like moss trampled between the boots of a stone giant, struggling to survive. The coldest, darkest part of the night had not yet been dispelled, lingering here.

A village lay silent upon it, its low, slanted houses covered in black water stains left by years of dampness, crowded on the higher ground, leaving the land near the river for crops as much as possible.

No church symbols were visible, but a semi-fortified building, plastered against the mountainside and nearly twice as high as the other roofs, could be seen, guarding the highest point at the narrowest part of the valley and overlooking the entire settlement.

Were it not for a few scattered figures, Field might have thought he faced a deep-mountain graveyard, burying remains that were unblessed and cast out by the world.

The residents up early to work possessed a coldness matching their environment; their eyes held little curiosity for outsiders, only casting a desolate gaze like dew-laden spiderwebs, quickly vanishing into the morning mist, making it impossible even to confirm if they were still looking at him.

Field lost the desire to speak, spurred his horse to quickly cross the only stone-paved road in the village, and knocked on the great door of that building.

Then came a wait so long it became uneasy, until he began to wonder if he should knock a third time or ask if the master of the house happened to be out, when the door slowly yielded a gap just wide enough for a single person to pass.

A youth dressed in servant's clothes opened the door, soft new whiskers on his lips still dusted with breadcrumbs.

The monk was led to the dining table, where an old man and a middle-aged man, similar in features to the youth, gestured for him to sit, continuing silently to saw through the bread crusts with copper knives, producing a monotonous sound like wood shavings.

The scene left one momentarily unsure whether it was a hint of unwelcomeness or the etiquette of some old-fashioned family forbidding conversation during meals.

However, he was soon served the same food, so it must have been the latter.

The food on the plate did not look very healthy; under Kraft's guidance, even the monastery might be categorized as harmful. The side dish was a sauce made of green crumbs, cheese, and oil.

Despite a night of travel, Field lost his appetite after a polite attempt, avoiding that lump of sauce with its strange color and taste, and swallowed a small piece of bread moistened with saliva.

The few people at the table finished their meal silently and quickly; seeing the old man nod, the middle-aged man on the left squeezed out a greeting as dry and hard to swallow as the food from between his beard:

"Greetings, we rarely have guests here."

His hands lay properly on the table; the thick, deformed knuckles showed training sufficient to the point of excess. The edges of his nails were worn and cracked, the gaps gray-black, marks left recently.

Field's peripheral vision swept around the three of them, guessing their relationship, unable to judge if they were three generations or an aging old knight and his two sons, finally settling on a more conservative form of address.

"May the Lord's grace be ever with you and your lands, honorable sir. I am a monk of the Knights Hospitaller, guided by the Lord to your door, and I pray you forgive my bold intrusion."

The old man showed no displeasure on his face; the monk felt slightly relieved, meeting his gaze generously, while in truth observing the coat of arms on the tapestry behind the main seat.

Such dyed and woven textiles were mostly expensive and could not be cleaned by conventional methods; even with careful maintenance, it was easy to see a long history of use from the unavoidable aging and grime.

On a two-part emblem with a red-and-white or red-and-silver background, a sword and a spear with tips pointing downward were embroidered in gold thread, the two weapons crossed, piercing a wild beast with a gaping maw, fangs, and scaled armor behind them.

The exquisite and flamboyant pattern made Field lose focus for a moment, causing him to forget to conceal the surprise that inadvertently slipped out.

He was a man of some worldly experience; even in Dunling, family crests designed with such splendor and boldness were rare, and this one lacked the superfluous patterns formed by continuous branching, suggesting a close relationship with the source family.

Immediately, he realized his rudeness, quickly shifting his attention back to the table, praying he had not been noticed.

"With no other recourse, I heard of a family here that has worshipped the Lord devoutly for generations, so I followed the Lord's guidance to your door to beg for your help."

To be frank, holding too much hope was unlikely. A family guarding such a remote village clearly would not have surplus manpower or wealth to squander; from the moment he entered until now, not even a single servant had been seen.

But this manor... no, it should be called a small fortress, was far more reliable than Baron Priere's residence; the corresponding engineering effort was not small, and it did not quite match the apparent economic status. Perhaps they possessed a vast ancestral inheritance and simply lived a plain lifestyle?

"If the Lord performs His will through my hand, it is the honor of my family; please state your needs directly." The old man paused, turning his head to look at the tapestry behind him. "Though we no longer possess the glory of the past, and even our ancestors' names are unknown to later generations, the Heavenly Father still remembers the oath we made before His altar."

"Your kindness and generosity are enough to move the Heavenly Father." The matter was proceeding so surprisingly smoothly that Field was almost moved to tears; he hurriedly explained the situation. "It is like this: a friend of mine fell into madness a few days ago for some reason and rode into the mountains. I hope to find helpers familiar with the local conditions to bring him back together."

The hand stroking the old man's beard stopped; he looked seriously at the middle-aged man and said, "Benny, take Lucian with you and go with this monk. Quickly, set out now."

The middle-aged man, called Benny, showed no dissatisfaction with the abrupt request, immediately agreed, and rose from the table.

"Please come with me; Father is right, we must hurry."

(End of this chapter)