Chapter 310: Chapter 231: The Ancestor’s Conspiracy_2
He was indeed from the Nobility; his father was a Baron who had been defeated in a political struggle but had astutely assessed the situation and switched allegiances, thereby acquiring a significant local official position.
However, nobility had become merely a title, no longer entailing actual territory. Under such circumstances, the once arrogant and overbearing teenager suddenly lost everything and fell under strict control.
In fact, he had an older brother, so he had never been trained as the Heir. However, an unexpected struggle led to the death of the legitimate eldest son, and the consequences of his previous indulgent upbringing soon became apparent.
His father, at least, still possessed some capacity as a noble representative, while he was simply useless, utterly incapable of protecting the family’s remaining assets. Everyone knew that once his father died, he would lose everything.
Even though his father had switched sides quickly, a loser remained a loser. The redistribution of those resources had displeased some of the new nobles, and countless people coveted his father’s position.
Under immense pressure, he simply gave up. His father, also aware of this son’s incompetence, let him indulge in leisure, much like fattening a pig while waiting to raise the next generation of grandchildren.
Being looked down upon by others was one thing, but even his own father’s contempt twisted his psyche; madness had long festered in his heart. He’d never had a real opportunity until a letter arrived and changed his fate.
His simpleton mind overloaded. Under the pretext of going out for amusement, he deceived his father and even coaxed the two Guard Knights assigned by his father to protect him into coming here to inherit the territory.
"So you received the letter seven days ago?"
"I was truly tricked by that guy! Let me go, and my father will give you a sum of money," the fatty pleaded.
After receiving an affirmative answer, Lance paid no mind to his subsequent words, instead falling into deep thought.
Seven days ago, he mused, wasn’t that when I discovered the fungal parasites and organized a team to enter the wilderness? Could it be that the Ancestor thought the Witch could kill me, and that the Parasite Army created by witchcraft would cripple the town, reducing the developing Hamlet back to the state it was in when I first took over? Thinking about it, that really seems to be the case. After all, my arrival coincided with bandits ravaging the town, leaving behind a mess. So the Ancestor found the next Heir ahead of time, intending a seamless transition? But unfortunately for the Ancestor, I, Lance, am not like those other worthless Heirs. I withstood the pressure. Instead, the Witch died, the parasites were exterminated, and this series of events actually helped me clear the wilderness.
Lance could probably guess that the Butler knew nothing of what had happened here. The Butler had likely been driving along, singing a song, only to discover Hamlet was unharmed, and then hastily abandoned the fatty and his two guards to flee.
Hilarious, Lance thought. So the Ancestor also jumped the gun celebrating...
Having sorted through the events, Lance understood something, and a strange smile appeared on his face.
The others didn’t understand why Lance was smiling, but he didn’t mind sharing the amusement with them.
"It’s simple: this is a conspiracy, a plot woven by the Ascension Sect. They believed they could kill me, destroy the town, and revert this place to how it was when we first arrived. And this fellow," Lance gestured towards the fatty, "was the one they chose to replace me. His purpose was to initiate even more killings under his name, thereby concealing the Ascension Sect’s goals and providing more power to Their deity."
Lance’s open declaration brought Reynard and the others back to the scene they had first witnessed upon entering Hamlet, and their expressions turned solemn.
"There aren’t two suns in the sky! In my heart, Hamlet has only one Lord!" Reynard declared fiercely.
"If those Ascension Sect scum dare to come here, watch me send them flying with a single shot!" Dismas added, his hand near his firearm.
"These Ascension Cultists are truly lawless!" Balistan growled.
Most of this went over the fatty’s head, but while stupid, he wasn’t an imbecile. He could vaguely sense he’d been used and dragged into something serious.
Only now did he realize that there’s no such thing as a free lunch in this world.
"Alright, the Ascension Sect’s conspiracy has become a joke thanks to our efforts. Otherwise, they wouldn’t have abandoned him and fled," Lance said, waving his hand dismissively. He then turned his gaze to the fatty, adding, "This matter isn’t so simple. What I just described is merely the most superficial layer of the Ascension Sect’s plot. There’s an even bigger problem hidden with him."
Everyone’s attention, initially on the Ascension Sect, shifted to the fatty upon hearing their Lord’s words.
"I’m not... I didn’t..."
The fatty, who had thought he’d escaped disaster, froze under their sudden scrutiny, completely bewildered. "I didn’t do anything!" he blurted out.
The family had countless scattered Heirs, so why him? Lance pondered. He was well aware that the Ancestor’s selection of the fatty was not random but part of a specific plan.
It was because he was sufficiently useless! A failure despised by everyone, even given up on by his own father.
More importantly, time had proven him to be utterly devoid of ability, with no chance whatsoever of turning his fortunes around.
Making him the Lord of Hamlet would allow for easy control, thereby shielding the Ancestor’s existence.
The Ancestor is afraid, too,
Lance realized. That’s why he chose such a waste of space—and the reason for that fear ultimately stems from me. He probably never anticipated that the seemingly docile and easily controlled feeble Scholar he randomly picked would be so ruthless, seizing control of Hamlet with such firm methods in a short time and changing its decadent state. Just imagining it, I can almost see the Ancestor slamming the table in frustration, as if he’d eaten shit. However, to see only this far would be to underestimate that old fox, the Ancestor.Compared to being stupid, the fatty carried a more significant label: he was, indeed, from the Nobility.
Moreover, his background was rather awkward. His father was wealthy and wielded some power, but he lacked deep roots. He was, to some extent, like a desperate man with nothing left to lose, fearing no one if pushed to the brink.
If his father learned that his son, his last Heir, had met with disaster here, he would likely go mad, pouring all his resources into causing trouble for Lance.
The accumulated wealth of an Imperial Noble, even a Baron, was not to be underestimated. With enough Gold Coins, countless people could be hired to come to Hamlet and make trouble.
The Ancestor’s intention was clear; it was an open plot.
Either the fatty would replace Lance as the new Lord of Hamlet—in which case his father would likely support him with all his might, bringing a continuous supply of "corpses" to nourish the Ancestor—or he would fail to become Lord. In that scenario, Lance would undoubtedly take the blame, and Hamlet would face war, which would also result in deaths.
Lance had no intention of hiding this and directly explained the situation to them.
"So, we let him go back?" Dismas frowned. He would rather put a bullet in him, but killing him would undoubtedly cause significant trouble.
"Yes, let me leave! I’ll never come back here again!" the fatty exclaimed, nodding eagerly. Though he hadn’t understood much of their conversation, he understood that sentence perfectly.
"Sometimes, the dead are more useful than the living," Lance said with a smirk, his gaze on the fatty tinged with amusement. "If I’m not mistaken, countless Ascension Cultists are waiting outside. Do you really think the three of them, with their strength, could make it out of Hamlet alive?"
"Then, should we escort him out?" Balistan asked tentatively.
"Yes, yes, yes! Send me home! I’ll give you a lot of money!" the fatty desperately tried to persuade them, but no one paid his opinion any mind.
"It’s no use," Lance said, shaking his head helplessly as he briefly analyzed the current situation.
"If we send too few people, we can’t protect him. If we send too many, the town’s defenses will be vulnerable. Moreover, I’m certain those Heretical Witches could easily deceive your escort and take his life. Unless I personally escort him back—which is obviously what they want. The moment I leave, they will attack and slaughter Hamlet’s residents."
Before, when Hamlet hadn’t developed much, he could still deceive the Ancestor and venture out for a while. Now, if he dared to leave for too long, disaster would surely strike the town.
One should never underestimate the Ancestor; the man was devoid of humanity. He would kill anyone to execute his plans.
Everyone understood the implications of Lance’s words. Even the fatty stopped begging to leave.
"So, we have no other choice?" Reynard could no longer remain silent.