Chapter 309: Chapter 231: The Ancestor’s Conspiracy_1
Frenzied Wolf Assault!
Wang Cai leaped up, biting directly onto the Knight’s sword-wielding right hand. A SQUEAK of metal grinding against metal echoed as its sharp teeth punctured the iron armor, drawing blood.
If not for the bracers, the entire hand might have been bitten off.
The scent of fresh blood excited Wang Cai, and it frantically shook its head. The Knight tried to struggle free. However, already drained of significant strength, he could hardly counter the immense force. He was involuntarily swung around with the rhythm and thrown to the ground, his longsword clattering beside him.
Seizing the chance, Wang Cai released the Knight’s wrist and pounced on him. Its wolfish eyes locked onto his throat. Its palm-sized wolf paws struck the helmet, directly scratching several marks onto the metal surface as it seemingly tried to pry the helmet off.
Through the helmet, the Knight could see the massive beast salivating. The violent tremors transmitted directly to his head, causing dizziness and rendering him unable to resist, plunging him into despair...
"Come back," Lance said, watching Wang Cai’s clumsy attempts to remove the helmet with a slight headache. It doesn’t even know how to open a can. Looks like I’ll have to teach it.
Wang Cai, not losing control from its excitement, ran back to Lance’s side at the command, its expression one of accomplishment, as if awaiting a reward.
Lance raised his hand to pet its head, then pulled out a strip of jerky and passed it over.
Meanwhile, Reynard stopped toying with his opponent. He advanced, parried the other Knight’s longsword, then heavily smashed his own sword’s hilt onto the Knight’s head, stunning him and knocking him to the ground.
"Remove their armor and take them away. Tie them up and send them to the sanatorium," Lance waved his hand dismissively. Such matters were naturally handled by others.
Lance’s expression remained calm. These three fools had dared to attack his people and undermine his authority; they had to be severely punished.
Both were professionally trained Knights, too dangerous to leave on the farm. Coincidentally, Paracelsus had been requesting test subjects daily, and now they were delivered right to him.
Two strapping Knights. They’ll undoubtedly last a little longer in those experiments.
As expected, ordinary men drained of strength could hardly struggle. Moreover, when they heard "sanatorium," they assumed it was for their treatment, so they simply lay still and allowed themselves to be handled.
Lance’s gaze then fell on the fat man, who stood there stupefied. He apparently hadn’t fully processed the situation; no one had paid any mind to his earlier hysterics.
"Seize him and take him to the hall. I want to see who dares pose as an Heir," Lance commanded before turning away. "Withdraw!"
The soldiers, already irritated with the fat man, seized him. When he resisted, they took the opportunity to kick him hard in his flabby sides.
Before he could cry out, a punch landed—a clear lesson in what he should and shouldn’t say.
The fat man, unaccustomed to such treatment, immediately began to wail, engulfed by fists and kicks.
By the time he was brought to the hall, his face a mess of bruises, he finally seemed subdued.
"Speak," Lance began, his tone unhurried. "The clearer you are, the higher your chances of staying alive."
Reynard and the others were also curious about where this man, who dared to impersonate the Lord, had come from.
"I am an Imperial Noble! You can’t kill me..."
Lance listened with some weariness. "Dismas, teach him what he should be saying..."
"Do you want to keep that finger?" Dismas immediately drew a short sword and lightly trailed its cold blade across the man’s cheek, causing the fat man to shiver.
The fat man was no tough guy. The earlier beating had already overwhelmed him, and this new threat terrified him further. "Don’t! Please! I’ll talk..."
With that, like beans spilling from a bamboo tube, he poured out everything, revealing he had been brought here by a letter.
Lance didn’t interrupt. Instead, he became more convinced the man was telling the truth, as the process by which he’d obtained the letter was identical to his own.
Lance took the letter from him and opened it. Sure enough, the first line plunged him into a daze.
[Our family has fallen...]
But he quickly snapped out of it. After scanning the letter, he couldn’t help but internally criticize: That lazy dog, the Old Ancestor, always uses the same template.
"That so-called Butler you mentioned—was he bald, wearing glasses, about sixty or so, and looking like a Ghoul?"
Lance had roughly described the Butler, not expecting the fat man to confirm it so quickly.
"Yes, that’s him!" the fat man said furiously, cursing the Butler nonstop. "On our way here, he wrecked the carriage, abandoned me, and took all my money!"
So that explained why he had beaten up the soldiers who tried to stop him earlier. When individuals realize they have no power to resist, they often seek an outlet for their frustration—picking on the weak while fearing the strong.
But Lance paid no mind to the fat man’s words; he was pondering something else.
Hadn’t he killed the Butler and offered him as a sacrifice? Why would he reappear now?
Lance looked at Dismas and the others; he could see the same confusion in their eyes.
The only explanation was that the Butler was an incarnation of the Old Ancestor, and the Old Ancestor had mastered cloning technology. For the Old Ancestor, who wielded Supernatural Power over flesh and blood, achieving this wouldn’t have been difficult. It was even hinted at in the game.
Each step forward the Old Ancestor took was a new pressure on him, but Lance could still bear it. Right now, understanding why this fat man had arrived at this particular time was more important.
"Continue," Lance urged. "I want to know everything."
Lance continued his probing, collecting more information from the fat man’s words.
He was also beginning to piece together the fat man’s circumstances...