Chapter 84: Waving the Banner
There appeared figures on the wooden wall of the manor, their clothes stained with blood.
Their eyes held both terror and cruelty, and on the fortifications built by the commoners, the man who had spoken with George that day stood forward.
He raised the banner high in his hand, pointing toward the manor.
"Everyone, do you see that manor?"
"That manor is occupied by the sinner Darren."
"That’s where our plundered food is, where our loved ones are."
"He is brutal, more evil than the sinful Lancay Family."
"He enslaves us—though food piles in the warehouse, he still makes us endure hunger and toil here. He has killed those in the manor who opposed him, and he will kill us."
With his shout, some people crawled up from behind the fortifications, clutching farming tools or stout wooden clubs.
"As the scriptures say, we must distinguish between good deeds and evil deeds."
"We shall follow the Lord’s teachings, do acts of kindness, and in the face of sin…"
"We must also follow the Lord’s teaching and cleanse sin from the world!"
"And, everyone, this manor—laden with a century of the Lancay Family’s sins, the manor hiding the sinner Darren—is right before us."
"Now is the time! The merciful Lord’s gaze is upon us."
"As the Lord said, those who drive out sin shall receive His protection!"
"Everyone! We should storm the manor and purify it of sin."
"Only then can we usher in a world full of mercy and goodness."
"There, under the Lord’s watch, we need not fear sin’s return."
"There, we will not hunger, we will not suffer illness, we will live in eternal happiness."
His voice sounded like a rebuke to sin, a roar of anger.
His voice was hoarse, and his words seemed to strike deep into the hearts of these commoners, igniting a blaze within them; their eyes burned like flames.
"Everyone! Forward—before us is sin destined for purification, and wheat and bread to fill our bellies."
That final sentence of his seemed to kindle that blaze into a roaring fire.
The emaciated commoners let out a cry of rage, brandishing their farming tools as they charged chaotically toward the manor.
George felt the earth tremble beneath their roar.
The sanctuary knights grew tense—they were hungry and judged that merely defending, they couldn’t stand firm against this frenzied crowd.
Their gazes turned toward George.
But George only watched the man waving the banner.
It was as if wind stirred, billowing the other’s black robe, revealing his gaunt body and withered legs.
Yet despite this, he stood firmly on the fortification, waving the banner.
His eyes remained bright, almost piercing even in daylight.
George withdrew his gaze and shook his head at the sanctuary knights, urging them to hold the cross together.
Thus, the sanctuary knights merely watched warily as these commoners ignored the cross in the corner and used their flesh and blood to charge at the manor.
"Quick, quick—lift your spears and stab them to death!"
"Archers, climb the walls—shoot that one with the banner!"
Darren’s voice, filled with fury, rang out within the manor.
There was no fear in his voice, only anger.
Of course he felt no fear—this was a sturdy manor. Even after clearing, there were still over thirty strong men inside.
And compared to the commoners with only farming tools and wooden clubs, they were armed with spears, shields, and bows.
The manor’s wooden walls had been reinforced after Darren discovered a rebellion within.
It was just a peasant revolt—though he had heard of such since birth, they were always small, only a dozen or so.
But the family had trained him in how to deal with peasant uprisings.
These commoners—just kill the leader, and once their morale collapsed, the rest would kneel before their masters and beg forgiveness.
Darren could naturally see that the one holding the banner was the leader.
The bow and arrow were tightly controlled items, so their archers had virtually no training.
Anyone who could pull back a bow was considered an archer.
And the bows in this manor were just short bows made by hunters.
Therefore, the arrows they shot landed far from the banner-bearer.
"Look, everyone, the Lord protects me, so I fear no arrows." The man even used this to boost morale.
His voice grated on Darren’s ears.
"That hateful bastard." Darren ground his teeth, realizing he’d done something foolish.
Moreover...
Darren glanced at George and the others under the cross, his gaze filled with malice.
The bloody cross on the flag was glaringly vivid.
Clearly, the rebellion was launched in the name of the Church and the Lord.
Darren thought that the uprising in the manor two days ago was also caused by their contamination by Church influence.
"So we should slaughter all those church folk and replace them with new clerics." He muttered foully under his breath.
"Even this time, with the lord gone and no direct heirs in the territory, that damned cleric wasn’t allowed to oversee the region."
"Even if he is the lord’s illegitimate son, he’s absolutely an unloved one."
"Once he’s killed, we just toss a couple of minor families at the lord to vent his wrath, and it’s done."
"Those old fools, so timid— they even hide when they kill a few people in York."
Having taken over the Lancay Family’s manor, he’d already effectively removed himself and his bloodline from the minor nobility.
But although he was muttering those insults, seeing George and the others not move relieved him.
He had heard of George’s combat prowess—enough to rival knights.
And he knew those sanctuary knights were elite warriors.
If they actually joined the defense of the manor, he truly couldn’t hold.
Yet from their demeanor, they seemed unwilling to join.
That was for the best.
Once these lowlifes were killed... Darren grinned, then composed his expression and loudly yelled, "Stop shooting arrows, you idiots!"
"Pick up your spears and push them down for me!"
Spears pierced flesh and blood dripped as the attacking commoners collapsed against the wooden wall, blood seeping through.
They used their last strength to grip the spears, their faces unknowing of pain—eyes wide, grinning madly.
They didn’t have great strength, but through this method they could wear their opponents down.
Their mania gradually instilled fear in the strong men.
They weren’t professional warriors, mere ordinary villagers, albeit strong ones.
"Idiots! Don’t let them drag you down—do you want to be torn apart and become their supper?!" Darren grabbed someone nearly pulled down and cursed.
"Are you scared now?" he glared at the terror on their faces.
"Hahaha—when your spear pierced them, were you not afraid?"
"When you killed those boys, were you not afraid?"
"When you defiled those women, were you not afraid?"
"Now, facing this garbage, you’re scared?"
"Think about it—when they break into the manor and see what’s inside, can you still live?"
Darren’s voice was so loud that those on the wall could hear it, and those crashing into the wall below could too.
And so both sides went mad.
The men on the wall had terror and brutality in their eyes; they brandished spears and shields.
The attackers at the foot of the wall had madness and rage in theirs.
They knew nothing of the art of war; they simply used their bodies to batter the wall, grasp spears embedded in flesh, attempting to pull the defenders down.