Since ancient times, once humans achieve a certain level of societal development, they tend to fear martial prowess. However, whenever the need arises, the admiration that arises can often overpower that fear with overwhelming intensity.
Due to geographic factors, the manor had remained relatively peaceful, even avoiding personal disputes thanks to the wise management of the local headman. Despite this, there was still a latent need for martial skills, though most viewed it as something they’d rather not get involved in.
This wasn’t because the people of the manor lived completely tranquil lives. Many of the original settlers had come to these lands seeking refuge from war and plunder, creating an environment where violence was physiologically difficult to accept.
Still, certain precautions were in place. The self-defense corps members were individuals who held the rank of squad leader in Marsheim — equivalent to leading a group of ten in military terms. The two assistants were no strangers to combat either, having taken on roles of practical service.
With a total of fifteen members, the self-defense group might have seemed rather small for their scale when led by experienced military personnel, but one must consider the population. The majority were children who hadn’t yet reached adulthood. Considering the first-generation settlers were reaching an age where labor had started to become difficult, the current size could almost be considered justified as a compromise.
Including those part-time members who served with the aim of tax reduction, the manor’s self-defense force numbered only thirty-two. In such a place, where those with economic acumen were praised, martial experts were merely considered tolerable figures, perhaps liked by children enraptured by tales of adventure, but not much more.
And yet, today these warriors were receiving admiration tinged with radiant awe.
To an estate now quaking with fear of imminent attack, the well-trained, fully-armed adventurers were nothing short of dazzling heroes.
While many of the Sword Friends Association were beginners as adventurers, they were seasoned as warriors, having honed their skills to a solid foundation. Even if some were complete novices, under the guidance of seasoned veterans and through hard training in the field, they could master enough practical swordsmanship to rival minor veterans.
The oppressive aura that only those skilled in the art of killing could project was palpable. The fierce atmosphere that opened pores and caused sweat to bead was a symbol that, as ‘shields,’ these adventurers were willing to stand against violence. Such a presence was immensely reassuring to the populace.
Further, these warriors, possessing martial pride, were fully equipped.
Though the equipment salvaged from bandits and plunderers didn’t necessarily qualify as high-quality, they had been skillfully repaired by the hands of the more dexterous among the settlers, making them serviceable.
The battered boiled leather, transformed from dire necessity, shone as if refined armor, and the mass-produced blades, once dull from constant use, now glinted like legendary swords capable of overcoming all calamities.
Marching forward with their honed physique, their shoulders cutting through the wind, the adventurers exuded confidence as their martial cries reverberated, scattering through the manor. At the center stood an adventurer whose face bore a scar that ran from his cheek, across his lips, and down to his jaw, a sight that in calmer times might have evoked fear rather than admiration.
Carrying a simple spear on one shoulder and a sword at his side, his figure was akin to a radiant hero of epic tales, a noble sovereign who commanded awe. As he issued orders, it filled all who saw him with a sense of divine providence — assurance that they would be saved.
Under his leadership, the adventurers took to their positions. Those who needed rest found makeshift quarters in a corner of the meeting hall, where they partook of the “sleeping draught” administered by the sorcerer, understanding the necessity for their roles in the coming days. As a group, they had learned to make rational adjustments, allowing for necessary compromises.
At the same moment the adventurers spread out to their stations, from the headman’s residence emerged a man with golden hair.
With his long mane dancing in the wind and his hand resting on the hilt of the sword partially revealed beneath his cloak, his demeanor was poetry in motion, a commanding figure exuding confidence and assurance.
With no words spoken but a serene smile, the very air conveyed his power and skill.
“To all of you, do not panic. We are here to protect you. We have come to keep you safe.”
For the farmers gathered in the square, who were unable to act due to anxiety, these words penetrated deeply. Even though nothing had yet begun to transpire, these simple words filled them with a sense of resolution and relief.
“And to fulfill this purpose, we may require your help. What is most important is the protection of everyday life. Let us return to our duties. At this crucial time, we must ensure the blessings of the God of Fertility this autumn.”
The collective action by the villagers was not solely because they’d been instructed to gather as a group to avoid easy prey. Even so, it was unlikely they’d have abandoned their important fields willingly.
Nevertheless, they obeyed, not because they believed compliance was the best course, but out of genuine fear of separation.
Not knowing when they might be attacked or from where an arrow might fly, it was difficult to focus on their work.
The sharpness of fear intensifies in relation to how peaceful a life one has previously lived. For these people, whose manor had peacefully developed for two and a half decades, the looming threat of bandit attacks weighed heavily.
Tangled anxieties began to dissipate in the wind that played with the golden hair of their leader.
Even if this sense of calm was founded on the same fragile belief in their supposed security as before, the villagers acted on it, confidently returning to their roles — tillers to their land, children to assist their fathers, and craftsmen to their daily tasks.
Thus, seeing the villagers return to their work, the adventurers reaffirmed their resolve. Their task was to solidify this seemingly intangible assurance…
It was work they understood well.
【Tips】
When establishing a new manor, it’s common to recruit outstanding individuals from among soldiers, mercenaries, and adventurers, but ultimately, defense preparations depend on policy decisions by the deputy or lord.
A five-to-one ratio of attackers to defenders is often cited as a rule in warfare.
That, however, applies to actual war—not mere plundering.
“Hmm, it’s a pity in so many ways.”
The manor we were invited to assist clearly assembled people with excellent skills to construct it. Just from looking at the structure, it’s evident it was made by people who truly knew what they were doing.
Positioned in the plains of Marsheim, it’s ideally located for irrigation with streams for agriculture while also having northern and western forests, which not only serve as forestry resources but also shield the manor from harsh northern winds.
The layout is commendable too. Central facilities like the assembly hall and the open square are built in such a way that with slight strategic placement of obstacles, they would easily serve a fortified position against hostile forces. These designs make it both easier to defend and harder to attack if mercenaries or bandits arrive.
Windows function as arrow slits, and doors and back entrances are strategically placed behind makeshift barricades. Basement windows are designed narrow enough that only few could pass through.
It’s likely the father gathered many experts to carefully design it as a grand stage for his son.
However, the problem lies in the lack of preparation to fully utilize these features.
This can’t be helped. The manor is only three days away from the province capital, and reachable from a mid-sized city within a day’s walk, so such situations weren’t typically anticipated.
It’s like keeping snow chains in a region where it never snows. While prepared for emergencies, you might not know how to use them if necessary, staring at a faded instruction manual in panic.
Even a manor built for such eventualities requires individuals with a war-ready mindset to fully utilize its defenses.
A village watchman merely hanging a handgun won’t stand up against terrorists. What’s needed are warriors who are determined to die with the manor as their final stand.
Such exercises should happen twice or thrice annually, if possible, in surprise drills.
In my hometown, we regularly performed these drills. The alarm would sound, and all moved to the center of the manor. Those who could fight would quickly arm themselves and take up positions, while others would bring out portable barriers to fortify defenses. Sometimes these drills happened in the dead of night, leading to chaotic responses, followed by severe scolding by Lord Lambert for our poor performance.
With the possibility of everyone’s death, these drills shouldn’t have been neglected even here for the sake of peace.
There’s no point in regretting what wasn’t done; now is the time to do what can be done, and there were still actions possible.
First, to reinforce immediate defenses, we gained access to the material warehouse.
We set up barricades that could block roads and created spiked hurdles to prevent intrusion by horses, positioning them at strategic points for defending the citadel. The preliminary drafts were being finished by a seasoned craftsman, who, though from the second generation of settlers, possessed excellent skills. By mobilizing the more dexterous of the manor folk, we could complete the work within three or four days.
The next step was to build a surveillance network, for which I had something prepared.
Among the cargos transported by the Sword Friends Association’s carriage was a set of “wooden rattles” I had prepared as a side project.
Wooden rattles are a primitive form of alarm system — a type of crude instrument with a wooden board bearing movable wooden strips. Originally designed as bird scarers to keep harmful birds away from farmland, these devices emit sound when the wooden strips are shaken upon encountering an impact.
By fine-tuning them, ensuring they don’t rattle due to wind alone, and stringing them at shin-level along cords laid out, these primitive alarms would function without the need for power or fuel.
Though structurally simple and mass-producible at minimal cost, they could still be effective when used properly. Thinking they could form part of a revised security protocol, I anticipated selling this idea when hired.
This wasn’t my original creation, and though such mechanisms were used in the west, they remained absent in many areas. In a world without crowd-sourced knowledge, no matter how basic a technology is, it needs an idea to materialize. And when it fits the situation, even the simplest trap can work wonders.
Produced with virtually no costs — the materials salvaged from broken furniture in the dumpsters, the labor being solely me working my craft at maximum potential — selling these at one libra each, with a fifty libra premium for the technique, meant the manor lord didn’t even negotiate.
I anticipated he might counteroffer and sell them cheaper, but with the situation escalating quicker than expected, I had neglected to adjust prices in my rush.
Well, am I being too greedy? The rates seem reasonable enough not to make enemies. Considering Margit has been helping me with threads, it’s almost a bargain, isn’t it?
Maintaining the grin on my face muscles to hide my anxiety, I took advantage of the permission to use extra hands provided by Lord Wolbuters, delegating them to assist with the tasks.
The “Field Camp Construction” skill I acquired last year through my earnings at the “Glowing Artifact Shop” turned out to be quite handy and surprisingly practical for adventurers. More romantic than useful at first glance, it shone brightly during missions like this.
Skills previously taken for camping were insufficient to fortify such robust defenses, and this knowledge of building effective defensive structures efficiently was invaluable for guard work. From setting up effective encampment arrangements for repelling night raids to enhancing the defenses of bandit-fearing manors like this one, the skill came in handy in many situations.
Analyzing the terrain to consider weak points was difficult without proper expertise. Determining what points are vulnerable if attacked and how strengthening other areas would help isn’t intuitive without prior knowledge. When resources are abundant, constructing high walls or multiple trenches is brainless, but in scenarios with limited time and manpower, knowledge and creativity come into play.
Additionally, as the manor was on flat terrain, fortifying against attacks was especially challenging. It wasn’t surprising due to its function as a civilian space.
Still, if defenders considered the attacker’s perspective, even a flat terrain could be made efficient for battle and manpower could be reduced. Ideally, defenders should work in four shifts, with plenty of rest, ensuring the manor’s activities continued.
First, we had borrowed hands driving stakes into the north and western areas of the manor, facing the forest, to set up rattles.
Then I tied ropes and installed rattles.
Here again, this was where the “Field Camp Construction” knowledge was crucial.
The warning system would cover the northern and western forest zones thinly but thoroughly.
By “thinly,” I mean reducing visible sentries to appear less guarded. By “thoroughly,” I mean reinforcing this rattle warning system and later adding traps. Though they wouldn’t be lethal for daily areas, they could significantly hinder movement.
From the southern and eastern sides, which are clear of trees, keen-eyed individuals should be able to easily spot approaching figures. Hence, the logical route for bandits would be through the forest where one can remain hidden until near the manor boundaries. Thus, we create the illusion of an easier path.
Like how people tend to open packages from the side that seems easiest, attackers will choose what looks the simplest. We exploit this psychology by making it appear easy from the forest, though it’s where the thorough preparation lies. The strategy is to let them walk into a trap.
Dubbed: “No way out” tactic.
If they approach from the south or east, there are enough personnel stationed to handle the situation. Small forces could be detected and ambushed, and we plan to extend the warning perimeter into the forest.
For them to counter this method, they’d need something overwhelming — a massive force attacking from both flanks and crushing through all defenses. But considering the lack of smoke signals from nearby forests and the inability to sustain such a large force, I doubt they’d have the resources for such tactics.
If we’re forced into such a desperate situation, all defense plans will collapse. However, I’m not a legendary general capable of breaking through an army ten times my size — something perhaps possible in history but not realistic. So while a numerical advantage against ten times our forces might offer an outside chance, it’s too risky to entertain.
Rather than recklessly attempting the impossible, it’s vital to consider a well-structured retreat strategy. Hence, we do our best with what we have.
Let’s hope our defenses become so tight that they decide it “can’t be breached” and withdraw.
Assuming they are humans, attacking for profit, the prospect of losses greater than potential gains should discourage them.
Of course, we’re discussing typical bandit logic here.
Behind the obvious rattles, we’ll set up a hidden second line, and even further back, a near invisible spider silk-trigger system. A three-layer trap setup should work.
Let them take a couple of bites out of our bait and learn their disadvantage.
Or, better yet, let’s rely on our scouts, performing their quiet work…
