This tribe, isolated in a canyon, probably didn't know what happened before its peace was shattered. When fully armed soldiers rushed in to slaughter, everything turned into a hellish scene in an instant.

In the end, he could only try to save that woman. It was at this moment that he discovered the woman was carrying an infant who had been born just a while ago.

Just mentioned, everyone in this small tribe was related by blood, and the unity of the Barbarians was also well-known.

Thus, amidst the ruins of the tribe, the woman said to Lawrence,

"I regret saving you, and regret even more giving birth to her."

After speaking, she tossed the baby out, and Lawrence, acting on instinct, rushed forward to catch her.

But as the daughter fell into his hands, the woman committed suicide.

It was then that Lawrence realized he had fallen in love with that woman, but upon their next meeting, he was left with only a corpse.

Afterward, Lawrence, carrying his daughter who was still in swaddling clothes, left the battlefield...

He might somewhat believe that the destruction of the tribe that saved him was due to his betrayal, leading to Margaret losing her mother, so he never remarried.

Perhaps the moment that woman died, Lawrence's heart died along with her.

Listening to this, Lance finally understood why Lawrence rebelled against Count Bastia that night after seeing his daughter in the morning; there was another layer of reason.

If it weren't for his daughter, Lawrence might have long torn face with the Earl, the rift between them did not need Lance to make it worse.

Therefore, it was understandable why the Earl agreed to the marriage alliance. It wasn't compensation really, but Lawrence leaving would indeed mean self-disarmament.

Yet, he revealed another interesting piece of information.

"Everyone knows the Earl defeated the Barbarian Alliance Army, but most don't know that later on, the Earl led troops deep into the mountains. At first, he indeed killed some small tribes, but quickly, under attacks from united big tribes, he suffered heavy casualties and had to flee back to the city in disgrace. If it weren't for the fortifications at Bastia holding up, and the Barbarians being exhausted, the situation might have reversed again."

Underestimating the enemy and advancing recklessly, you Knights may easily overrun Barbarians on flatlands, but entering the mountains, a group of Knights unfamiliar with the terrain, combined with chaotic forces, fell into the opponent's home ground.

More trouble awaited as the Earl condoned the slaughter of Barbarians, inadvertently forcing the scattered Barbarians to reunite in a desperate plight.

As the saying goes, a cornered army will win. It's the opponent's home turf, and the Knights unable to charge are like canned food, no matter how tough, they will be broken open.

The swinging Great Sword would be obstructed by dense forests, while Barbarian warriors emerged from everywhere, and collapsing soldiers fleeing back even believed "trees were talking".

This simple truth was apparent even to Lance, who was uninformed about military affairs. It took a major defeat for the Earl to awaken to this fact.

Initially holding the advantage, both sides then suffered heavy losses, each licking their wounds without further thoughts of battle.

The years of surface peace had been maintained because neither side could afford to fight anymore or hold sway over the other, thus resorting to cooperation.

Barbarian mercenaries emerged, trade caravans ventured inside, and the Earl profited immensely by controlling the vital routes.

"Do you trust that Earl fellow? You surely know yourself, even if they do marry, once you're dead, he could imprison Margaret or even arrange an 'accident.'

A few years later, once he's fully in control of the territory and your reputation has faded, he could marry someone else. Who will remember you then, and even if they do, who would dare speak up? On the contrary, your entire family would become stepping stones for the Bastia Family."

"To trade with a greedy beast is a delusion. You would be better off exchanging your territory for money and taking your daughter to Totnes or another small country to enjoy life."

Lance grinned ferociously, his words growing harsher.

"Knowing exactly what Alvin is like, he still wants to push his daughter onto him, completely ignoring his aversion to Margaret's Barbarian bloodline.

What I see is not what a father ought to do, but rather an idiot eager to rid himself of a burden!

Even more nauseating is that you dare to be self-satisfied, thinking you sacrificed so much. But have you ever considered Margaret's feelings?

The person closest to her, you, betrayed her, pushed her towards death; you are the one who killed your own daughter."

What Lance spoke of hasn't happened, but it was enough to pierce Lawrence's heart.

Lawrence's will was being tested... chaotic!

"Stop it! Stop it!"

The whole person didn't show the bearing of a noble Baron at all, cowering and begging.

Lance ceased his venomous words, coldly gazing at Lawrence.

In truth, restricted by the era's perspective and shackles within the nobility, Lawrence could do very little, even though he might deceive himself, be overly sentimental, self-righteous, reaping the consequences... but this was all he could do.

Nevertheless, that didn't stop Lance from mocking him mercilessly.

Let you act so righteously indignant in the beginning, anyone uninformed would think you were a loyal supporter of the Earl.

You need a severe flogging to shatter that old society's feudal mindset.

The conversation between them actually ended before Lance asked about Margaret's lineage.

What came after was significant but not crucial.

Lance distinctly understood that Hamlet's forces could not support dual fronts. The action being prepared had already engaged most of the town's troops, so he aimed to temporarily involve Bastia.

Lawrence was thoroughly rebuked by Lance, yet ultimately he was still the Earl's right-hand man in the conquest, holding considerable prestige in Bastia.

To Lance, the difficulty in conquering the city wasn't high; extremely, he might not even need cannons, he could walk in alone and slaughter those who resisted.

But what's the point in that?

Everyone knew he detested killing and bloodshed.

The challenge lay in how to control a region, how to dispel local hostility and quickly restore life and production.

This was Lawrence's role.

Lance's steps paused momentarily before the Flame Warlock's prison door, but after hesitation, he didn't enter.

Though talks were settled with Lawrence, he was a hefty man who could endure hunger; fasting another day shouldn't be an issue.

Technically, wars among nobility end once finished, but grabbing the negotiation party for torment afterward was rare and probably unique to Lance.

The local nobility were dreadfully impolite!

...

A battle was erupting at Bastia's frontline camp.

Similarly, it was a night raid, a method always used by the Mountain Barbarian Tribe. Their diet was high in meat and animal offal, so they never suffered from night blindness.

Conversely, Bastia's conscripted Serf Soldiers were lucky to gnaw on some dark bread, let alone meat, hence the high incidence of night blindness.

Once night fell, most people saw nothing, explaining why Barbarians preferred to act after dark; such strategies were honed over prolonged clashes with the Empire.

Therefore, the previous night raid was hugely chaotic, besides being the soldiers' first battle, many couldn't see clearly, no matter how loudly veteran overseers yelled.

The solution was simple: light torches.

Did Bruce, directing the command, not know this?

He knew but had to create a scene of Bastia's soldiers appearing weak and confused to mislead the Barbarians.

This time, it was much improved; the battle wasn't like the last time where people realized enemies were at the front once ambushers tried to sneak in. The sentries caught the Barbarians, allowing the soldiers to respond.

Torches on racks were lit, the soldiers rapidly gathered, utilizing the camp's fortifications for fighting the Barbarians.

On the arrow towers, archers strived to shoot but scarcity prevented forming dense volleys, the dim surroundings were indistinct, taking an aim was gambling.

Crossbowmen nestled on the camp walls faintly saw shadows in the firelight. Before they could act, a blast rang out, next moment one fell over.

The comrade in the light saw half of his brains blown off, a musket's damage.

"Kill the Barbarians!"

"Ah! I've been shot.

"..."