"But calling it 'Hamlet Type One' still sounds awful~" Margaret followed up with another blunt complaint, which directly made Lance anxious.

"You can call it whatever you like, it's not like I'm stopping you."

He reached out as he spoke, "If you don't like it, you can give it back to me."

"No way!" The moment Margaret heard that, she immediately hugged the gun, "I won this fair and square."

Seeing how nervous she looked, as if she really was afraid Lance would take it back, Lance couldn't help being speechless.

Did he look like that kind of person?

"It's fine if you play around with it at the shooting range, but don't run around outside with a gun, and don't just load it whenever you feel like it. If the sheriff detains you again, I'm not coming to get you. I can't afford that embarrassment."

Too lazy to bother with her, Lance just gave that instruction and turned to make a run for it.

Margaret hadn't thought much of it at first, but after hearing that, she suddenly realized that the gun wasn't even today's main topic—she'd almost been fooled by the sugar coating he'd tossed out.

Thinking of that, she hurriedly scooped up the remaining ammo on the table and quickly followed.

"Hey! Wait a sec, you said if I won you'd agree to my request!"

Lance had no intention of looking back at all; instead, his steps sped up.

But unfortunately for him, he had just stepped out when he was blocked by Margaret.

"What are you running for? Didn't you hear me calling you?"

"Must be the gunfire here being too loud. Totally normal not to hear anything." Lance grinned without the slightest hint of embarrassment, spouting all sorts of nonsense.

"You're not wrong, staying in this kind of environment for long does serious damage to hearing. Next time I need to make earplugs for the test-firing staff…"

Always keeping an eye on my employees' physical and mental health—I really am such a responsible Lord.

Margaret looked at Lance acting insane and felt a bit speechless, but she didn't back down; she even pressed him harder, more determined.

"You promised me."

Seeing how resolute she looked, Lance couldn't keep playing dumb. He could only sigh.

"This isn't hunting, and the enemy isn't some rabbits, boars, or grey wolves. You should've heard Lawrence say it: they're strong enough to wipe out a whole city.

You're a Nobility Heir. Lawrence's accumulated resources are enough for you to live safe and comfortable. Why insist on putting yourself in danger?"

"What about you then?" Margaret wasn't scared at all. Instead, she asked with a straight face, "You're also a Noble Lord. If you can fight for humanity and lead everyone to resist the corruption of the evil cult, why can't I?"

Shit. Lance realized she really had been brainwashed by the slogans he'd been spreading around and was dead set on fighting for humanity.

I already said it's just propaganda, just to trick the bottom rungs into risking their necks. How did a Nobility like you get all fired up too?

"Answer me!" Margaret didn't give Lance any space to dodge, "Before, you said I wasn't strong enough. Now I've won the competition, so why still not?"

"Listen to yourself! Do I look like someone who goes back on his word?" Lance's thick skin was not something she could shake. "Besides, I never said you 'still can't', did I? You won the match and I publicly announced it. Of course I'll keep my promise."

Margaret's outraged expression paused for a moment, but she still asked with a hint of doubt.

"Really?"

"That really hurts my feelings, you know that? You actually don't believe me…" Lance put on a deeply wounded look and rattled on, "It's just that nothing's happened yet, right? The Honor Guard is still resting. If there really are Heretics, I'll definitely call you in."

Margaret's suspicious expression eased a little, and she couldn't help doubting herself: was she overthinking it?

And right then, a young soldier ran over.

"My Lord!" The soldier said, glancing at Margaret off to the side, but didn't go on.

Lance had been fretting over having no excuse and desperately wanted to shake her off, but he just happened to meet Margaret's curious gaze. Feeling a bit guilty, he could only turn back and gesture.

"Go ahead."

The Lord had spoken, so the soldier stopped wasting words and briefly laid out the situation.

Worried that those Bastia prisoners might cause trouble, they'd sent some scouts to keep an eye on them as they left. And it was those scattered scouts who'd unexpectedly discovered a large convoy closing in on the town.

What made the scouts feel threatened was that part of the convoy was an organized, well-equipped force.

"They're flying a Nobility coat-of-arms flag on the wagons. We don't recognize it, but something about them looks off, because some of them are wounded.

And their overall condition is depressed, but they're extremely alert. After our people were spotted, they came under counterattack, but once we opened up the distance, even their Cavalry didn't dare chase us—just hunkered down around the convoy."

Before Lance could say anything, Margaret on the side was already more excited, fully immersed in the scenario.

"Could they have been attacked by Heretics? We have to make a move!"

"See? You're getting all worked up again." Lance slightly reined in Margaret's restless enthusiasm, then turned back to keep questioning the soldier.

"What's the ratio of wagons to men? And their position?"

"The convoy's coming from the old road, not from the Bastia direction. More importantly, those soldiers aren't guarding the convoy—they're gathered under that Nobility banner.

It's a shame they're so wary. If we get close, they open fire, or we'd have more detailed intel."

Listening to the soldier's description, Lance also sensed something was off. The ratio of wagons in the convoy alone showed it wasn't logistics. Could it be some merchant caravan that hired a Nobility Guard detail?

The old road only ends at Hamlet. A Nobility bringing a fully armed force over was more than enough to make him suspicious.

"Tell everyone to pull back. Try not to provoke them."

"Yes, sir! Mission will be accomplished."

The soldier turned and ran back, while Lance looked over at Margaret.

The job of scouts was never to fight, but to bring back information. Training a competent scout was hard, so Lance almost never used them for risky stunts.

Some people, though… could be used.

"What?" Margaret felt a bit weird being stared at like that by Lance.

"Didn't you want a mission? Then let's start you off with a trial run."

[Mission: Reconnaissance

Content: An unknown armed force is closing in on Hamlet. You must investigate their true purpose, and, when necessary, let them know who really owns this place!

Reward: None]

Margaret didn't hesitate much before accepting the mission, and Lance directly called Dismas over from the training camp's shooting range, then summoned the recovering Eagle Flock's Laura.

Lance, Dismas, Laura, Margaret—just like that, a squad born for reconnaissance was assembled.

With the target's location already known, Lance wasn't stupid enough to walk all the way there; they took a carriage to close part of the distance.

In the carriage, Lance gave a brief rundown of the mission.

"That's roughly the situation. We need to confirm their identity and determine whether their objective poses a threat to Hamlet."

Veterans like Dismas and Laura didn't react much to such a small assignment, but Margaret looked extremely serious, even a bit solemn, both hands tightly gripping the new gun.

Saying it was one thing; doing it was another.

After all, she really had no experience with anything like this, so she was a bit nervous.

Lance didn't comfort her. On the contrary, he gave her the cold treatment.

The point was to show her that even the simplest missions were nothing like a hunt.

Following the marks left by the scouts who'd fallen back, the squad quickly located the convoy.

They couldn't help it—it was just that conspicuous. You could see it from far away.

A road that had been fairly wide was now packed full, and even so, the line was stretched out. A rough estimate put it at sixty or seventy wagons.

The convoy was in front, and the armed troops were at the rear. You could clearly feel the disconnect between them.

Lance handed the monocular to Laura and spoke in a low voice: "See anyone you recognize?"

He'd brought Laura because she was familiar with Bastia's army. But after she'd taken a look, she shook her head and passed the scope back.

"They're not Bastia troops. Their style is more like a Nobility private army, but I don't recognize the emblem on that flag."

"I—know—who—!!"

A voice brimming with barely suppressed rage came from beside him, instantly dragging Lance's attention back…