Nolan led several villagers at a brisk pace toward the sentry post outside the village.
These militiamen had only trained under him for a few days. It was far too short a time to forge real combat strength, but dealing with a handful of deranged madmen was well within their ability.
Ever since the Elden Ring shattered, the Golden Dynasty Subjects who once basked in Grace had undergone drastic changes.
Some gradually lost their sanity, their temperaments twisting into violent frenzy.
Fortunately, aside from being more aggressive, their physical strength was no different from that of ordinary people. Subduing them was not especially difficult.
"What happened here?"
The militia captain shoved through the crowd, shouting as he forced his way forward.
When Nolan and the others reached the scene, they saw bodies sprawled across the open ground before the sentry post. Judging by their clothes, they were bandits.
At the center of the blood-soaked clearing stood a figure in knight armor, spear in hand, standing as steady as a mountain while facing off against a tense crowd.
"My lords, I have already explained. The ones who attacked the villagers were bandits. I acted at the villagers' request and eliminated them. Why are you still pressing the matter?"
The young knight wore no helmet. His face was handsome but lined with fatigue.
There was no trace of Grace shining in his eyes. He was clearly Tarnished, and he stood alone, with no Finger Maiden in sight.
In these times, Finger Maidens were scarce.
The Tarnished were scattered throughout the Lands Between. No one could predict which damp tomb or hidden cavern they might crawl out of next.
Monitoring every region required too much manpower and resources, especially when many territories had never been fully subdued.
Only those Tarnished who made a name for themselves earned the right to be assigned a maiden by the Two Fingers Church.
Some pursued the throne with unwavering resolve, determined to become Lord.
Others drifted through life, aimless and indifferent.
The Two Fingers sought warriors with the potential to claim a crown, not those content to waste away.
Opposite the young knight sat a man in lavish armor atop a tall horse.
His surcoat bore an embroidered crest of an eagle-beast, and a sizable retinue clustered around him.
Clearly, he was the son of a local lord.
"Vyke! Those men were tax collectors hired by House Morton, not bandits!"
"I'll say this once. You killed my men. Either you pay compensation and the taxes they were owed, or I'll take your head back to my father and answer for it."
The noble youth gave a cold snort, already thinking that he would have to find another group to loot villages for him. A nuisance.
"Vyke?"
Nolan's expression shifted slightly. The name stirred memories from his previous life. One of the Tarnished who had once come closest to the throne bore that name.
Could it really be that coincidental?
A shared name did not guarantee they were the same person, but the possibility was there.
Nolan's gaze sharpened, locking onto the young knight.
The girl beside him noticed at once and her expression turned strange.
Why was this lord staring at that knight so intently? Could he have some unusual preference?
She was delicate and pretty, easily among the most beautiful girls in the nearby villages, with more than a few admirers. Yet he had never looked at her that way.
Yet the lord beside her had always behaved with perfect propriety. He had never once so much as crossed a line. That only made her more suspicious.
"If you can't pay in runes, then we'll take your head!"
"Men, move in!"
The noble scion lost his patience and waved a hand. His retainers surged forward at once, weapons raised as they closed in on the young knight.
"Don't go too far!"
Vyke frowned, raising his spear to deflect the incoming blades and halberds, forced back several steps.
Tax collectors drawing swords to force villagers to empty their homes? Even if they truly were tax collectors, they deserved to die.
"About the level of a solid mid-tier knight. Hasn't fully grown yet?"
Nolan assessed him silently, then shouted,
"Stop!"
"How bold of you. Daring to interfere with House Morton apprehending a criminal? Do you understand the consequences of opposing us?"
The noble scion turned back with a dark look, casually slapping a heavy accusation onto Nolan's head.
That was the trouble with the powerful. Right or wrong, they always needed a pretext.
Before he could bark out a second rebuke, a knight stepped forward with four men behind him.
The one in front was young and strikingly handsome.
He wore a suit of resplendent armor that gleamed brilliantly under the sun. Tall and broad-shouldered, he carried himself with a natural authority that made others hesitate to offend him.
Every eye turned toward him.
When the villagers recognized Nolan, admiration flickered across their faces.
"And where did this Graceless wretch crawl out from? Looks like your ancestors left you something decent, but your honor's long been stripped away. And you still dare stick your nose into my affairs?"
The noble scion sneered, tightening his grip on the reins.
The Tarnished varied widely in strength. Some were as formidable as heroes and had already carved out reputations in the Royal Capital. Others were barely stronger than common soldiers and struggled just to survive.
This one looked so young. Even dressed in fine armor, he was likely the descendant of someone who had followed Godfrey into battle and earned a reward.
Old nobility or not, fallen was fallen. He had no standing here.
Nolan pointed at the bodies on the ground. Carian Knights were rare, and it was not surprising that a minor noble from some remote corner failed to recognize the armor.
"He rid this village of bandits. That hardly sounds like the lawless criminal you described."
"Bandits?"
The noble scion's expression hardened.
"These are tax collectors employed by my Morton House. Killing them without authorization only adds to his crimes!"
The crowd finally understood. After all that, the so-called bandits were merely hired hands. Soldiers and bandits were one and the same, just wearing different masks.
Some villagers clenched their teeth in anger, but what could they do? The nobles had armies. They had nothing.
The noble scion gave a cold snort, greed flashing briefly in his eyes as he looked at Nolan.
"If you insist on meddling, fine. Pay double the compensation and taxes on his behalf, and I'll let him go. Otherwise, don't blame me for what happens next."
Vyke glanced at the knight standing quietly beside him and gave a small nod.
"Thank you for stepping in. I'll handle this myself. I won't drag you into it."
Help would have been welcome. But if someone suffered because of him, he would never forgive himself.
He raised the war spear that bore his ancestors' honor, straightened his back, and declared loudly,
"I killed them. This has nothing to do with anyone else. If you have a grievance, come for me."