Our Family Has Fallen

Lance finished listening to him and had a rough judgment in mind.

Transcendents in a family format are really unreliable; Hamlet has already proven that. Even with a whole set of equipment passed down to guarantee the Lord’s strength, it was basically useless.

Transcendent organizations are either like the Church, searching across the entire Empire and scraping up most of the Extraordinary Talent.

Or like the Romani, relying on the sheer size of their race, gathering them together for focused training, then controlling them by issuing them out.

Anyway, from any angle you look at it, the prosperity driven by an individual disappearing when that individual disappears is perfectly normal.

His father, an ordinary man with no talent, had forced his way into the mysterious Transcendent field and dabbled in those dangerous forms of Alchemy—basically a death wish. The fact that he held out until Lance grew up was already very lucky.

As for why things declined further so quickly after Lance took over, it was probably similar to when Tiffany took over the merchant group back then: the people below see you don’t understand anything and swallow things up in all kinds of ways. Only now, it’s all gone up in flames.

The assholes in the Church—best not even talk about them. Nothing they do would surprise Lance; at the end of the day they’re just a feudal force trying to maintain their rule.

But they do maintain stability to some extent. Runaway demons are indeed very dangerous for ordinary people.

"Losing control and transforming isn’t your conscious choice, you don’t need to carry too heavy a burden. What we need to think about now is how to solve the problem.

But you can see it yourself now: Hamlet is in turmoil. At the very least, we’ll have to wait until we’ve completely wiped out the evil cult before we can spare the time to help you."

Lance soothed him with a brief remark, first using a bit of hyperbole to steady him. A genius in Alchemy like this, he had to find a way to keep. At the same time, Lance asked a crucial question.

"What’s your name?"

Right now he was wanted by the Church, so he’d been using fake names. But it was obvious this question wasn’t about those.

The man let out a long breath, then finally spoke a name.

"Beggby."

"Even though it’s impossible to solve this from the root for now, I’ll take you to see a scholar who studies mysticism when the time comes. Maybe he can help you gain control over yourself."

Beggby felt deeply grateful when he heard this. In Hamlet, he was finally feeling the long-lost radiance of human nature.

After a few brief instructions, Lance left. He hadn’t expected to accidentally discover a talent; turns out those Transcendents really do have something to them.

It’s just a pity that under the shroud of Extreme Darkness now, he had no idea how many would still choose to stay...

Meanwhile, at the tavern door, a clownish figure was striking exaggerated poses, plucking out tune after tune.

The initial few days had passed; now everyone was on edge, and few people could afford to stop and listen through to the end.

No matter how beautiful the music, it’s hard to calm restless hearts.

When the piece ended, the clown bowed to himself, though there wasn’t a single audience member in front of him.

"Good tune. Deserves a reward."

A Gold Coin was tossed out, landing on the lute bag.

The clown looked up and saw a man standing before him.

"What’s this piece called?"

"It doesn’t have a name." The clown sized up the man before him. He looked utterly ordinary, yet somehow gave off a feeling that made one want to trust him.

"No name fits. After all, everyone hears it differently. It’s quite interesting."

Lance’s offhand comment made the clown suddenly snap to attention.

The expression under the mask couldn’t be seen, but he didn’t care about the Gold Coin at all—instead his hands moved, and he began to play the Lute again.

A power that hadn’t been there just now was now hidden in the melody, and Lance didn’t waste words; he started humming along.

"Dng, dng dng dng..."

The simple humming seemed to carry a different kind of power. It actually kept up with the light, quick lute, faintly giving off a sense of resistance, yet at the same time fitting perfectly.

A tune to break the heart; where at the ends of the earth can one find a soulmate?

Soon, when both of them stopped, it felt as if they’d finished a complete conversation.

Compared to the clown’s silence, Lance was all smiles as he stepped closer.

"I’m the Lord here. On behalf of Hamlet, I want to thank you for your help."

"Geh geh geh!" The clown let out a neurotic, strange laugh and spoke bluntly, "Are you insane? I’m just a clown."

"What’s wrong with being a clown? You don’t steal or rob, you make a living with your skills. In Hamlet, anyone who works hard deserves respect."

At this, the clown could only give an awkward grin; even his neurotic mannerisms toned down a bit.

"I want to invite you somewhere to play a piece for me."

"Where?"

Lance’s expression grew a little conflicted; he sighed and gestured. "Come with me and you’ll see."

The Heroes’ Cemetery—this was a place Lance had set up in the outskirts back then. Unlike ordinary graveyards, it carried a special meaning. Not everyone was qualified to be buried here.

Only those who had made contributions to Hamlet were eligible; ordinary people were buried in another place.

Since its founding, hundreds of heroes lay here now. Their deeds were carved on the tombstones instead of some cross.

There were warriors who’d fallen in battle for Hamlet, and there were also some outstanding ordinary people whose deeds, worthy of song and tears, were enough to move anyone.

They were the builders of Hamlet—both in material and in spirit.

At the same time, these people also showed the harsh reality of Hamlet’s struggle against evil: no matter how careful you are, casualties are still inevitable.

According to Lance’s fondness for refugee family structures, behind each of these tombstones there was a family.