Our Family Has Fallen

That light, nimble figure in that all-black outfit was like a black cat, landing without a sound.

Even scarier was how she moved always hidden in the shadows, as if she wasn’t even there.

The training camp was big. In the middle lay a large parade ground; you could still see the hardened earth trampled out over a long time, with straw dummies standing upright one after another.

On one side of the ground, bags of dirt were piled up against the wall, with targets set up in front of them. It looked like a firing range.

On the other side there were lots of training props, and a hundred‑meter obstacle course stretching off, all kinds of strange contraptions that Audrey couldn’t make heads or tails of—but she knew the treasure wasn’t here.

The buildings were at both ends of the ground, and they, too, were split into two sections.

Just from the style of the buildings you could tell one section was the dorm area, plus the mess hall and other logistical support.

The side nearer the main gate was obviously much plainer: warehouses and a detached building.

She didn’t know the exact situation, but she knew the treasure wouldn’t be in some recruits’ dorms, nor in the big pot in the kitchen.

Just one sweep over the whole view and she roughly analyzed the function of each building. Of course, part of it was that all the buildings in Hamlet were modified off the same blueprint; after one loop around town, you’d get it.

But an ordinary person wouldn’t pay attention to this.

Anyway, in front of a professional like Audrey, a target was locked in very quickly.

The place was a two‑story building of brick and stone; that rectangular shape did look a bit like a warehouse.

No guards, and even the door lock was as plain as could be. To Audrey, it was practically unprotected.

Yet she stayed quite wary, even more cautious than usual—she’d run into this exact setup before: behind a simple door lay even more dangerous traps.

Back then, she’d triggered one and almost died inside; lucky for her she’d run fast, or she wouldn’t be standing here now.

But after she carefully probed several times, she confirmed again—no mistake, the place really was completely goddamn unattended, and there were no weird traps behind the door either.

The sight instantly made her previous caution feel a bit redundant, and Audrey couldn’t help feeling a surge of anger at being toyed with.

Fuck, you look down on me that much? Fine, I’ll steal every last thing you’ve got.

But she was stunned almost at once. By the faint moonlight seeping through the window, she could see that most of what was stored inside were blood‑stained weapons and armor.

Obvious traces of battle; many were already broken, and they had no signs of age at all. The workmanship was rough, the kind of junk thrown by the roadside that no one would pick up. This was supposed to be treasure?

She’d been duped...

Did she pick the wrong place?

Audrey carefully racked her memory, but the training camp was only so big, and this was the only special building.

Soon she noticed there was writing beside those items, but it was hard to make out in the dimness. She had to take out a candle and light it, and only by the candlelight could she read the text...

The locals called it the Memorial Hall. It recorded the events in Hamlet’s development, and stored some things that bore witness to history.

The fact that it was set inside the training camp was enough to show that the main content was all kinds of wars—various invasions Hamlet had suffered and the counterattacks to them.

Of course, there were also the heroes who stepped forward. Some were still alive; others had long since fallen asleep in the graveyard.

The place was open internally, and even schools would organize students to come visit and listen to explanations of these events.

She had no idea how the rumor outside had turned it into a "collection room of precious goodies", clearly the daydream of people who’d never even set foot inside.

With Hamlet’s rise, plus the dilution from incoming populations, very few people took the initiative to talk about this stuff. Only the handful who’d lived through it—most of them still in the army—knew, and they’d been trained in confidentiality and wouldn’t casually reveal anything. That made it feel even more mysterious.

Only here was it mentioned—and even then it was barely mentioned. Many details were brushed off in a single sentence, sometimes only given as a time and place, or as the codename of an operation.

But those heroic deeds were just too damn exaggerated, weren’t they?

Audrey stared at an ordinary musket whose stock was carved all over with tiny tally marks—it had supposedly killed more than fifty enemies, all precision sniping. Even she didn’t have that kind of confidence.

Then there was a broken axe—its owner had apparently hacked a few wolves to death with it and then strangled several more with his bare hands to save...

Reading on, Audrey finally snapped out of it and stood up, unconsciously raising the candle to look more closely at the items on display.

All trace of her earlier contempt was gone from her expression; instead, it was extremely grave. Those exploits were like something out of a novel—just one of them would be enough to brag about for a year, and here there were so many...

This place was downright eerie.

Audrey couldn’t help reining in that sense of superiority, even feeling the urge to back out.

But her curiosity kept pushing her to dig deeper.

If she’d come seeking thrills, she might as well see it through.

Audrey carried the candle farther in, reading the origins of the recorded items, and the descriptions of those feats of heroism.

Until she finally reached the end, and saw the things relating to the Lord.

On the rack stood a battered set of armor, its surface covered with marks from all kinds of weapons, many of them having torn through the plating.

The whole set was caked in blood, which with time had grown dull, oxidizing into a rust‑like color clinging to it.

Audrey could hardly imagine how brutal a battle it must have been to inflict such severe damage, and all the more wondered how anyone wearing that armor could have survived the war.

What stunned her even more was that there wasn’t just one set like this...

There was also that sword so enormous it completely defied comprehension.

On the blade were claw marks that had cut through steel—what kind of monster could tear steel?

And on top of that, the giant sword was broken.

What kind of battle could snap it in two?

Audrey urgently lifted the candle closer to examine it in detail, trying to find more information, but there were only a few simple lines, with no mention of the specifics.

It wasn’t as if Audrey hadn’t considered the possibility that it was all fake—that the Lord had forged it all just to show off his power.

She’d seen plenty of hypocritical nobles, and knew exactly how disgusting they could be.

After all, how could a human even lift such a giant sword? And how could anyone wear that sort of armor and still be alive?

Audrey tried hard to convince herself; only that could soothe the unease in her heart.

But scattered through here were plenty of trophies as well: those massive shields and suits of armor, the white wolf pelts, the Order of Knights’ banners, and so on.

Not to mention the bizarre, deformed skulls, and the twisted, shriveled limbs and organs soaked in unknown liquids...

Every one of these pointed to the horror of the enemy, making battles like those seem not so unbelievable after all.

Still, whatever the case, she was already here, and Audrey didn’t want to leave empty‑handed. The problem was all these things were big pieces.

And stripped of their stories, they were just junk—once outside this room, they had no value whatsoever.

That left her tangled up in indecision.

But she quickly made up her mind, took one item, then carefully restored the scene, and slipped away into the night...

The sun rose as usual the next day. The Memorial Hall was normally open, so every day someone came to unlock the doors and do a bit of cleaning.

Today the man in charge absent‑mindedly opened the main door and began his daily routine.

If you looked closely, you’d notice his body was somewhat disabled. After being discharged from the army due to his injuries, the Lord hadn’t abandoned him and the others, but arranged work for them.

The day‑in, day‑out work didn’t irritate him; on the contrary, he tended the collection here with extra care.

Because he had lived through those battles himself, and knew exactly what the things placed here meant.

He was intimately familiar with this place, and could easily recount the origins of each piece.

Until, when he stood before one particular item, he froze completely. The rag in his hand slipped to the floor, and he muttered under his breath:

"No... no..."