Flight from the Fallen Manor
Francois staggered to her feet with great difficulty and bolted toward the direction where the man had vanished. But he was nowhere to be seen—only blood-soaked people shoving past her shoulders in a frantic scramble to escape. Standing there in a daze, Francois sensed some ominous precursor and whipped her head around. From the stone-extended lord's manor, fine dust and pebbles were raining down from the walls in droves.
Is the manor really collapsing? Just like the other territories before?! But how? Seeing cracks spiderwebbing across the manor's walls, Francois had no time for further thought.
"Everyone, get outside! The castle's coming down!"
Shouting that, she bolted barefoot toward the palisade gate in a frenzy. A few people spotted her and followed, but most seemed deaf to her cries. Just as she burst out beyond the palisade, a colossal explosion rocked the ground behind her with earth-shaking vibrations. The tremors were so violent they knocked her flat to the dirt.
Francois flattened herself against the ground. The quakes came in waves, each accompanied by a deafening roar that rattled her bones. Only after a long while did the chaos finally subside, and then she realized she was sprawled amid the corpses of dead soldiers.
"Kyaaah!"
Locking eyes with a glassy-stared corpse, she let out a bloodcurdling scream and scrambled up. Her dress was already soaked in blood. With the manor fully collapsed, those who had escaped alongside her didn't look back—they fled pell-mell toward the estate village. From inside the palisade, not a sound emerged. The front courtyard was littered with corpses and severed limbs, and what had been the manor was now a heap of rubble. All of it destroyed in mere minutes.
Francois felt no regret over the deaths of the baron, his wife, or the count's son. But the manor's collapse hit her hard. For the past five years, it had been little better than a prison, yet it was still the home where she had grown up with her beloved parents.
Staring blankly at the shapeless ruins, she flinched and glanced down at her tattered dress. Her uncle, the current Baron Audrion, had stripped the barony's wealth bare, and now even the manor was gone. As a woman, she held no formal title anyway, so she had no claim to the land or rights of levy. Penniless, clad only in a ripped dress, with not even family or friends left. In other words, she was worse off than a serf's daughter.
Darkness closed in before her eyes. Just moments ago, she'd wished this place would be overturned like the other territories. Instead, her own fortunes had crumbled.
What do I do...? How can I survive...? Beg the Noble Assembly for help? But the assembly only recognized those with formal titles. Shelter with another lord? That's no different from being sold into slavery. Reaching out to the peasants was out of the question too—their resentment toward House Audrion ran deep after her uncle's misrule. Francois could think of no path forward. She stood amid the ruins in a stupor for a time.
How much time passed? From the hillside below the manor, serfs were approaching. Likely coming to investigate the commotion. To evade their eyes, she slipped back inside the palisade. But there was no other escape from within. She was a rat in a trap, soon to be cornered by the incoming serfs. No one knew what they'd do to a woman in rags like her.
Biting her lip until it bled, Francois made her choice. She dashed to the intact annex kitchen. The servants had all fled; it stood empty. She crammed the pantry with cheese, ham, dry goods, and water skins into a sack. Spotting a large, thick tablecloth, she stuffed that in too. Slinging it over her shoulder, she headed for the stables.
By some miracle, a few horses that couldn't flee past the palisade were milling about.
"Good girl? Come here."
Stroking the horse she'd ridden during riding lessons, she led it into the stable. Recognizing her, it followed docilely. Securing the reins and saddle, she lashed the sack tight and mounted up. Peering out as she climbed, she saw the serfs already entering the palisade.
"What the hell just happened?"
"Squeezed us dry, and now heaven's struck 'em down."
"The baron's daughter's dead too? She was ripe and tasty-lookin'."
As the serfs rummaged through corpses for valuables, they traded crude banter. Hearing it, Francois dug her heels hard into the horse's flanks and yanked the reins.
"Run!"
The horse surged forward at her command.
"Urk! Fuck, what the—?!"
The serfs scattered in shock at the sudden horse. One too slow was struck by its chest and flung far away.
"Keep going!"
Flattening herself against the horse's back, Francois spurred it on. Charging into the barley fields, it trampled golden stalks underfoot as it galloped. Racing along, she agonized over her destination. No one left to help her. Her academy professors were an option, but the capital was impossible in her state. In that case... head to a direct royal territory. Better to beg the royal administrator than other nobles. Public officials wouldn't abuse her, at least. The nearest major one was Bue to the east. She'd throw herself on the city hall's mercy there and figure out the rest later.
The horse veered east, its track through the barley fields curling like a question mark.
Francois rode all day, gnawing on cheese and ham from horseback. When night fell and she could go no farther, she'd hide deep in a nearby forest, wrapping herself in the tablecloth for an uncomfortable sleep. Though it was a sweltering summer, the forest depths grew bitterly cold at night, waking her fitfully. At dawn's first light, she'd press east again. Heat made long daytime rides impossible, especially after yesterday's sun exposure had left her with a pounding headache.
As expected, after half a day, dizziness overwhelmed her; she gulped water desperately. But the more she drank, the weaker she felt.
I need salt... salt...
Fishing out salted bacon from the sack, she chewed it to extract the brine. But even with the salt and water on her head, prolonged exposure to the sizzling summer sun was unsustainable. Finally, she halted the horse and staggered into the shade of roadside trees.
Collapsing against a trunk, she closed her eyes and drew deep breaths. Her skin felt cold and clammy—sunstroke, no doubt. Better to rest by day and ride by night? But her riding skills were poor; she couldn't maintain speed in the dark. At this rate, she'd die of heatstroke before reaching Bue.
What now...?
"Dead?"
"Nah, looks like she passed out."
Regaining consciousness to voices, Francois dimly opened her eyes. Several rough-looking armored men peered down at her. As her vision sharpened, she recognized them as Count Einert's private soldiers by their breastplate crests. Not even in Einert territory—why are they here?
"She's coming to. Hey, you with us?"
"What're you doing out here alone? In that getup, no less."
She tried to rise. She knew better than to linger with roadside thugs like these. But exhaustion pinned her; she couldn't even twitch a finger. One soldier spoke up.
"Looks like she bolted from some tavern or brothel. Pretty little thing, too."
"Yeah... kinda does."
A vile glint sparked in their eyes as they exchanged knowing glances.
"Quick break won't hurt, right?"
"What's the harm? Just a bit."
They circled her. Realizing their intent, she struggled to move.
"Stay still. We won't kill you if you do."
Noble guards and knights were often drawn from thugs and local riffraff. Even murder, rape, or pillage went unpunished if their lord overlooked it—making them deadlier than bandits. Guards might catch thieves, but noble soldiers were untouchable unless they defied the crown outright.
They wouldn't pass up a pretty, voluptuous woman like Francois, clad in a ripped dress that clung revealingly to her curves, lying alone roadside.
"Heh heh. Tasty."
Grinning lecherously, they fumbled at their belts.
"We'll make you feel good, so if you can't escape, just enj—"
Suddenly, the soldier's words cut off as his head tumbled forward.