King of the North: My Lord's Diary Weekly Summary

The atmosphere at the village entrance became extremely oppressive after Wayne and Ronald left for a private talk.

The cold wind whipped up the snowflakes on the ground, splashing them onto faces, but no one bothered to wipe them away.

All eyes were fixed on the path leading out of the village—the direction Wayne and Ronald had gone.

The villagers' faces were a mixture of unease and numbness.

They saw the scarred bandit follow the new lord out, saw the headhunter Barton remain standing there with a grim expression, and saw the knights silently gripping their sword hilts.

"We'll definitely need to negotiate terms..."

An old farmer muttered wearily, "Just like the previous sentries. They scare us first, then share our food with the bandits."

The person next to him didn't say anything, but just clenched his frozen, purple fingers until they turned red.

They know this routine all too well.

The soldiers who previously guarded the watchtowers were few in number and had little power, so they still had some sense of shame and at most managed to take away some food and hides through a combination of trade and extortion.

But this new lord was different—he was a legitimate nobleman with legal power and a cavalry force.

If he really gets involved with the Black Blade Gang, then in the future...

"I wish they could have died together."

Someone in the crowd whispered something, then immediately shut up.

No one dared to agree, but the same thought flashed through the eyes of many.

Headhunter Barton stood at the edge of the crowd, his expression shifting between anger and uncertainty.

He stared at the end of the path, his fingers occasionally stroking the handle of the hunting knife at his waist.

Judging from the current situation... if Wayne is really willing to cooperate with the Blackblade Gang... then things will get interesting.

In this way, his value as a middleman will increase dramatically.

"Perhaps we should flatter this young lord appropriately?"

After all, everyone has to make a living on this land; saving face for each other makes life easier.

He glanced at the silent villagers, a barely perceptible sneer playing on his lips.

What do these idiots know? Survival is the only thing that matters.

On the other side, Hank led a few cavalrymen to guard the front of the cavalry.

The veterans' expressions were relatively calm.

"Adults have their own considerations."

Hank whispered to a young cavalryman beside him, "It's not worth it to break ties with the bandits too early for the sake of these villagers who have no fighting ability."

"But what about the food, what about the people..."

"Food is important, but life is more important."

Hank shook his head: "The decisions that the adults have made recently have all been quite prudent."

We just need to follow orders.

The veterans exchanged glances but remained silent.

They had experienced real battlefields and knew that idealism often dies the fastest in borderlands.

As long as one can survive, using dirty methods is acceptable.

Moreover... this young lord seems to be much more clear-headed than they expected.

Just as everyone was lost in their own thoughts, the sound of horses' hooves came from the end of the path.

coming.

Everyone instinctively straightened up and focused their attention.

Wayne was the first to appear.

He rode on horseback, his black coat standing out starkly against the snow, like a dark shooting star cutting through the pale white landscape.

His expression was no different from when he left—calm, indifferent, his eyes as deep as a frozen lake.

But Ronald, who was following behind him, made everyone's breath catch in their throats.

Ronald's blond hair fluttered in the cold wind, and the knight who usually had a sunny smile on his face now looked so frightening.

His light plate armor was already splattered with dark red bloodstains.

The blood had partially congealed, forming mottled marks on the silver-gray armor plates.

What's even more chilling is what's hanging on the side of his saddle.

It was a head roughly bound with hemp rope...

Sloppy black hair and a stiff, resentful face.

"That is..."

Some sharp-eyed people exclaimed in surprise.

"The bandit leader!"

The crowd erupted into chaos like a beehive bursting open.

Some people staggered backward, some covered their mouths, and some stared wide-eyed at the head.

Ronald felt countless gazes directed at him and glanced at Wayne.

Wayne nodded slightly.

The knight then raised his arm—

An arc appeared in mid-air, and with a "thud," it crashed into the snow in the open space at the village entrance.

The rope came undone, and the thing it was binding rolled out.

It was the head of the scarred bandit.

The head rolled half a circle on the snow, then rolled back along the dent that had just been made by the impact.

Those lifeless eyes stared blankly at the sky, the scar on his pale face resembling a twisted centipede.

Dead silence.

At this moment, even the cold wind that had been blowing in the North seemed to have stopped.

All the villagers stared wide-eyed and gaped, as if they had been frozen in place.

They stared in disbelief at the head, then at Wayne, who sat indifferently on horseback, and then at Ronald, whose armor was stained with blood.

After the initial shock, the first feeling that surged through me was... a brief, indescribable sense of relief and catharsis.

A thug who used to swagger around the village and extort food and supplies is dead!

But this sense of relief lasted only a moment before it was instantly overwhelmed by a deeper fear.

This baron killed members of the Blackblade gang! Right on the edge of the village!

The bandits will not let this go easily; they will definitely retaliate!

At that time, wouldn't it be the ordinary people living in the village who suffer?

The lord has troops; he can fight or flee. But what about them? Where can they hide?

In previous years, bandits would squander all their grain and then come directly to the village to "take" things. Now, they've killed their people...

The villagers' faces turned deathly pale instantly, their eyes filled with fear of the impending disaster.

Hank and the other veterans were also slightly taken aback, then a look of understanding flashed in their eyes.

As expected, this lord did not disappoint them; he was decisive and ruthless in his killings.

As for the potential consequences? That's something to consider next. At least for now, this sword strike demonstrated the lord's authority and determination.

The veterans exchanged glances, their tense bodies relaxing slightly, but their vigilant posture remained unchanged.

The one with the worst expression was headhunter Barton.

When he saw the head clearly, he was struck dumb, and his face turned as white as the snow on the ground.

Barton swayed and almost lost his balance, his eyes fixed on the severed head before suddenly turning to Wayne.

His lips trembled, and his voice was distorted and off-key due to extreme shock, anger, and fear:

"Baron... Baron! How... how could you...!"

His voice suddenly rose, but when he met Wayne's calm and unwavering eyes, the rest of his words caught in his throat, leaving only heavy and labored breathing.

Wayne's gaze slowly swept across the entire room, taking in the various expressions on everyone's faces, before he spoke. His voice was not loud, but it clearly reached everyone's ears:

"This bandit represents their so-called 'Black Blade Gang' and wants to cooperate with me."

He paused, as if stating something trivial that had nothing to do with him: "The condition is that we hand over nearly half of our winter food supplies, as well as a portion of the village's future harvest."

A suppressed commotion arose again among the crowd.

"I haven't decided yet whether or not to agree to their offer."