Chapter 2 - Bandits

Riverside Village was one of the nine settlements under House Bracken's direct control—specifically the cadet branch of Moulin Rouge, where Arthur now served as young lord. Nestled along the banks of the Red Fork, the village thrived from both agriculture and a few modest but efficient handicraft workshops. Among the nine, it was by far the wealthiest, and as such, contributed the largest share of taxes to House Bracken's coffers.

For Arthur, who now bore the mantle of lord in his predecessor's place, Riverside was more than a name on a tithe scroll—it was his family's financial lifeline. And until the day he could flee this bloody game of thrones, he had no choice but to take such duties seriously.

He ordered the guards to let in the village chief, who had come to plead his case. Arthur took the carved oak seat at the head of the hall—the same spot where his father once held court. In this world, even pretending to be a medieval lord came with weight.

In the Seven Kingdoms, lords and landed knights held dominion over their smallfolk in exchange for protection, law, and judgment. It was a custom older than Aegon's Conquest, practiced in every corner of Westeros. Lords also provided soldiers in times of war and were expected to resolve disputes and maintain order in their territories.

The Bracken cadet branch, however, was minor even by Riverlands standards—just barely above wealthy landed knights. They couldn't afford their own maesters, nor a proper household septon, let alone a sworn court judge. Thus, Arthur found himself playing judge, bailiff, and constable all at once.

It reminded him of Lord Eddard Stark's duties in Winterfell, where the Warden of the North would sit under the weirwood and pronounce judgment with Ice, his Valyrian steel blade. But unlike Ned Stark, Arthur had no Valyrian sword, and his word carried far less weight. Still, here, in Moulin Rouge, he was law.

The fact that the king rarely interfered in such local matters meant that even petty lords like Arthur could wield near-absolute power within their own lands. What Ned Stark did by sending Beric Dondarrion to capture Ser Gregor Clegane was rare—unusual, even—to invoke royal justice in the Riverlands without going through Lord Hoster Tully, their liege. In truth, House Tully should have acted first, then passed judgment upwards if needed.

That Hoster failed to do so in time was telling—and damning.

Arthur's own overlord was Hoster Tully, but he doubted Riverrun even remembered that a cadet Bracken line existed. If the Starks of Winterfell or the Lannisters of Casterly Rock had been in charge, the Mountain would've been hunted and hanged before smallfolk ever considered petitioning the Iron Throne.

Soon, the guards returned, ushering six villagers into the hall.

The man leading them appeared to be in his forties, slightly better dressed than the others, and bore the weary look of someone used to balancing harvest schedules and grain tallies. He was the village chief.

Before Arthur could say a word, the man stepped forward and shouted, "Lord Arthur! You must send men to drive out those devils! Those inhuman, bloodthirsty bastards—may the Seven damn their souls—have gone too far!"

Arthur straightened in his seat, tone calm but firm. "Speak slowly, and clearly. What happened?"

A red-faced farmer next to the chief blurted out, "They took my daughter, m'lord!"

The village chief scowled at the man for breaking rank but continued, "Yes, Tony's daughter was taken, as was my wife. They ransacked the granary, stole all our silver stags, copper stars—what little coin we had—and even took clothing and food meant for winter."

A lanky youth with a sling-bound arm stepped forward, voice tinged with anger. "And my axe. Bastards took my new axe. Bought it just last moon at the brothel market."

The chief winced, clearly disapproving of this interruption. It had been a mistake to bring so many victims along. Dirty clothes and loud voices might make Lord Arthur look down on them all.

The chief turned with a grimace. "Jace, you're just a farmer. If Lord Arthur didn't favor you for your father's loyalty, you'd still be digging latrines behind the granary."

The young man clearly wasn't one to be bullied and sneered, "Favor? Don't talk like you weren't appointed by Lord Reynald before he passed. Everyone knows you only got the title 'chief' because you kissed enough boots."

Arthur listened, mildly amused and annoyed in equal measure. These Riverlands peasants could be rowdy. Still, there was honesty in their anger—raw and unfiltered.

Chief Jace turned and glared daggers at the youth. "We agreed I'd speak for us. You just cost us his lordship's patience, you son of a dung-digger."

"Better a dung-digger than a boot-licker," the young man spat back, fists clenched.

Before the shouting escalated into a full brawl, Arthur slammed his hand on the armrest and barked, "Enough. Silence."

The room fell still. The young man turned away, fuming. Jace stood smug for a moment, then turned back toward Arthur with a calculated expression.

Arthur also had a pounding headache. He couldn't understand how Jace, the village chief, could be so scatterbrained—his own wife had just been taken by bandits, yet he was still wasting time bickering with farmers over trivialities.

If this had happened in one of the border villages near Harrenhal or Crackclaw Point, she'd already be someone's "camp wife" by nightfall.

Arthur cleared his throat with a dry cough and asked, "When exactly did the bandits arrive at your village? How many were there? What were they equipped with? And which direction did they flee?"

His voice was crisp, cutting across the noisy hall like a commander used to battlefield reports, not excuses. The barrage of questions caught Jace off guard. The village chief blinked for a moment, then slowly began to recall, scratching the side of his beard with uncertainty.

"It was sometime before dawn, I think," Jace said, haltingly. "They came from the west. First, they took the silver stags and what food they could carry. Then the clothes… and then my wife. They grabbed all sorts of small things too—tools, blankets—"

"I asked you about numbers, gear, and escape direction," Arthur snapped. "I'm not here for a list of what you lost."

Jace flushed red, clenching his calloused hands in embarrassment. A younger man beside him spoke up quickly, trying to cover for the chief's blunder.

"There were around a dozen, maybe thirteen. Only two or three looked like proper soldiers—they wore leather or rusted mail. The rest were rabble with short swords or cudgels. From the tracks near the wheat fields, it looks like they fled northeast, toward the direction of the God's Eye."

That detail caught Arthur's attention. God's Eye Lake was massive—one of the largest in the Riverlands—and on its central island stood the Isle of Faces, protected by mysterious Green Men. No small-time bandit would dare go there unless they were desperate… or stupid.

The older farmer who'd interrupted earlier added, "They actually came well before dawn, m'lord. But Jace's house is in the village center—the last one they hit—so he assumed they came later. But we heard the dogs barking hours earlier."

Another man chimed in, wiping grime off his brow as he spoke. "They had maybe four horses at most. We saw them riding off toward the eastern forest edge, just before sunrise. If we send men now, we might still catch them."

Arthur nodded, finally satisfied with the information. He didn't need to hear more. Bandits preying on a rich village like Riverside was bold, but sloppy. Only a fool would linger near the Red Fork after raiding a village under a noble's protection.

As if sensing that Arthur wasn't angry, the peasants grew bolder. Several raised their voices at once, desperation creeping into their tones.

"My lord, we beg you, help us!"

"They took everything, even next season's grain!"

"If we don't get it back, we won't be able to pay our taxes—our families will starve!"

At that moment, a translucent blue screen flickered before Arthur's eyes—something only he could see.

[Quest: Hunt down the bandits and recover the stolen goods. Reward: Increased Experience, Local Loyalty, and Potential Recruits.]

Arthur blinked. Ah. A quest panel. So that's how this system works.

That made things clearer. This wasn't just about honor or duty anymore—there were tangible benefits. By helping Riverside Village recover its losses, Arthur would not only earn experience and increase favor with his people, but also strengthen future recruitment from the village.

Villagers who trust their lord make better levy soldiers.

In Mount & Blade, Arthur knew from experience that sometimes the best starter units were old farmers wielding pitchforks. They had no fear. They'd charge head-on into cavalry and somehow survive.

Maybe, just maybe, his future Bracken army would be made up of hardened old men and angry villagers. But for that, they needed to believe in him.

The Brackens currently had thirty-five soldiers in chainmail, trained in basic infantry tactics—enough to outmatch poorly armed bandits. Add in a handful of volunteer archers from nearby hamlets and they could surround and eliminate the raiders before they even reached the lake's far edge.

"Silence," Arthur commanded, his voice sharp.

The hall fell quiet instantly, all eyes on him. He stood slowly, surveying the gathered faces. Dirt-streaked, gaunt, but brimming with expectation. In their eyes, he wasn't just a young noble trying to play lord—he was their last hope.

Arthur drew in a breath and said firmly, "I will lead our men to find these lawless bandits and return what was stolen. I promise you this: they will not escape justice."