Iron Harvest: When Farming Becomes Conquest
Chapter 171 - 8: Life Is Never in Her Hands

Chapter 171: Chapter 8: Life Is Never in Her Hands

Lola waited inside the red brick house.

She sat on a stool, her expression calm, yet her heart was filled with helplessness.

She was a farm girl, her entire family had been plundered and brought here, what could she do?

She had been asked those questions, and she had answered truthfully, only to end up with this result, what could she do?

Old Richard huddled in a corner with a troubled frown.

The scars from being beaten months ago lingered on his face, hidden by his graying hair.

He was just over forty years old, but the backbreaking labor was quickly draining all the life from his body, perhaps within less than ten years, he would die coughing blood in the fields.

Those from the neighboring household, temporarily staying in the same room, comforted his wife and daughter.

"Those soldiers feast on meat at every meal."

Could they hit his daughter harder?

"Those soldiers train every day."

Did all the household chores have to be done by his daughter?

"Those soldiers earn a lot, receiving several copper coins each month."

Would they kill his daughter and then buy a new wife?

He couldn’t help but think the worst, having tossed and turned over it these past days.

He dared not oppose this matter.

They were being kept alive with good food and drink, eating three meals a day, they were told tasks had been assigned, but the work hadn’t actually begun, everyone huddled at home, and when mealtime came, someone would call them over to the big kitchen to get their food, quickly adapting to the lifestyle here.

In Doug Village, he had roots and connections, by refusing the Steward’s proposal to his daughter, he faced brutal treatment, it was only through neighbors’ pleas that he still had a way to live.

But now he dared not resist.

The head of the Steward who once wanted to marry Lola had closely followed them all the way.

A family had more than just a daughter, did he have to drag the whole family into a funeral for his daughter?

His heart was torn, yet he had to sever ties, sacrificing his daughter to keep the whole family alive, this too was the reason for his compromise.

Those powerful people had plenty of ways to torment them to the point of death.

"Here they come, here they come!" the neighbor’s son, keeping watch at the door next door, lifted the stiff, burlap curtain.

The cold wind from outside slithered into the warm room through the gaps.

All ten people in the house tensed up.

Soon, a hand also lifted the curtain, and a muscular young man entered.

"Is this house number 1276?" he asked.

This was confirmed by everyone inside.

There were too many brick houses here.

The workers repeated over and over, tirelessly telling them the house number, to prevent them from getting lost and not knowing which way to go.

But soldiers couldn’t get lost, the house numbers were prominently written next to the door of every brick house.

They could recognize words and those numbers, some soldiers could even spell out their names and read the names and addresses on notes, they could find the location no matter what.

But he felt he still had to ask.

His left hand lifted the scrap of paper and brought it before his eyes, somewhat awkwardly reading the name, "Lola who resides here! The Lord has betrothed you to me, and I am to take you away."

He was extremely nervous, feeling as if this were akin to stepping onto the battlefield.

Those people staring straight at him made him somewhat uneasy. He knew what he was doing, taking away a daughter from her family, but it was the lord’s command, so he was filled with courage and confidence.

Yet he had no experience in this, and his words came out rather stiff.

When he said the name, he didn’t even know who Lola was; there were four or five women in the room.

But his gaze unconsciously concentrated on the prettiest girl.

She had ginger hair cascading down her shoulders, sitting with proper decorum, legs together, her face as delicate and beautiful as a chrysanthemum.

When he locked eyes with her gray pupils, his heart felt as if it had stopped beating, silently praying to all gods that it must be that girl!

"Soldier sir, I am Lola’s father."

His eyes reluctantly moved from the girl to an old man with graying hair and a weary expression.

As he assessed him, the old man was also sizing up this unfamiliar figure—of no great height, with beady eyes and sparse eyebrows, yet with a straight-backed stature and an air of defiant vigor on his face. He was wearing his military uniform, a blend of wool and linen, warm and hard-wearing, which made an impression of rigid formality.

Eventually, his gaze fell on the empty sleeve, and with a voice timid for fear of angering the soldier, he asked, "Your hand..."

These soldiers were nothing like the conscripted soldiers under Lord Hass; the conscripts gathered and trained in times of war, while these men were ceaseless, day and night. Others saw professional soldiers as high rank rulers, a class above them, akin to meeting the Conquest Knight, respectfully addressed as lord to avoid provoking their wrath.

"It’s gone," he replied, hoisting his neatly bandaged right arm, the stump exposed.

He could no longer wield weapons and was about to retire.

Their lord had not neglected him but had made every effort to secure their future livelihoods and had promised that one day, he would find a way to have them fight for him again.

Old man Richard had accepted the harsh reality; his daughter was about to marry a disabled man.

But perhaps one hand could not kill. He thought with a bitter amusement.

"Who is Lola?" His gaze remained fixed on the girl.

"It is I." Lola stood up in his vision, her face calm as a still lake, well-prepared months ago, despite many complications in the interim.

She had prayed to all gods, yet they repeatedly told her that her life was not in her own hands.

She approached him, hearing the soldier in front of her say, "I, I am Tucker..."

His voice sounded even more nervous than hers.

She looked into his somewhat beady eyes, then lowered her gaze, nodding, "Tucker, sir, where will you take me?"

She would comply.

"Not sir, call me Tucker," he stuttered.

Lola was amiable, sensing his awkwardness in conversation, not wanting to make him uncomfortable, as it would only reflect poorly on her own family.

"The lord ordered me to take you there," he said dryly, the girl standing right in front of him, and he didn’t know what to do.

Lola nodded, noticing he stood still, neither brutish nor cruel, but seemingly out of his element.

Her eyes shifted, tilting her head, tentatively suggesting, "Then let’s go."

"Oh, oh... Yes, let’s go," he suddenly realized, executing a textbook about-face and marched out, lifting the tent flap and leaving on his own.

Lola contemplated; this soldier was clumsier than she had expected, thinking he’d be someone of an imperious nature, considering the many they had killed before.

Old man Richard held her right hand, his look full of reluctance as if this were a final goodbye. Lola gently withdrew her hand, shook her head slightly at him, and then followed Tucker out.