Mount & Blade: Rebuilding Rome from Mercenaries

Avelsa is situated in the center of a relatively flat plain. It was originally a small Lombard village until twenty years ago when the first Norman mercenaries conquered it and gradually built it into a town.

The city was not large; a low and cramped space was enclosed by gray stone walls. The roads inside the city gates were riddled with potholes from countless feet, the streets were narrow and winding, and sewage flowed slowly along the shallow ditches by the roadside, carrying the sour smell of animal dung and rotting vegetable leaves.

Beneath the crooked wooden and stone houses on both sides, figures moved about, and sounds mingled. Groups of Norman knights in chainmail strode through the mud, their longswords clinking against their leg armor with each step. Mercenaries strolled leisurely through the city, some squatting by doorways polishing their weapons, others leaning against weathered pillars sharing ale from their sacks. Among these figures were Lombards, ragged and with rusted iron rings around their necks or ankles, who had been captured. They carried heavy loads of timber and gravel, their steps slow and deliberate, contributing bricks and mortar to the luxurious palaces of the Norman lords.

"Dirty, chaotic, and terrible! Medieval cities really live up to the stereotypes. If I ever get a fiefdom, I'll definitely plan it properly!"

Tankred shook his head helplessly as he walked through the town, silently making a vow in his heart.

In search of a job, Tancred and Old John wander through the chaotic city.

The two walked along a narrow path, through a cluster of messy houses, and finally arrived at a relatively open space.

Avelsa's clerk stood beneath the dome of a marble archway, a thick stack of contracts in one hand and a large brass bell in the other. The bell was polished to a gleaming shine, reflecting a blinding light in the sunlight. He called out energetically in broken Norman French, occasionally shaking the bell forcefully, its clear sound echoing across the open space.

"Oh, old John, you've finally come to pick up another commission?"

When old John approached with Tancredi, the announcer immediately recognized him and his tone became noticeably warmer.

Clearly, old John was a regular here.

Tancred was completely unfamiliar with the whole process, so he simply remained silent and left the contract negotiations entirely to old John.

"A mercenary commission of about ten people?"

Upon hearing Old John's request, the clerk immediately perked up, flipping through the contract in his hand while enthusiastically introducing the job postings issued by nearby nobles. A pure white old cat was curled up at his feet; startled by the footsteps, it lazily stretched, then lay back down, purring softly.

Southern Italy was originally an overseas military region of the Byzantine Empire, but later the Pope, the Holy Roman Empire, the Lombards, and Muslim forces also intervened. The Normans were initially mercenaries hired by the Lombard nobles to fight against the Greeks (Byzantines) and Saracen pirates. This successful cooperation lasted for several years until a small problem arose—the Lombards defaulted on their wages to the Normans.

The balance of power began to tip from that point on.

These descendants of the Vikings decided to take matters into their own hands, "arming themselves to demand their wages" by occupying land, and waged intermittent wars against the Lombard nobles, the Byzantine Empire, and the Papal States.

Within the Norman state, nobles and mercenary leaders, each with their own agendas, were constantly engaged in open and covert struggles. Even surrounded by external enemies, they continued to play their own power games with undiminished enthusiasm.

This is clearly demonstrated by the several commissions recommended by the clerk:

"Old John, the reward for this commission is really good! The commissioner is a Lombard nobleman in the city who wishes to remain anonymous. As long as he can get his political enemy 'falling' into the river, he'll get 50 gold coins."

"And this, go set fire to a private estate outside the city, so they won't recover all winter. If you can burn down the granary and stables, 500 silver coins are yours."

"Oh, right, there's this one too, an anonymous commission! The commission is to 'make a trip' in this Norman knight's territory. As long as you don't leave any clear evidence, someone will naturally deliver 80 gold coins to you afterwards."

Old John listened with a calm expression, but turned his gaze to Tancredi, seeking his opinion.

Count the birds, count the birds.

Tankred pondered for a moment, then slowly shook his head. Although burning, killing, and looting were commonplace for the Normans, he knew very well that his mercenary group was just a handful of small fry, without any powerful figures backing them up. He dared not get involved in such dirty business that could easily provoke public outrage.

"Uh... are there any other... um... cleaner requests? These aren't really suitable for us." Old John had no choice but to ask helplessly when he saw the situation.

"Old John, what's going on with your boss now? Aren't you Norman mercenaries?" The announcer was taken aback, glancing at Tankred before turning back to Old John and muttering under his breath. As an announcer, this was the first time he'd ever seen Norman mercenaries unwilling to do dirty work.

However, a businessman is a businessman after all. After a moment of contemplation, he lowered his head, put the brass bell aside, and thoughtfully flipped through the contract in his hand.

After a moment, the clerk's eyes suddenly lit up, and he pulled out a crumpled contract:

"Got it! Since you don't want to do these dirty jobs, this commission is perfect."

"This job offered by the villagers of Casinono might be more suitable for you. It doesn't involve the dirty work you're talking about, but the pay is a bit low."

Tancred took the contract and saw that it was written in Latin:

"In the name of the Almighty, and in the intercession of the Saints Peter and Paul."

To all who see this document:

The village of Cassignano is infested with bandits who plunder livestock, steal property, and harm villagers.

After discussion, the villagers decided to hire a reliable mercenary team to go into the mountains and wipe out the bandit camp.

The mercenary squad must consist of no fewer than seven and no more than ten people, and must personally go to the bandit stronghold to wipe out the bandits.

After the event is completed, payment will be made based on the actual number of attendees, 10 silver coins per person, with half paid in advance and the remainder settled on the same day.

If the employee abandons the contract midway, retreats at the last minute, or fails to complete the entrusted task, he/she must pay compensation in silver coins equal to the reward.

This document was recorded before the Aversa proclamation officer as evidence.

The 1052nd year after the birth of Jesus, on the third Wednesday after Easter.

It looks like a commission to wipe out a bandit camp?

Tancred was somewhat tempted, but he still tentatively looked at Old John, after all, the latter was the one with real experience.

"Little Tank Red, these kinds of commissions are common," Old John murmured. "Most of them are petty thieves. Although our team is small, we have experienced veterans, so clearing out these thieves shouldn't be too difficult. The pay is a bit low, but we need to complete a commission as soon as possible to maintain our mercenary team's reputation, so this one is suitable."

He paused, then leaned closer to Tankred's ear and added:

"Besides, these bandit camps usually have a lot of stolen goods, which serves as extra pay for the mercenaries. If they find anything valuable, they can make a fortune!"

Got it, it's just opening blind boxes.

Tankred immediately understood and loudly proclaimed to the announcer:

"It's settled then. We'll leave for Petragara today. Let's sign the contract quickly!"

-----------------

After finalizing the contract, Tancred returned to camp. Just as he was about to start packing, Old John rushed over again.

"So, Uncle John, you mean three more of our men have run away?" Tankred asked, frowning. "Including you and me, we only have six mercenaries left in our team?"

"Well, little Tank Red," old John sighed, "I just found out myself."

"But I remember the contract we just signed stipulated that we had to send at least seven people, right?" Tankred's brows furrowed even more.

If they can't gather enough people, they'll be considered in breach of contract. Not only will they fail to complete the task, but they'll also have to pay a large sum of money in compensation.

"I'm afraid so," Old John said, also troubled, subconsciously counting on his fingers. "Right now, besides the two of us, we only have three heavily armored riders who came from our hometown in Normandy, each with a complete set of equipment. This setup is barely enough to deal with the bandits in the mountains. But the contract clearly states seven people, and we can't be short even one."

"Even that cunning Bashir, I gave him a sword and a set of worn-out armor to make up the numbers, but even so there were still only six people."

Tankred also fell silent.

The original owner had never cared about mercenary matters in the past, and knew almost nothing about his subordinates. Now that he had taken over in a hurry, he was at a loss as to what to do.

Just as the two were speechless, a slightly childish voice suddenly came from outside the tent.

"Father!"

Old John was taken aback and turned to look, only to see a boy standing at the tent entrance. He was already quite tall, but his face still carried a hint of childishness.

"Little John? What brings you here?" Old John frowned instinctively.

It turned out to be his son, John Jr.

Tancred looked at the boy, quickly searching through the original owner's memories. In the original owner's memory, his impression of him was from many years ago, when little John was chubby and looked like a cute little hamster. He never expected that he would grow up to be so tall and strong in the blink of an eye.

John didn't answer immediately, but went into the tent. He first looked at Tancred, then at his father, gritted his teeth, and said loudly:

"I heard you say you're short-handed; I can fill the gap."

"Nonsense!" Old John's face changed, and he almost immediately scolded, "You're only thirteen years old, this is none of your business!"

"You can still wield a spear at thirteen," Little John raised his head, his tone stubborn and firm. "Father, I grew up in the camp, I know how to set up camp, how to keep watch, and I've also practiced swordsmanship with you."

"No, you go back right now!" Old John's commanding tone carried an unquestionable air of authority.

However, John Jr. did not back down; instead, he fought back:

"Father, Young Master Tankred is the mercenary captain; your decision doesn't count!"

Tankred was amused by his words and offered some words of advice:

"Uncle John, don't be so quick to refuse. We're short-handed right now, and little John can just be my servant to make up the numbers, is that not acceptable?"

Old John remained silent for a long time, his fists clenching and unclenching repeatedly. Finally, he sighed deeply and said sternly to young John:

"You have to promise me that you'll only follow Young Master Tankred, protect his safety, and not rush to the front. You'll obey all orders. Can you do that?"

John's eyes lit up immediately, and he nodded emphatically.

"Yes, Father!"

Then he turned around, gave Tankred a mercenary salute, and said loudly:

"Commander Tanker, let's prepare to depart. Let me help you put on your armor!"