(Quick Transmigration) Small Cannon Fodder Has Great Power

The dream was blurry and indistinct, like ink dripping into water. When it became clear again, Vincent saw his stepmother's son.

Vincent's stepbrother was only three years younger than him. His stepmother entered the family shortly after Vincent's mother passed away. Vincent was too young at the time, and he only learned about it later from other people's accounts.

After his stepson had the prison door opened, he dismissed the guards and attendants.

Vincent wore a metal ring on each hand, connected by a chain, making him look no different from a prisoner. He looked up at his stepson in surprise. Their relationship was usually rather cold, but still peaceful. He couldn't figure out why he had come.

The younger brother drew the long sword hanging from his waist, revealing a smug and delighted expression, and pointed the sword at his nominal older brother, whose hands were bound by iron chains and who was sitting on a pile of hay on the ground.

"You know what, I really hate you, brother."

Vincent, always a free spirit, couldn't help but chime in, despite his inner turmoil, "I know."

Seeing his stepson choke, he continued, "It's just that I'm now unjustly accused, and you're not afraid of getting your clothes dirty by coming to this filthy prison to kick me when I'm down. I didn't expect you to hate me to this extent."

"...Ha, still in the mood for jokes? It seems you don't understand the predicament you're in right now."

The younger brother raised an eyebrow and said, "If you still expect someone to uphold justice for you and investigate the truth, then you are being too naive."

Vincent slowly frowned, his gaze gradually darkening. "...What do you mean?"

"What I mean is, even if I kill you here today, everyone will just say that I did it for the honor of the Duke's mansion, sacrificing family for the greater good, and no one will question it." He tossed the longsword in his hand, the tip of which dangled lightly in front of Vincent's eyes. "Including Father."

Vincent clearly didn't believe it. "Wait until Father comes back..."

"Father is in the manor, but have you seen him come over?"

"……what?"

"Don't you understand? You've been abandoned by everyone. In fact, you've been abandoned for a long time."

The stepson said viciously, "Since you're about to die, I might as well be merciful and tell you the truth. The woman in your bed, I'm the one who got her."

Vincent's chains rattled as his stepson held a sword to his throat, stopping him from moving. He could only glare at him angrily.

The younger brother looked at his older brother, whose swordsmanship was superb and who was praised by their common martial arts teacher, now with his hands bound by prisoner's chains and pointed at by him with no room to resist. He felt a sense of joy he had never felt before, and much of the pent-up frustration he had accumulated over the years was also released.

He continued, “Those maids are so annoying, always chattering away about how young master Vincent is, how he was praised by the teacher, how he is favored by the knight commander…” He spat, “Then let them die for their young master Vincent! Heh, let me have some fun before I die, that will be the best use of them.”

Vincent's eyes became increasingly bloodshot as he suppressed his anger, "You beast!"

The stepsister wasn't angry at all. "Oh my, you're already this angry? What I'm about to say will drive you crazy!" he said exaggeratedly. "Everyone has always said that the woman who gave birth to you died of illness... but that's not true."

Vincent's eyes widened in shock, and he almost held his breath.

“My mother was already pregnant with me at that time, but how could she let me be born with the identity of ‘the son of a mistress’? So, of course, she had to find a way to make your mother step down…” The stepsister tilted his head, enjoying Vincent’s face, which looked like he wanted to kill him. “That’s right, your mother actually died of poisoning.”

"Because they were afraid of being discovered, they could only use a slow-acting poison. She should have died in a little over a month, but your birth mother, out of worry and concern for you, endured it for almost three months before dying. At that time, my mother was so pregnant with me that she could hardly hide it, and she almost walked in the door with her big belly looking rather unsightly. Tsk tsk, what bad luck, just as despicable as you, you bastard!"

My mother said she was terrified for a while, afraid my father would find out what she had done. But it turned out she was just worrying for nothing. Haha, my father didn't investigate at all; he didn't care how that woman died.

The stepson said, each word laced with malice, "Just like he doesn't care whether you live or die!"

After speaking, the stepson swung his sword at Vincent, saying, "Now, it's time for you to join your short-lived mother!"

However, the next moment, the chain caught his sword firmly.

Despite his extreme anger, Vincent became unusually calm, though a dark mist seemed to cloud his eyes, making his stepson, who met his gaze, feel uneasy.

The younger brother tried to raise his sword again, but the sword was twisted and pulled by the iron chain, and was involuntarily sent forward.

Vincent leaped up nimbly and kicked his stepbrother in the chest, sending him flying backward and crashing hard into the prison bars, his sword slipping from his hand.

His stepson fell to the ground, clutching his chest, uttering weak, incoherent groans, unable to get up from the pain. In the past, Vincent had always held back when sparring with his stepson, but this time he used all his strength, without reservation.

“I will go and ask my father myself.” Vincent walked up to him, his tone icy. “You have the key to the shackles, don’t you?”

"In...in my shirt pocket..." The younger brother gasped in pain, appearing to be in so much agony that he couldn't move.

Vincent bent down to search, unaware of the fierce glint in his stepson's eyes as he swiftly drew a hidden dagger and stabbed him in the back.

Vincent, skilled in combat, instinctively raised his arm to block Vincent's forearm, then grabbed Vincent's wrist and twisted it. With a soft "thud," the dagger's white blade pierced Vincent's stepbrother's chest.

The younger brother opened his eyes wide in disbelief, coughed up a few mouthfuls of bloody foam with difficulty, and stopped breathing with his eyes open.

Vincent stared blankly at the dagger in his stepbrother's chest for a long time before looking away, taking out the key and unlocking the shackles.

The dream begins to fast forward, and some scenes flicker—

The confrontation and argument with his father, his father's angry scolding;

Faced with his questioning, his father's ruthless words filled him with boundless hatred, but he ultimately did not take his father's life. A crazy thought in his mind made him swing his sword and slash at his father's genitals, as a way of settling a score with this bastard old man who was not qualified to be a husband or a father.

As he was leaving, he bumped into his stepmother and told her the news of his stepson's death. His stepmother seemed to go crazy...

Vincent, who had escaped from the Duke's mansion, gradually came to his senses from the hatred and realized that it was all a terrible nightmare from which he could never wake up.

He stumbled and walked for a long time, feeling lost and helpless.

I walked for a day and a night, from the bustling town to the rural farm. My legs were almost numb, but I still mechanically walked forward without any destination.

He tripped over a protruding stone and fell to the ground. In an instant, exhaustion, hunger, and pain overwhelmed him completely.

Vincent lay on his back on the ground, staring blankly at the sky, thinking inappropriately that the clouds floating in the boundless blue sky looked so gentle.

He could no longer remember what his mother looked like; only in the faded, yellowed old photographs he kept could he vaguely discern her gentle expression, her loving gaze fixed on him as a small child.

Although he couldn't remember what it felt like to face his mother's gaze, it was probably as soft as these clouds.

He lay there for a while, then slowly got up and continued on his way. The gnawing hunger in his stomach made his steps even heavier.

Suddenly, Vincent's eyes lit up. Ahead lay an orchard, with tempting red fruits hanging from the branches, within easy reach. Just looking at them made his mouth water.

He dragged his feet, quickened his pace, and walked to a fruit tree, reaching out to pick some fruit.

But just as his fingertips were about to touch the tempting fruit, his hand stopped.

Vincent glanced at the orchard. Although he didn't see anyone, it was clearly someone else's orchard, and he had nothing to offer the owner. To pick the fruit without permission would be theft, contrary to the knight's beliefs and principles.

Although he was not yet a formal knight, he always strictly disciplined himself according to the virtues of a knight, and his ideal was to become the most upright and courageous royal knight.

The boy swallowed hard, glanced hesitantly at the fruit above his head, then withdrew his hand and continued walking without looking back.

After walking for a while, he came across a farmhouse. He patted his stomach and thought to himself with a self-deprecating smile, never imagining that he would one day be reduced to begging for food. But begging was better than stealing.

Vincent mentally prepared himself before knocking on the door, thinking that perhaps this family would be kind enough to give him a glass of milk? He would definitely repay them if he had the chance.

The faint sounds of children chattering and women scolding could be heard from inside, along with the barking of dogs in the yard. After a while, a woman's cursing voice approached impatiently, and she opened the door with a creak.

The peasant woman stood at the doorway, sizing up the newcomer before asking with disdain, "What is it?"

Vincent moved his lips, managing only to utter, "Could you please give me a drink of water...?"

Vincent had traveled a long way and had fallen again. His once neat clothes were now mixed with sweat, mud, and dark red, inconspicuous bloodstains. His hair was also a mess, with a withered yellow leaf on his head. His good looks were greatly diminished by his tired expression and the dark stains. He looked extremely disheveled.

The peasant woman spat on the ground and yelled in a loud voice, "What a damn bad luck! I open the door first thing in the morning and see a stinking beggar!" She grabbed a large broom from beside the door and started whipping Vincent with it. "Get out! Get away from me! Don't let me see you! Where am I going to get any extra food to feed you?"

Taking advantage of her frustration, the peasant woman lashed out, slapping the disheveled young man before her. "So young, not missing an arm or a leg, yet you idle away your days doing nothing but begging! You bloodsucking beggar! I'd rather feed you to the dogs than give you any! Get out!"

Vincent was exhausted and hadn't expected to encounter this situation, enduring several blows. But the humiliation he felt was even more painful than the physical pain.

But his upbringing wouldn't allow him to fight with an ordinary peasant woman who knew nothing of martial arts, and he had no way to explain himself, so he could only remain silent. Vincent staggered back a few steps, and the wooden door slammed shut in front of him.

He took a few deep breaths, struggling to calm himself, and like a ghost, he continued walking forward.

This time, they encountered a wild plant with bright red berries on its branches. Vincent didn't recognize it, but he had heard that some brightly colored berries in the wild are poisonous.

The events of the past two days flashed before his eyes: a deliberate framing, betrayal and abandonment by his family, being hunted after committing murder with a bleak future, his dreams shattered, and a state devoid of dignity...

He suddenly had the thought that "it would be better to die."

Vincent suddenly picked a fruit, the one he didn't know if it was poisonous, and ate it in large bites.

Whether it's poisonous or not, let fate decide.

After eating several fruits, he sat on the ground, leaning against the tree trunk, and gradually fell asleep.