Everyone saw the glittering and glamorous side of Totnes, filled with longing and fantasies, wishing to bestow upon it all the beautiful things in their minds.
But who knew that this was also a part of Totnes?
When Boudica was in the tribe, she often heard the elders talk about the wealth of the Empire. Even soone like her, from a remote tribe in the Mountains, had heard of the great na of Totnes.
Having witnessed the prosperity and beauty of the Central City District, she had initially believed the chaos in the Outer City District was the worst it could be. She never expected to see sothing like this. The sight was a huge shock to her.
"Boss, how can Totnes have a place like this?" Boudica asked.
Lance, seeming very calm and even in the mood for a joke, replied, "This shantytown is nothing to fuss about. These people are struggling, sure, but at least they have food and won’t starve. Wait until you see the refugee camps. Then you’ll understand true reality. The Empire’s conditions aren’t much better than your Mountains."
"It’s ti to give you a little imperial wake-up call," he added, a playful lilt in his voice.
Boudica frowned. She had seen refugee camps in Ovando; could it truly be worse?
Soon, she understood why her boss had said that.
The scale was entirely different. The camp in Ovando held fewer than three thousand people, scattered about, with so gathered and settled. It hadn’t exuded such an oppressive atmosphere.
But here, refugees covered the hills as far as the eye could see. The haphazardly constructed camp was a dense, dark mass, its boundaries impossible to discern.
"This is the Empire," Lance murmured, more to himself than to her.
He gazed out. He had glimpsed it from the riverside earlier, but only now, standing before it, did he truly feel the crushing weight of the scene.
Among them were countless people, all with disheveled hair and grimy faces, their clothes in tatters.
Yet, even in such dire straits, quarrels, bullying, and killings erupted endlessly within the refugee camp.
Every second, soone died, and the next, new refugees arrived. Madness and chaos reigned supre; order was nonexistent.
"Why are there so many ’Bamboo Poles’?" Boudica asked, her voice filled with a bewildered tone. "They’re sprouting up like mushrooms after a rain shower."
She was puzzled by the sight. Why were there so many refugees here?
"This is the end of the road for them," Lance explained. "Further east, there’s only the sea. They fled here with great difficulty. Everyone wants to stay in this prosperous land, so naturally, no one turns back. That’s why their numbers keep swelling."
As he spoke, Lance corrected Boudica’s terminology.
"Also, they are *human*. Say ’human’ with ."
Boudica attempted the word, but her pronunciation was off, the sound she made closer to a word aning ’to endure.’
"Human," Lance repeated patiently.
She tried once more, but this ti it sounded like the word for ’blade.’
Lance didn’t bother to correct her further and simply headed towards the refugee camp.
To be honest, the long migration had weeded out the old, weak, and sick. Though these refugees were disheveled, they were, on average, of better physical quality than those outside Ovando City’s walls.
Most were n and won in their pri. Few elderly were visible, and those present relied on their families.
Here, the advantage of larger families beca apparent. Blood ties kept them united, enhancing their ability to withstand risks.
However, the majority consisted of ordinary individuals and average families.
"Kind sir, please spare so coin..." a refugee began, stepping out from the crowd towards Lance.
"Scram!" Lance cut him off with a kick. He didn’t use much force; otherwise, the blow could have been fatal.
He was currently like a sheep among wolves, with countless eyes watching. If he showed the slightest hint of compassion, he would be sward.
Though not afraid, why invite trouble if it could be avoided?
Only by being tough and domineering could he make those people reconsider.
Besides, that fellow was clearly a local thug; truly desperate people wouldn’t beg for money. It was undoubtedly one of the gangs mixed in with the refugees, testing him.
As expected, Lance’s aggressive posture deterred them, preventing any rash actions.
As he ventured deeper, Lance frowned. Totnes was divided by strength into upper, middle, and lower city districts, effectively segregating people into three classes.
A similar hierarchy had ford here. The more powerful individuals among the refugees had pushed their way closer to the city, thereby controlling the vast majority of resources trickling out of Totnes.
Over ti, these powerful individuals had already established a new order amidst the chaos.
However, the further one moved away from the city’s edge, the more pronounced the chaos beca. The condition of the refugees deteriorated sharply, with so in extre areas driven to the horrifying extent of exchanging children to eat.
"Take the child, please. He’s well-behaved and won’t eat much."
"My daughter is fair-skinned; she’s never done hard labor. Feed her for a couple of days, and she’ll be quite pretty."
"Just a bite to eat, and they’re yours."
The desperate pleas continued.
Lance walked among them. Along the main path, he saw parents pushing their children forward, hawking them to anyone passing by.
There were quite a few people on the road leading in and out of Totnes. So children reacted with frantic desperation to the gazes of passersby, while others were simply numb or too starved to even move.
It wasn’t just children; even adults were being sold. In this environnt, no one wanted to waste precious resources on a child who might die, making the investnt a total loss. Grown adults were considered better rchandise.
Lance’s gaze swept over the scene. Observing the situation, he felt no pity, only an inexplicable anger rising within him.
Why?
Because he knew that even if he felt pity, he couldn’t save so many. The camp stretched for nearly five kiloters. Given the visible density, there weren’t just fifty or sixty thousand refugees, but likely over one hundred thousand.
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