Two families sobbed over the bodies, but no response would ever co.
Surrounding them were frightened and uneasy refugees, clearly shaken by the recent event. They knew the threat had never been far away, and anxiety pressed heavily on their hearts.
"My Lord," a refugee noticed Lance approaching, and all eyes turned to him.
Despite the many eyes upon him, Lance showed no signs of fear. On the contrary, his steps beca firr, his expression grave, exuding a powerful sense of pressure.
The relatives of the deceased and injured noticed Lance approaching. Their grief quickly receded, not eased, but replaced by uncontrollable panic.
It was simple: with the n dead or injured, the family’s main source of labor had vanished. To a Lord, orphans and widows held little value. They feared being expelled from the camp, uncertain how they could survive outside.
Overwhelming sorrow and fear crushed their last bit of rationality. One mother pulled her child to kneel before Lance.
"My Lord, please don’t send us away! We can work."
The reaction from the other family was much the sa as they tried to grasp at that faint glimr of hope. Their response further intensified the pressure within the crowd; one could even say unease rose in everyone’s heart.
This recently established camp was already teetering on the brink of collapse.
Even Lance was moved by this scene. Forgetting to maintain his dignified air, he quickly stepped forward to help them up.
"Get up quickly. Why would I send you away?" Lance’s strength was more than they could resist, and he forcefully helped them to their feet. "They died protecting the camp. They are heroes. How could I possibly send away the families of heroes?"
"Thank you, My Lord! I will work hard," the woman said, her fear slightly lessened, tearfully thanking him for allowing them to stay.
"Your family is hereby reinstated as free citizens. When we return to my domain, I will provide a monthly subsidy for your family. I will send your child to school and cover all educational expenses until he cos of age at sixteen."
Lance then looked at the surrounding people and declared firmly, "I will not abandon my people!"
After he finished speaking, there was dead silence. The passionate response he had expected did not materialize; instead, he was t with distrustful gazes.
Lance understood that words alone were not convincing, as the promises he made were just too good to be true, unprecedented, and beyond their comprehension.
But Lance was not worried; facts would speak for themselves.
The crying hadn’t stopped. It ca from a child whose mother had forcibly pulled him forward.
"What’s your na?"
Lance crouched down, drew the child closer, and wiped the tears from his face.
"Roy..."
"Rember, Roy, your father was a hero. He protected everyone. You are the son of a hero, so be strong," Lance said.
The child looked up at the man before him and nodded instinctively. He was too young to understand these words, but sohow, they stopped his tears.
This act, more than any empty promises, soothed the people’s hearts. It greatly eased the tension among the crowd, allowing the anxious refugees to breathe a sigh of relief.
Having addressed the most pressing issue, Lance then turned his attention to the injured.
The refugees didn’t have many weapons, so the injuries weren’t severe—just superficial wounds.
But the greatest fear was infection. In this era, infection almost certainly ant death.
"I’ll do it. You go boil a pot of water..."
Lance waved the relatives away. After checking the wounds, he began treating them himself, using the injured as examples to teach the others how to properly clean, disinfect, and bandage wounds.
The refugees he had personally selected to enter the camp already recognized him. They knew he was a Noble Lord but hadn’t expected him to be so benevolent, personally tending to the injured.
The injured were deeply grateful. In this era, they greatly feared injury due to the high risk of death. They also feared that their Lord would abandon them because of their injuries.
His recent words hadn’t provided much reassurance, as distrust of the Nobility was almost ingrained in their very being.
But now, Lance was proving through his actions that he wouldn’t abandon them.
"What happened? How were you injured?"
While treating them, Lance took the opportunity to learn about the situation.
The cause was simple: the ruffians he had killed earlier that day while saving Joan and her daughter were gang mbers from among the refugees.
When the gang found out, they attacked the camp. So other refugees, eager for a share of the spoils, also surged forward.
The Guard barely managed to retaliate, relying on the camp’s defenses. If not for Boudica’s overwhelming bravery and the bloody slaughter that deterred most of the attackers, the few guards likely couldn’t have held such a rudintary camp.
Actually, Lance had already guessed as much when he saw the corpses outside. The proportion of able-bodied young n was too high, and they didn’t look like they were starving.
In this area, only gangs ford by refugees fit that description. Their numbers had swelled rapidly as more refugees arrived, and they survived by controlling and exploiting the others.
It could be said that Lance’s conspicuous recruitnt of refugees had already infringed upon their interests. The reason conflict hadn’t erupted sooner was likely their uncertainty about his background.
But why did they dare to make a move today?
Sothing is amiss.
However, Lance had more important matters to address at that mont. He turned to the camp supervisor and gave an order:
"Summon all the Guard."
The supervisor acknowledged the order and quickly made arrangents. Soon, the Guard, over two hundred strong, assembled.
Lance looked at the disorganized assembly, his gaze sweeping over them before he spoke. "You volunteered to join, and I made it clear at the ti. You should know your duties."
As his words fell, the guards felt a palpable pressure. So began to look around nervously.
"Those who fled during the battle, those who retreated—step forward now!"
At this, so guards imdiately showed panicked expressions but tried desperately to conceal them. Not one stepped forward.
Lance wasn’t surprised. Not everyone has the courage to admit their actions, which is precisely why those who take responsibility are so praiseworthy.
"They eat porridge; you eat bread and at. You enjoy better conditions than they do, so naturally, you must bear corresponding responsibilities. Is this how you fulfill them?
"You are supposed to be the protectors of this camp. But look at these people—you abandoned them! Look at your dead and injured brothers—you abandoned your comrades! You have betrayed my trust! You are unworthy of being in the Guard! You are unworthy of such treatnt!"
With that, Lance gestured expansively towards the surrounding refugees.
"Now, you tell ! Who ran away? Who retreated? Who abandoned you?!"
Lance’s words resonated deeply with the crowd. These guards enjoyed better treatnt than they did, yet had abandoned them at the critical mont.
"It was him!"
"That coward ran away!"
"He’s the one who fled! He let the enemy in, and that’s why I was injured!"
"..."
The crowd’s fury erupted. Countless individuals pointed at the Guard mbers, none more incensed than the wounded themselves.
Their pent-up anger ignited. Fear and unease on their faces were replaced by raw fury. Especially influenced by the charged atmosphere, they lost all rationality, nearly wishing to surge forward and tear the derelict guards to shreds!
The accused guards, enveloped in unprecedented pressure, all looked terrified, whether they had fled or not.
They could only clutch their spears tightly. The spearheads, ant for enemies, were now vaguely aid at their own people.
If anyone had acted rashly, a bloody lee could have erupted instantly.
BANG!
Just then, a gunshot shattered the escalating tension. Lance, drawing all eyes to himself, then spoke.
"Everyone, quiet! I will now deliver judgnt!"
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