As the caravan moved forward, Vick soon noticed the odd group. It was hard not to, as they were indeed very strange, especially the man pulling the cart, who gave him a very peculiar feeling.
Vick had seen the world under Walter's guidance. He recognized a deanor in the cart puller that not even every noble or bureaucrat possessed, and this was despite the man's apparent illness.
The sickness had not destroyed him; his steps remained steadfast, as if nothing could affect him.
It was fortunate I didn't act rashly just now; otherwise, it would have been troubleso…
Under Vick's direction, the caravan proceeded slowly. However, they were not the only ones on the road—there were also many refugees.
Naturally, these newcors wanted to follow the caravan, which led to obvious conflicts with those who had already been following behind, effectively cutting in line.
The refugees who had been following the caravan didn't dare vent their frustration on the caravan itself. Instead, they directed their anger at the sick travelers, who looked abnormal. This was even though the sick people weren't actually cutting in line but were rely nearby by chance.
Just because Vick could recognize the man's exceptional nature didn't an others could.
"Monster! Stay away from us!"
"Why don't you just die!"
"Unclean blasphers, the Holy Light will cast you into Hell!"
"Damned..."
The insults had no noticeable effect; those people continued to maintain their formation, walking as if they heard nothing.
Or perhaps, they had heard too many similar words on their journey, even more vile ones.
They had already beco numb to it, even feeling as if they might indeed have been abandoned by the gods—otherwise, why would they suffer from such illness?
But this was just the fuse. The more the sick people tolerated, the more outrageous the refugees beca. These refugees had likely endured many hardships throughout their journey.
The Nobility, the Church, the army, bandits, and robbers—these were all groups the refugees couldn't afford to offend. They had likely suffered greatly and accumulated substantial resentnt from encounters with stronger individuals along the way.
Now, encountering those weaker than themselves easily triggered their bitterness, not to ntion this was happening on Hamlet's land.
SMACK!
A stone flung by an unknown person hit the man pulling the cart. At that mont, the sick people—who had until then been silent and seemingly broken by their ailnts—showed intense anger in their eyes, visible beneath their cloth wrappings, upon seeing their cart leader attacked.
In contrast, the one who had thrown the stone was still laughing, inexplicably feeling a sense of pride in his actions.
HAHAHA!
The madness among the refugees began to spread, escalating from words to potential violence.
Just as it seed that things were about to turn ugly, a loud shout rang out.
"Stop! What are you doing?"
Who else could have stood up at that mont?
Vick rode over on his horse, and the oppressive presence of his leadership role instilled fear in the refugees.
His gaze swept over them. The refugees, who had been frenzied monts before, instantly beca as docile as quails. The one who had thrown the stone also looked uncomfortable, and the potentially explosive situation quickly cald.
He had suspected that trouble might arise; these refugees were following the caravan hoping to gain so protection, as they lacked the power to deal with bandits and robbers on their own.
Vick didn't concern himself too much with them. Hamlet was short on people anyway, so he could bring so back with him.
However, he wouldn't allow these people to cause trouble, nor could he truly stand by and watch chaos unfold. This was Hamlet, under the Lord's governance.
Stability and order were the most important rules here.
Vick glanced at those individuals, then turned his attention to the man pulling the cart. Upon getting closer and seeing the broken Great Sword, he couldn't help but feel stunned.
This man is definitely not ordinary. Such a weapon could probably only be wielded by soone as powerful as the Lord, and yet this man…
"Go get so food," Vick called out with a wave of his hand, and soone promptly brought over a small bag.
Vick dismounted and approached with the bag, his words suddenly filled with righteous indignation.
"I can't stand to see them bully others. Who doesn't get sick? Who hasn't encountered tough tis? We're all trying to survive on this road. If we can't support each other, that's one thing, but to do sothing like this..."
The strong deserve respect—that was a universal truth. He didn't want to make enemies for Hamlet, so he decided to extend a friendly gesture first.
As for whether the other party would accept this kindness, that was another matter.
"Don't co closer." Vick had taken only a few steps when the man raised his hand. A deep but hoarse voice said, "The disaster will spread to you."
"Alright, I won't bother you then," Vick said, not approaching further. Instead, he tossed the bag toward the man.
Vick thought there would be no issue, but unexpectedly, the man didn't catch the bag; it fell to the ground beside his outstretched arm.
Is that the kind of response one would expect from a strong individual?
Vick observed the man bending down to pick up the bag, his body so stiff, and couldn't help but feel puzzled. Had I been mistaken?
"Thank you. May God bless you," the hoarse voice interrupted his thoughts. Vick simply nodded with a smile in response.
It didn't matter anyway. They would soon reach the town, and others would naturally take responsibility for these matters.
With this thought, Vick's expression relaxed considerably. Traveling was truly exhausting, and only Hamlet felt like ho.
I can rest well when I return...
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