"My lord!"
As Lance approached, he drew the attention of the staff, and their greetings startled him, his gaze shifting to them.
These people were not like Lance, who was so powerful that he didn't need rest. Summoned by the Lord, they had spent half a day preparing and then dealt with refugees all night, and their exhaustion was hard to conceal.
"You've worked hard. Once the others co to change shifts, I'll give you a paid day off. Go back and rest well," Lance said to the staff kindly, nodding and promising them.
"For Hamlet!" The staff, though tired from a whole night of work, felt the Lord's care upon hearing these words.
Saying more empty words was useless; only material rewards were practical, after all, spirits couldn't be eaten for food.
So refugees noticed this scene and were a bit surprised, both by their mutual attitudes and that unique phrase.
Lance walked around, and only a small number had completed registration; these were the "talents" selected with a second bowl of porridge.
The quality of these refugees was average; Lance didn't see anything particularly special—being literate was already quite good, along with a few ordinary craftsn.
Even if there were true geniuses or capable ones, they might have died on the way or been killed by Bruce.
Most of them were just to regain their state in three days and then would be checked and sent to the wilderness for developnt.
No one knew how many would survive this process.
But what needed to be dealt with still had to be dealt with; Hamlet doesn't keep useless people.
...
It all seed like a big dream.
Margaret lay on the bed, her gaze slightly unfocused as she looked at the ceiling, with a kind of confusion in her eyes.
She used to eat delicacies and sleep on a soft bed covered in velvet.
But now, she had only three bowls of thin porridge last night and slept on a hard wooden bed.
Yet, even so, last night was the most comfortable sleep she'd had in this period.
Because the night before, amidst the refugees, she didn't dare lie down even when the group stopped for the night. She could only sit on the ground, staying alert even while dozing, constantly wary of other refugees and startled by even the slightest movent, of course, also being on guard against wild beasts.
Here, she didn't have to endure hunger and could sleep lying down, while the house and the lock on the door gave her a long-lost sense of security, allowing her soul, deeply shrouded in exhaustion, a mont of relief.
At ho, she could sleep as long as she wanted, waking to another carefree day.
Now, waking up was wrapped in anxiety, and it wasn't until everything she took for granted was lost that she realized that nothing erged out of thin air.
But what she had to face, she had to face.
Margaret eventually overca the hold of the bed, mustering the courage to rise and face reality.
The first thing she did upon getting up was to pick up the long gun, her gaze settling on the three claw marks on its body as she raised her hand to stroke it.
It was proof of her resistance against the heretics, and also proof that she hadn't lost her courage.
She opened the door and stepped outside, her gaze lingering for a mont on the doors of the two adjacent rooms as she took a step forward, intending to greet the two others.
But it was only then that she realized she didn't even know their nas, and suddenly the journey seed disorienting.
She was famished last night, but Margaret hadn't forgotten who she was, nor had she forgotten that her father was captured by Hamlet.
This made the situation sowhat delicate; she wasn't sure what fate awaited her if her identity was exposed.
Margaret's gaze retreated, carrying a hint of embarrassnt and caution.
They probably weren't awake yet, so she decided not to disturb them.
Margaret convinced herself of this, but as she walked out, she saw Laura, cloaked in black, in the living room.
The scene imdiately turned awkward.
Laura had saved her many tis on the way; without her protection, Margaret wouldn't have survived to get here. But Margaret couldn't reveal her identity to her.
With the loss of her father's protection, she had co to realize the harshness of society.
Silence...
Margaret lowered her head, feeling inexplicable guilt as she fled the area.
But it was all in Margaret's head; in reality, Laura only glanced at her before returning to polishing the arrowhead in her hand.
Arrows could be reused; otherwise, shooting a few arrows would eat up all the rewards.
However, the arrows shot would have so issues, and to ensure accuracy and sharpness, the recovered arrows needed processing.
As for the Baron's daughter?
Laura didn't care; her goal had already been achieved.
Margaret initially worried about potential trouble, but there was actually no one guarding outside.
The door opened easily, and as she stepped out not far away, she found herself near the street by Hamlet's central square, Hamlet's core area with quite a few people coming and going.
Bastia, being a large city, was naturally very prosperous. Margaret, often back and forth to the city from a young age, had seen it all, but Hamlet gave her a feeling that was indescribable.
She couldn't tell what it was; she just wandered aimlessly.
And then she was captured!
"Don't you know you can't walk around with weapons here?" Two sheriffs approached, having received a citizen's report that soone was wandering around with a musket.
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