CHAPTER 185: CHAPTER 179: CLEAR REWARDS AND PUNISHMENTS_2

Lance sized up the man before him: around thirty years old, with a well-proportioned build and a handsome face, holding a longsword rather than the standard-issued spear.

The bloodstains on his person made it clear his words were true.

Lance remembered this man; he claimed his ancestors had once been knights. Although their glory had faded, they had left behind something of value.

As for his reason for coming, it was simple: he had killed a few thugs while protecting his wife and child, offending the local gangs, and thus had to seek sanctuary.

"Very good! Your family has its status as free citizens restored, and you are promoted to Guard Captain. Come and receive your reward."

Lance had always been unconventional in his use of people. If you had ability, you were in; if not, you were out. Do well and be rewarded; fail and be punished.

When that weighty bag of copper coins landed in the man’s hands, his typically stern face could not help but reveal a ripple of emotion.

"Thank you, my Lord!"

The onlookers, seeing such favorable treatment, regretted not having joined the guard. Those who had joined wished they had killed a few more.

Lance could feel their reactions, and this was exactly the effect he wanted.

He shouted to the crowd, "Everyone get ready. We leave tomorrow."

Cheers arose from the crowd. If they had felt compelled by necessity before, fearful and anxious about venturing into an unknown place, their mood was now one of anticipation, hoping to join the Lord’s domain.

The camp stirred back to life, even bursting with greater vigor than before.

If there were another invasion, everyone would likely be eager to rush forward to secure a future for themselves and their families, fearless even in the face of death.

Lance ordered the bodies to be collected, and the corpses of the refugees to be taken away for sacrifice. At least a hundred had died here, and little by little, this also amounted to a considerable income.

But he didn’t feel much about it, because the recent events had exposed a severe problem in his territory.

Hamlet lacked conventional medical methods, and it was not convenient for him to reveal his abilities.

Leaving aside the issue of Spiritual Essence consumption, if he dared to show his abilities freely, the Church’s people would be knocking at his door the next day.

Before the territory had stabilized, he was like a barefoot man who’s not afraid of wearing out his shoes; in the worst case, he could just run away and leave this huge problem for them to deal with.

But now, as things were on the up, he had to be even more cautious, at least until he had sufficient power not to have to hide.

Getting enough medical resources in a short period without relying on the Church wasn’t impossible.

The Association of Healers, an organization of caretakers maintaining neutrality.

If it truly were a neutral organization, Lance might consider a collaboration. Unfortunately, according to Tamara, the Association of Healers was still one of the extraordinary forces, possessing an armed division known as the Hospital Knights.

Professions like doctors leaned towards Herbology, pharmacology, and Alchemy, and those who excelled in these areas in this world were known as Pharmacists, alchemists, and the like. This was why the Association of Healers was considered a Supernatural Organization.

It was futile to engage with these powerful groups before having sufficient strength of his own. With this avenue closed, the only option was to find ways to train his own people.

However, there were some matters he needed to deal with first—

"Boudica."

"Huh?"

Lance had intended to bring her along, but seeing her like this, something was off.

"Never mind, you worked hard just now. Rest in the camp."

"Oh."

She was like a husky with energy to burn, too difficult to keep in the camp. Boudica would normally have insisted on coming, but this time her response was direct and strangely compliant.

Lance noticed her unusual behavior but said nothing, simply leaving the camp on his own.

He had toured the refugee camps several times over these days and was not at all unfamiliar with the area. Just by looking at the style of the thugs’ corpses, he knew which gang they belonged to and went straight to the gang’s base within the camp.

In reality, it was nothing more than a few shacks on the edge of the Outer City, cordoned off and set up as some sort of shelter against the elements.

However, upon approaching the gang’s quarters, he could already hear mournful wails. Walking into the area, he found no one to stop him, only several injured men lying haphazardly outside tents. Lacking the luxury of medical treatment, they were left either to survive or die.

In Lance’s eyes, there was not a trace of pity, only greed.

What fine offerings, indeed.

Lance surveyed the surroundings, making sure no one was in sight before unsheathing his Short Sword to end their suffering once and for all.

"Who are you? What are you doing?"

Finally, someone noticed Lance, but their discovery was destined to be futile.

"So you’re their boss, huh?" Lance toyed with his Short Sword as he approached, and the casual ease of his demeanor pressed down on the man with immense weight.

"Men! Where is everyone? Have you all died? Don’t come any closer!"

A moment later, Lance walked out of the stronghold with answers in hand, yet they were far from satisfying.

These guys were merely following orders from above, but Lance discovered from him that someone had been watching the camp for some time.

Things were getting interesting.

"My Lord!" Dismas hurried over, evidently having heard about the attack on the camp.

"It’s not a big issue; it won’t affect the plan. How’s the task I gave you coming along?"

"After following them for so many days, I’ve pretty much confirmed it," Dismas said, his sharp eyes scanning the surroundings as he spoke in a secretive tone.

These past days, Lance had let Dismas roam freely; naturally, it wasn’t to let him enjoy himself in Lantern Street but to assign him a special mission.

Some tasks that couldn’t stand the light of day.

And naturally, the targets were the local grain merchants dealing with the trade caravan.

Lance wasn’t known for his good temper. These guys dared to target the caravan today—who knew what they’d try to do in the future?

If he didn’t show them his colors, would they think he was easy to bully?

Of course, the main reason was money. Although he still had quite a lot, no one would ever complain about having too much, especially since raising an army consumed a great deal.

"Shall we make a move tonight?" Dismas asked for instructions.

"Someone’s got their eyes on us. Before that, there’s a small matter to attend to," Lance said, explaining the refugee gang issue.

"I see fights and turf wars every day where the shantytown meets the refugee camp. How did these refugees get mixed up with the city’s thugs?" Dismas couldn’t help but comment after hearing the story.

"What you’re seeing is different gangs fighting each other. Where would these refugees have a channel to sell their goods if they didn’t seek out the local gangs?"

"Anyway, these guys won’t live past tonight," Dismas said, uncaring, ready for a bloodbath.

"We’re finding justice for those ordinary folks," Lance grinned, his eyes gleaming with unspeakable cruelty.

"Brother! This is bad."

"Why are you yelling like a ghost? Speak if you have something to say. If you weren’t my younger brother, I would have slapped you already."

Under the dim candlelight, a fierce-faced man was revealed—a gang leader who had survived in the brutal Outer City, no simple man.

"I just went to check; the place is empty, not a soul alive, and it looks like it’s been ransacked. Those guys probably knew they angered someone and ran off!"

"Tch! If they’ve run, they’ve run."

"But the thing asked of us from above..."

The younger brother hinted, not finishing his sentence, yet it was enough to furrow the man’s brow, prompting a curse.

"Those refugees are useless, can’t do a simple task."

He could act tough in front of his own men, but he had to nod and smile when facing those big bosses. Without their support, he could be replaced by a new gang in the blink of an eye.

There had been many who thought themselves clever in the Outer City, but in the end, all of them died.

"Brother, what are you afraid of? It’s just a small trading group rallying a bunch of refugees. What can they do?"

"Our guys died too cleanly before. It’s always right to be cautious."

The man fell into thought; he wasn’t too surprised by the refugees’ failure, as it was just an attempt. He hadn’t expected the camp’s guard to be so tough, not to mention the frenzied Barbarian. It was fortunate he hadn’t brought his own men, or the losses would have been severe, enough for the gang next door to swallow him up without a directive from above.

Seeing his still hesitant older brother, the younger sibling grew impatient, thinking that his brother had grown old and too scared to take action; perhaps it was his time to step up.

"How about I lead some men in tonight and set fire to their camp?"

The younger brother immediately volunteered, his fearless facade revealing no concern for the camp’s guards. Raised in such an environment, none of them feared death; combat was their only way out.

"AH!"

A shout from outside broke the silence of the room.