CHAPTER 219: CHAPTER 189: PAST IN THE WILDERNESS_2

"I’m sorry, I’ve brought you nothing but suffering," Reynard finally confronted his own remorse. He had failed his wife and children...

"The Lord of Hamlet, Lance, is here!"

Reynard heard the faint voice, which snapped him back to reality amidst the chaotic battlefield.

In the past, he would have silently recited elaborate prayers to the Holy Light, beseeching the ethereal deities to save him.

But now, he no longer entertained such thoughts; he believed more in himself.

His wife and children were still inside, his Lord’s mission was not yet complete, and he could not stop. He had to keep fighting.

Strength surged inexplicably through his body, alleviating his hunger and exhaustion, even rejuvenating him.

I am the sun! I am brilliance! The sun’s power is endless!

"AARGH!" With all his might, Reynard swung his Longsword, and, perhaps reflecting the light, it burst forth with a dazzling brilliance.

Lance finally noticed the besieged convoy and immediately spotted Reynard, the only one dressed in Knight’s Armor.

He activated [Bless]. You have been strengthened!

He himself showed no sign of slowing down. His saber flashed as he vigorously chopped and hacked. Wherever he went, no one could stop him; he was literally cutting a path.

His battle cries did not cease for a moment.

"The Lord of Hamlet, Lance, is here!"

This name gave an inexplicable boost to the men, and the faltering defensive lines began to stabilize.

Seeing this, Lance had to sever the [Bless]. His Spiritual Essence had been flowing out like water; if he hadn’t been fond of conserving his reserves, he would have been drained in an instant.

But the effect was clear. The fatigue in the Guard Soldiers’ muscles waned, giving them new strength and bolstering their morale.

"For Hamlet!"

"Hamlet Must Win!"

The shouts went out, and the scattered troops were galvanized, coalescing into a unified whole, bursting with intense morale and power.

"Follow me into battle!"

Lance’s Elite abilities, coupled with his tireless stamina, made him a veritable killing machine. He mowed down the refugees as if cutting grass.

He and his horse moved through the crowd like a hot knife through butter, slicing the refugees apart. After several fierce charges, the frenzied attackers finally felt fear and began to flee.

"Demon!"

"God, save me!"

"Run for your lives!"

"Surrender and you live!" Lance charged out of the encirclement, his saber showing no mercy as he cut down anyone who fled.

No one ever takes advantage of me and gets away with it.

The defending Guard Soldiers and other troops began to counterattack, soon bringing the situation under control.

NEIGH! As the warhorse slowed its pace, everyone’s gaze involuntarily settled on the figure atop its back.

He was dressed in plain clothes, now soaked in blood and exuding murderous intent. The bright saber hung at his side, fresh blood still trickling down the blade, making him seem utterly vicious.

Most of the refugees dared not look directly at him, cowed by the aura he emitted, while the people of Hamlet were invigorated at the sight of their Lord.

"My Lord!" Reynard hurried over, his emotions turbulent. More than anything, he felt guilty for almost failing to live up to his Lord’s trust.

"No need for words now. Tend to the injured first, get the column organized, and let’s set off as soon as possible. We’ll discuss matters upon our return," Lance said without dismounting, his gaze sweeping over the battlefield.

The ground was littered with corpses, mostly those of the refugees, numbering two to three hundred.

Thinking of this, Lance turned his gaze towards the cowering, surrendered refugees and couldn’t help gripping his saber tightly.

Dammit! I’ve been scrimping for so long, almost to the point of offering my very marrow for Sacrifice, not giving the Old Ancestor a chance to replenish. And now look at you lot! The ground is littered with your dead—enough blood to make a soup for the Old Ancestor, a fine bloody broth!

I’d truly like to kill you all, yet I’m wary of letting the Old Ancestor feast too well.

"You, come here," Lance raised his saber and pointed at a refugee nearby.

The mere gesture scared the man witless. Lance was completely unaware of how intimidating his presence had become.

At least half the corpses here were his doing. To these people, he was a god of death.

How could being chosen by him be anything but a death sentence?

"If you keep blathering, I’ll cut you down," Lance threatened with a frown, slightly raising his saber.

"My Lord! It has nothing to do with me! They pushed me over here! I never wanted to..." The man didn’t have the luxury of considering anything else as he scrambled and crawled to kneel before Lance’s horse, desperately denying any wrongdoing and deflecting all blame.

"Shut up!" The tip of the saber pressed against his face, causing his breath to catch and his eyes to tremble.

"Who was the ringleader just now? Speak up and you’re off the hook."

As Lance asked this, he lowered his saber. I don’t need to know why they attacked the convoy, just who started it.

Your average refugee wouldn’t have the guts to attack such a large convoy.

Hearing this, the man looked back at the other crouching refugees as if grasping a lifeline.

They had no ties to each other. At this moment, even his own father wouldn’t matter. If you don’t die, does that mean I have to?

"Him! It was all him, stirring us up! We never wanted to come!" the man blurted, pointing at someone, desperate to curry favor with Lance.

Even though I did rush forward, it was all their fault!

Lance followed his gaze. "So, you dare to act but not to admit it?"

"Hmph! What do I have to fear?"

A middle-aged man from among the crowd got up and walked towards Lance, looking not the least bit submissive.

Lance noted that although the man was somewhat thin, he didn’t look as emaciated as the others. It’s clear he’s been eating somehow, though how he managed that on the road is a mystery.

His features were sinister, his gaze venomous. He clearly didn’t value life in the slightest and showed no fear even now, unlike most refugees.

This guy is definitely no saint.

Watching the man before his horse, Lance grew curious about his background.

"Why did you attack the convoy?"

"Why should they have food when we have none? You noble lapdogs should all be slaughtered!"

The man, likely aware of his fate, showed no fear. Instead, he turned and shouted at the refugees still crouching on the ground.

"Our plight is all their fault! The Nobility seized our food! They forced us into this! We were just taking back what belongs to us!"

Hearing his inciting words, a mocking smile emerged on Lance’s face.

"Oh? Then why were you hiding at the back? Turns out you only dare to run your mouth."

Lance’s words stripped him of his facade, revealing him as an opportunist willing to sacrifice others for his own gain.

The other refugees realized it too. So, it was all your doing that got us into this mess!

Unexpectedly, the man refused to concede. He produced a Dagger from somewhere and charged at Lance.

"I’m going to kill you, you noble dog!"

Lance laughed, easily swatting the man to the ground with his saber. He gestured with a wave. "Take him. Bring him along."

To advance medical science, those dozen or so Pirates aren’t enough. I need a large number of test subjects for Experiments.

Before, I wouldn’t have cared so much, just apprehending whoever I could.

But now, I maintain a certain baseline, acting only against those who’ve committed the most heinous crimes.

Because experimenting on living people, conducting human trials... it’s already challenging my own humanity. I have to be cautious, lest I fall into that abyss.

Some burdens I need to bear, and only I can carry them.

After a while, several ringleaders had been singled out. With the main culprits arrested, the remaining refugees felt a wave of panic, uncertain how the man before them would treat them.

Indeed, Lance was also considering this. How should I deal with these people?

Looking at the three to five hundred refugees before him gave him a headache.

These people attacked my convoy. By all rights, they shouldn’t be spared. But slaughtering them here would only benefit the Old Ancestor.

The old thing just had a meal. Should I really prepare a midnight snack for him too? That would be far too considerate of me.