CHAPTER 220: CHAPTER 190: HAMLET DOESN’T NEED WASTE_1

But how could he punish them without killing? He wasn’t in the habit of letting bullies get away with it.

He couldn’t kill them, nor could he just let them go. Watching the refugees trembling wretchedly on the ground, Lance made his decision.

"Move it! Anyone who doesn’t reach Hamlet by tonight will be executed! The survivors will be enslaved. You’ll spend the rest of your lives atoning for your decision today!"

Lance raised his sword and swung it. The blood clinging to the blade flew off in a crimson arc, clearly leaving them no room to refuse.

His words naturally threw the people into a panic. They had no idea where Hamlet was or how far away it was, let alone the prospect of being enslaved.

Setting aside the facts, even if we were 99% at fault, didn’t those people share at least 1% of the blame? They knew we had nothing to eat, yet they ate right in front of us. Wasn’t that just tempting us?

They stirred. Some on the fringes tried to dash into the wilderness flanking the road.

But something was faster.

"BANG!"

A gunshot rang out. The smoke dissipated instantly. The man hadn’t taken two steps before he collapsed, a bloody patch blossoming on his back.

"Do you think I’m joking?"

Lance sat straight-backed on his horse, holding a pistol.

Most of the refugees witnessed this. Under the threat of death, fear took control, and they numbly began to move as commanded.

Making them all march and keeping so many people under control would be difficult, but Lance had his methods.

"Anyone who catches an escapee will be partially absolved of their crimes. Escapees will be executed."

This single sentence was more effective than assigning a hundred men to guard them. It sowed division within their ranks; they all watched each other warily, unable to unite.

Those who wanted to flee feared being caught. At the same time, they hoped others would try to escape, as catching an escapee offered them a chance at redemption.

Now, if anyone dared to stick their neck out, it would be a case of, "Friend, lend me your head!" They’d turn on each other in an instant.

Lance couldn’t be bothered with them and turned his attention back to the caravan.

The people he cared about most were safely protected in the center of the caravan, though they were clearly badly shaken.

Carriages were in short supply, so the only one available had been designated for the families. Reynard’s and Walter’s families were on it.

Reynard’s son had a strong character and some courage, even bordering on recklessness. However, he couldn’t help but be scared in this situation. Though he was putting up a brave front, Lance saw through his pretense at a glance.

Lance didn’t comment, turning instead to Walter’s son.

He was a boy with glasses, his face deathly pale with fright.

He was probably around eleven or twelve years old, but his timid nature made it understandable why he hadn’t been able to step up when Walter disappeared.

"Ladies, please don’t worry. The Lord’s domain is just ahead. We’ll definitely reach it before nightfall."

Lance stepped forward to reassure the family members. The two mothers’ faces showed unconcealed terror; they were clearly still recovering from the recent crisis. Faced with his sudden concern, they could only manage stiff, acknowledging smiles.

After confirming everything was fine there, Lance went to inspect other areas. He noticed William, who was holding a dog and looking somewhat dejected.

"Are you alright?"

"There’s no order to speak of here..." William was shaken by the madness he had just witnessed. On this land, insanity is king, he thought. Where can I find any hope?

"Don’t be fooled by what you see at a glance. Strengthen your resolve," Lance said with a slight chuckle, looking up. "Look, aren’t they falling back into order now?"

William looked over. The refugees were indeed marching forward obediently, though their faces were masks of numbness.

"Isn’t it precisely because of such chaos that we are needed to bring order?" Lance added, patting William’s shoulder.

Without saying much more, Lance turned and went deeper into the caravan, directing various tasks.

William watched the caravan, now revitalized under Lance’s command, a stark contrast to its previous lifeless state.

He was the one who brought order...

Lance patrolled within the caravan. Most of the people already knew him, and after his valiant display earlier, they held their Lord in even greater awe.

The panic and unease among them had been dispelled by their Lord’s show of strength, replaced by the image of his commanding figure.

After making his rounds, Lance had a general grasp of the situation.

The good news was that the attack had occurred while they were taking a break to cook. Although they hadn’t made a formal camp, they had arranged the wagons into a defensive circle. Without this formation, they likely would have been overrun much sooner.

Furthermore, the refugees had been focused on looting the caravan’s goods and were unarmed, so casualties among the caravan members weren’t severe, though there were still some injuries.

But the bad news was that much of the caravan’s supplies had been stolen, with various items scattered around, and some wagons were even damaged and overturned.

What angered him the most were the two horses that had died.

Those damn peasants! How dare they kill my horses!

"Salvage what you can! Everyone who can move, get going!" Lance commanded.

No other choice, he thought. Looks like it’s horse meat for dinner tonight.

The caravan started moving. People pulled the wagons where horses had died, and carried goods from damaged carts by hand. With so many people, if each took a little, they could bring everything along.

Lance brought up the rear, dealing with the corpses. Even so, he couldn’t stop the blood from seeping deep into the ground.

Who knows what kind of monsters this blood will nourish...

But he didn’t have much time for such reflections. He mounted his horse again and hurried to catch up with the main force, where Reynard stood, his armor practically coated in blood.

"What happened on the road?"

Lance didn’t immediately demand to know why they had been so slow. Some things needed to be understood first, and he trusted that Reynard hadn’t delayed them intentionally.