Chapter 162: The Dust Settles

Not long ago, the once-mighty elite mercenary company—seemingly invincible—had been utterly wiped out. In a form of combat no one had ever witnessed before, they fell one after another like ripe wheat being harvested.

A group of fully armed soldiers emerged from the forest, beginning to clear the battlefield and count the dead.

The refugees were the poorest of the poor, living at the very bottom of society. At best, they were free commoners barely scraping by. Uneducated and inexperienced, they couldn’t tell the difference between these soldiers’ gear and that of other noble armies—all they saw were expensive steel armors and swords in hand (though none of these weapons had actually been used). The soldiers looked just as fierce and terrifying.

Those refugees who had fled deeper into the camp after the explosion found themselves trapped. The mysterious soldiers hunted them out from caves and tattered tents, gathering them in the square where they had previously assembled. The soldiers did not harm the civilians, but the terrified people trembled, no more at ease than when the mercenaries had wielded their blades against them.

To most people in this era, bandits, mercenaries, and soldiers were all the same—and in truth, these roles could easily interchange at any moment.

Qiong shrank to the edge of the crowd, carefully lowering her profile. She didn’t know where these soldiers had come from, but their uniform equipment and orderly movements clearly marked them as a noble lord’s troops. Why would a noble lord suddenly come to wipe out a mercenary company? That was anyone’s guess. But whatever the reason, it certainly wasn’t to rescue a bunch of “lowly commoners.”

Perhaps they intended to do the same as the mercenaries before them—round up slaves. Though the legitimate nobility rarely got their hands dirty with such matters, in the wild and chaotic southern territories, rebellious nobles did exist.

The unusually tall man must be their leader. He commanded another knight and a girl who looked part-elf. All the soldiers around him showed great respect. After assigning tasks, the tall man strode toward them.

The refugees huddled together in fear. Many bore scrapes and bruises from being shoved or falling. Gawain couldn’t identify any leader among them, so he stood beside the group and called out loudly, “I am the lord of this land. You have nothing to fear—I am here to protect you. Are all your people accounted for? Anyone missing or too injured to move?”

The refugees jumped at his booming voice, then froze in shock upon hearing his noble title. They instinctively stepped back, glancing nervously at one another, no one daring to answer.

Gawain frowned. At that moment, Priest Leight wiped the blood from his hands—stained during the casting of “Silence”—and came to stand beside Gawain.

“By the Holy Light! Look at the condition of these poor souls!” the burly priest exclaimed, tracing a sacred symbol over his chest. He spread his hands and began chanting. A soft, holy glow shimmered in the air around them, gradually forming a gentle healing aura capable of restoring energy and mending minor wounds. “May the Holy Light heal you.”

Except when punished, the impoverished lower classes rarely encountered true divine magic or sorcery up close. Even this basic, low-level “Lesser Light” spell was awe-inspiring, stirring a quiet commotion among the crowd.

After finishing the spell, Leight noticed some refugees with more serious injuries. The weak magic had little effect on them, so he pulled them aside for individual treatment.

One black-haired, frail young woman was worse off than the others. Her injury had worsened over more than a day—a wild beast with sharp teeth had bitten her arm from shoulder to elbow, damaging muscle and bone, and infection had set in under these harsh conditions. Compared to that, the fresh wounds on her face were minor.

“You’re lucky,” Leight said, purifying the infected wound with holy light. “Look—this is already festering. If left untreated for a few more days, you’ll run a high fever and might not survive.”

Qiong felt her injury miraculously improving at an incredible speed. The noble lord who had been addressing the crowd now turned his attention to her. She heard him speak: “Was your arm wounded by those mercenaries?”

“…No, a beast bit me,” Qiong answered, suppressing her fear.

“And your face?”

“Their whips.”

“Don’t be afraid. Those mercenaries won’t harm you anymore,” Gawain reassured the scarred girl. “How many of you are there? Are you all here?”

A flash of Tom’s image crossed Qiong’s mind. She bit her lip, unsure whether to speak.

“Don’t worry. I’ve said it before—I am the lord here. This land belongs to the Cecil family, and you are now under my army’s protection,” Gawain smiled. “The Cecil family is committed to restoring order. We are searching for and gathering all the homeless scattered across this region.”

He raised his voice: “Not just you—if you know of other refugee settlements, tell me. As long as you obey the laws set by the Cecils, I will allow every homeless person to live on this land. And those who provide information about refugees will receive extra rewards!”

The crowd stirred. The idea of a noble opening his gates to accept the homeless was unheard of. Most were shocked and skeptical, suspecting a trap. But the promise of “extra rewards” caught their attention. Qiong sensed the crowd wavering. These desperate, starving “companions” had little willpower left. Then someone spoke—

“My lord, my lord,” a dark-skinned, gaunt, and thin man spoke boldly, “most of us fled from Vulture’s Domain. There was a flood—land and houses destroyed, all the food lost. The lord shut the castle gates, leaving us to die outside. Some of us escaped… Will you really let us live on your land?”

“As long as you obey the laws of this land and follow my rules, yes,” Gawain said firmly. “And rest assured, the Cecil laws are far kinder than those you had to follow before.”

“Well…”

Before the gaunt man could say more, a noise came from the woods. Knight Philip returned with a dozen soldiers, escorting a limping young man with a red nose.

“My lord!” Philip reported loudly. “We found someone in the forest—likely a runaway refugee. He attacked us with a bow but didn’t injure anyone. We captured him.”

Qiong’s heart tightened. She looked up in horror and saw Tom being held by two soldiers at the forest’s edge.

One soldier’s belt bore the familiar hunting bow passed down from her father.

Suddenly, everything clicked: Tom had said he was going to gather mushrooms but secretly took the bow and arrows, probably planning to hunt deeper in the woods. He hadn’t caught any prey or been eaten by wild beasts—but he’d landed in worse trouble. This reckless fool had attacked the lord’s knights and soldiers with a bow!

Qiong felt dizzy and weak, nearly collapsing. Leight, who had just finished treating her, was startled. “Holy Light! Did my healing fail?!”

The young man at the forest’s edge saw his sister and the camp’s situation—he didn’t yet understand what had happened—and cried out, “Sister?! What’s going on here?!”

“Do you know each other?” Gawain waved his hand, signaling Philip to bring the thin young man forward. “Why did you attack my men?”

“Tom! You’ve caused big trouble!” Qiong grabbed his arm, nearly squeezing the flesh off. “You attacked the lord’s soldiers!”

“I… I thought they were bandits…” Tom looked terrified. “I heard them talking about what to do with the bodies…”

Gawain’s lips twitched, finally understanding the situation.

“Looks like a misunderstanding,” he said, eyeing the confiscated hunting bow. Such a cheap weapon was only good for forest beasts—not a threat to Cecil’s armored soldiers or knights like Philip. “Philip, who was attacked?”

A mage infantryman stepped forward. “My lord, it was me—but I’m fine!”

“My lord, this does seem to be a misunderstanding,” Philip said proactively. “A knight should be merciful. I don’t think we need to punish this young man harshly—as long as he learns his lesson and doesn’t act impulsively again.”

Gawain was growing fond of Philip’s unwitting knack for giving him an easy out.

“Since it’s a misunderstanding, I won’t punish you severely. But since you did attack someone, some punishment is necessary,” Gawain said, looking at the red-nosed youth. He noticed both the young man and his sister tremble slightly at the mention of “punishment,” their faces tight with fear. They clearly understood what “appropriate punishment” meant from a noble’s mouth—but with Gawain, it really was just appropriate, nothing more. “You’ll make amends through your actions… By the way, can you and your sister find other refugee settlements?”

(End of chapter)