In the snowy wilderness, several people were trudging through.
The few who had escaped the pursuit stumbled through the boundless night for an entire evening. Art could discern the general direction but still got lost; they walked east for most of the night, then turned southeast. As dawn approached, the trade route that should have appeared long ago still hadn't come into their sight. They were somewhat panicked; all around them was a vast expanse of white, and on the ground, besides the few sets of footprints they had left, there were no other traces.
Bass ran to Art, who was looking out from a stone, and said anxiously, "My Lord, Odo is almost gone."
Odo had a cut on his forearm from a sharp blade. Although it was more severe than the arrow wound on Art's chest, the bleeding had stopped, so it shouldn't have been a big problem. However, from noon yesterday until now, they had been constantly fleeing and running. Coupled with the freezing weather and no food in their stomachs, leading to excessive loss of strength, a not-so-serious wound had now become a fatal ailment.
Art jumped off the stone and came to Odo, who was sitting in the snow. He felt his burning forehead and unwrapped the rags on his forearm; the wound had already started to swell and turn purple.
"Odo, can you still hold on?"
Odo nodded, but his face was pale, his lips were starting to turn purple, and his consciousness was somewhat blurred.
Art scooped some snow from the ground and placed it on Odo's forehead, then told Bass and Kazak to go around and see if they could find some firewood to start a fire.
"My Lord, look, there seems to be smoke in that direction. Could there be a village ahead?" Kazak limped excitedly to Art, telling him of this joyful discovery.
"Let's go, head in that direction."
So the four of them supported each other and walked towards where the smoke was rising.
---
"Bad news, bad news! A group of bandits is coming!" A refugee guard, holding a spear and standing on a large stone as a lookout, shouted into the crowd.
Ron Brothers threw down the wooden bowl in his hand and sprang up: "Damn it! The thick smoke from the fire must have attracted the bandits."
"Everyone, don't panic. Those with weapons, follow me. Everyone else, hide in the Giant Stone Pile."
Ron Brothers led Lawrence and four other refugee guards armed with short spears towards the direction of the "bandit attack." He drew his sword and stood in front of them, ready to meet the "bandits'" charge.
After a while, Ron Brothers's sword drooped lower and lower, his eyes stared straighter and straighter, "My Lord? My Lord!!!"
Art felt a great sense of relief looking at Ron Brothers and the others running over from the Giant Stone Pile.
"Ron Brothers, we can talk about the rest later. Hurry and boil some hot water and cook some wheat porridge." Art tossed his riding bow and knight's sword to Ron Brothers, then, supporting Odo, headed straight for the fire.
"Ron Brothers, what happened to My Lord and them?" Lawrence ran over and asked.
"First, do as My Lord said."
Kazak buried his head in the wooden bowl he held, using his tongue to roll the last grain of wheat into his mouth. He stood up, took the wooden spoon, and scraped the copper pot over the fire, making a scratching sound. He scraped for a long time but couldn't get out a single grain of wheat. Kazak turned his head to Lawrence, who was feeding Odo wheat porridge, and said, "I say, Lawrence, can you boil another pot of wheat porridge? My teeth haven't even been filled yet~"
Lawrence was about to get up to cook the second pot of wheat porridge when Art stopped him, "That's enough, just eat this much. He was too hungry; any more and he'll burst."
"Kazak, you should learn from Bass, eat and then sleep. When you wake up, it'll be time for lunch. At noon, I'll cook you guys some meat broth with bread." Lawrence said to Kazak, who just licked his lips and gave up.
Ron Brothers was cleaning Art's wounds. The arrow wound on his chest wasn't deep, and the blood had already clotted. There were scratches on his arms and face, and the blisters on his feet were raw. He didn't ask what these few people had experienced over the past afternoon and night, because their numerous wounds and lost weapons told the whole story.
Art slept for a while, or more accurately, he was in a deep sleep for the entire morning. When he woke up, Ron Brothers had already brought a large bowl of stewed meat with bones to him. He grabbed a rib and began to tear at it, chewing a couple of bites before swallowing, then turned his head to look at the two people tied to the grain cart and asked, "Ron Brothers, what's wrong with them? Why are they tied up?"
Ron Brothers handed Art a piece of toasted rye bread, fragrant and crispy, and replied, "They've been clamoring to leave the group and run for their lives since yesterday afternoon. This morning, they even tried to steal grain and escape. The most infuriating thing is that the woman even incited everyone to rush and grab the grain. If Big Brother Lawrence hadn't stopped me and told me to wait for you to handle it, I would have cut these two bastards down with a sword long ago. At that time, Lawrence and I…"
Ron Brothers recounted what had happened to the refugee group.
"Hmm, you did very well." Art listened to Ron Brothers's account, roughly understanding the situation. Ron Brothers and Lawrence's handling method was very appropriate; they stabilized the refugee group and punished the grain-stealing couple.
After finishing the food in front of him, Art got up and walked over to Odo and Kazak to check their injuries. Kazak's kicked toe was a bit swollen but wouldn't be a big problem; Odo's forehead was no longer very hot, and the wound on his forearm had returned to a healthy reddish color.
After confirming that their injuries were not serious, Art put on his leather armor, picked up his long sword, and walked to the grain cart. The refugees followed Art and gathered around.
The two people tied to the grain cart were already shivering from the cold. They were filthy all over, with bruised faces and scratches. Ron Brothers explained that this was from the refugees beating them in the morning.
Art walked to the man's side and used his sword scabbard to lift his head. Several of his teeth had been knocked out, and his right cheek was swollen like baked, leavened bread.
Art turned around, pointed at the two people tied to the grain cart, and loudly addressed the surrounding refugees: "Everyone, I'm sure you know more about their situation than I do. I'm not in a hurry to deal with these two yet. I want to give everyone another chance to choose. If anyone wants to leave now, as long as you leave the food I gave you, I swear by the sword in my hand—I will absolutely not force you to stay."
Art held up his long sword and scanned the crowd, waiting for a moment. There was no sound from the refugee group.
"Good, since everyone has chosen to stay and follow me, then I must tell you all: I am not recruiting you to enjoy life. If you eat my food, you must listen to my words, do my work, and obey my rules! If you conduct yourselves properly, I will give you a stable life; if you harbor ill intentions, then the sword in my hand will show you how God punishes wicked souls."
After speaking, Art drew his long sword and pointed it directly at the man tied to the grain cart. A gasp went through the crowd.
"What's your name?" Art asked.
"Nu~ Erdo~" The man was already too scared to speak properly.
"Nuerdo, I ask you, did you voluntarily join my army-affiliated reclamation team?"
"Yes~ Yes, my~ Lord."
"Then have I ever let you go hungry these past few days?"
"No~ No~"
"And have I ever let bandits plunder your belongings or threaten your lives?"
"No~ No, My Lord."
"Then why did you steal the grain when I was away? Why did you incite everyone to go to their deaths with you?" Art's questioning was almost a roar.
The venomous woman, whose mouth had been gagged with rags, knew that misfortune was coming, and her face grew even paler.
"We know we were wrong, please forgive us. We are willing to be your slaves, we only ask that you spare our lives." The woman's face was streaked with snot and tears, and she continuously pleaded with Art.
"No, I will not have two ill-intentioned individuals by my side." Art's eyes were filled with murderous intent.
"I, representing God and the God of Justice, declare judgment upon your wicked souls." Art raised his long sword above his head and aimed it at the man's head.
"Ah~~~~" The man screamed with his mouth open and eyes closed, as if only shouting could dispel the fear in his heart. The woman beside him had already fainted from fright, and the timid ones in the surrounding crowd had already turned their heads away.
Thud!
The long sword did not cut off the man's head but instead severed the hemp rope tied to the cart.
"Leave the food I gave you, take your woman, and fend for yourselves!"
Watching the two figures disappear into the vast snowy plain, Ron Brothers quietly asked Art, "My Lord, isn't it too merciful to just let them go? How can we deter these refugees without killing them?"
"Merciful? Do you think they can survive in this wilderness, Ron Brothers? Sometimes, killing doesn't require a sword."
After speaking, Art returned to the refugee group, which continued its southward journey.