CHAPTER 135: CHAPTER 135: VIOLENCE_1

Others quickly gathered around, some even handling the grain themselves. They found no trace of deception; the grains were all of high quality.

The woman had actually been quite skeptical. Only now did her furrowed brows finally relax, an expression of joy replacing her worry.

She didn’t know why, but she could feel the immense pressure that had been weighing on her greatly alleviated.

"Well? Are these grains real or fake?" Lance’s sarcastic tone immediately reminded everyone present.

The appearance of the grain proved two things. First, Walter must not be dead; otherwise, this grain wouldn’t be here. Second, the business group’s troubles were resolved, and the risk of disbandment had vanished.

For the woman’s side, both were good news. For the Surrender Faction, however, both were bad news, as their recent choice of allegiance already amounted to a defection from the business group.

The business group’s improved situation was a literal slap in their faces, and embarrassment spread among them.

However, they took some comfort in York’s earlier promise: they could still defect to the other side, and their conditions would remain unchanged. Only their reputations would suffer.

"Bring a bag of salt over here." Lance signaled with his hand. Soon, the salt was brought before him. He reached out, took a handful, and showed it to the surrounding crowd.

"Taste this. This Snowflake Salt comes from across the sea. It’s the big deal Walter was negotiating."

The crowd, having traveled far and wide, had seen quality salt before. However, they had never encountered salt as pure and white as snow. They all gathered to taste it, their faces showing surprise.

"It’s very salty! Quite different from ordinary salt."

"But it’s not bitter or astringent. How is it made?"

"..."

"So what if you’ve brought a cart over? There are only thirty carts here, not even enough to fill a single ship..." York was still blustering, but he realized no one was paying him any attention.

Even the members of the Surrender Faction had turned their attention to the Snowflake Salt.

The appearance of this product further assured them that Walter wasn’t dead and even helped them understand why he hadn’t returned.

If they could secure a deal for Snowflake Salt, the business group could look forward to a much brighter future.

Being ignored was more frightening than scorn. York suddenly realized that Lance hadn’t taken him seriously at all.

In Lance’s eyes, his own actions were nothing more than a Clown’s antics. The stronger the business group’s potential appeared, the more hostility it drew from the Surrender Faction. All of this no longer concerned them; they had become a joke.

"Hmph! Let’s go."

York put on a show of defiance, but it couldn’t hide his cowardly urge to flee. He turned to escape, secretly thinking of returning with backup to crush that detestable man.

But this was just wishful thinking on his part. Lance had no intention of letting them leave.

"Did I say you could go?"

As soon as the words were spoken, Reynard, standing on the perimeter, noticed the situation and immediately commanded in a low voice, "Form ranks!"

The soldiers who had been driving the wagons quickly assembled, forming ranks to block the exit.

Perhaps the city’s semblance of order had given them a false sense of security. Or perhaps the members of the Surrender Faction desperately needed an external enemy to attack. This would justify their actions, diminish the shame of their betrayal, and make them feel faultless.

"Who do you think you are? Just try and touch us!"

"Who gave you the gall to speak to the Boss like that?"

Standing by, Dismas heard this and showed no restraint. He charged forward and landed a punch that sent the man’s teeth flying, a spray of blood and saliva erupting.

"Sigh. I keep telling you not to be so violent." Lance frowned slightly, seemingly dissatisfied, and casually waved his hand. "You know I don’t like bloodshed. Drag him out before you continue."

Without another word, Dismas grabbed the man by the collar and forcefully dragged him out.

"Save me! York, save me!"

The man had never imagined the situation escalating like this. That punch had knocked his teeth out; he couldn’t bear to think what would happen once he was dragged away.

Witnessing such brutality, York panicked. Sure, he was good with numbers, but how was he supposed to save the man?

But he knew he couldn’t just stand by and do nothing. These people were his new base of support, having just switched allegiances. If he didn’t make a stand, they might quickly lose heart.

So, York steeled himself, put on a stern face, and stepped forward to challenge Lance.

"Don’t you realize that fighting is prohibited in the city? If the sheriff gets involved, you won’t escape implication!"

"So what?" Lance was utterly unconcerned, completely unaffected by the threat.

That kind of talk might deceive ordinary people, but law and order in this era was a joke. If the sheriffs were actually effective, there would be no need for gangs to maintain peace.

Only the wealthy districts were privileged enough to receive the sheriffs’ protection; few would bother to intervene in places like the merchant district.

"What do you think you’re doing?"

"This is the city! You can’t do this here!"

"Aren’t you afraid of the sheriff?"

"..."

Most of these people were merchants, not fighters. They began to panic in the face of such a display of force.

Especially with the screams echoing in the background, the courage they had mustered to take sides began to wane. A volatile mix of indecision, frustration, regret, and anger gnawed at them, like ants tearing at their flesh.

Yes, they were still angry—furious at York for his grandstanding and useless words that had plunged them into this peril.

They were also furious at this intruder for causing them such disgrace, yet they dared not show it.

York, witnessing the scene, was terrified. He involuntarily glanced at Guard Captain Bill beside him, hoping Bill would lead the Guards to intervene and fulfill their duty.

But Bill simply faltered. The merchants might be blind to it, but he certainly wasn’t.

These men were vastly different from ordinary Guards and mercenaries.

Though most looked weary, the uniformity of their movements, the killing intent they exuded, and the indelible bloodstains on their armor and spearheads all screamed that these men were seasoned killers—and many of them at that.

They were merely Guards. Only someone who had been a Guard truly knew that Guards couldn’t actually protect anyone.

Realizing he couldn’t rely on Bill, York performed a merchant’s classic maneuver: a complete change in attitude. He turned back to Lance, his demeanor now utterly submissive.

"Brother," York said, forcing a smile, "could there be some misunderstanding between us?"

"Ha! A misunderstanding?" Lance drawled, contempt clear in his voice. "Your business is settled, true. But now, it’s time to tally up another account." ’Brother’ now, is it? Lance thought, disgusted by York’s fawning attempt to build rapport. The man’s sycophancy was nauseating.

"If you want to leave, it’s simple," Lance stated. "Just clearly explain your actions, and then you may go."