CHAPTER 146: CHAPTER 146: GATHERING REFUGEES_1

Gene panted heavily. He had just unleashed a barrage of punches that knocked someone out cold, but it had also vented the fury in his heart.

He ran such a large trading company, so naturally, he possessed some cunning. The moment he learned Walter was in trouble, he immediately bribed contacts in York to begin dismantling Walter’s trading company. This demonstrated not a lack of intelligence, but rather, immense ambition.

But this loss was unbearable for him. It wasn’t so much the grain; the real problem was the military supplies. Their value far exceeded that of all the grain in the warehouse.

Now, it was all gone before he’d even made a move. Yet, the money he owed to his superiors couldn’t be a penny short; otherwise, no one could protect him. He had no choice but to swallow this bad debt, which explained his fury.

"Disperse! There’s nothing to see here!"

The Guards began to follow the order to disperse the crowd. Having watched the drama unfold, Lance did not linger any longer and went along with the flow of people to leave.

However, Tiffany’s curiosity had not been satisfied. After breaking away from the crowd, she cautiously scanned the surroundings, making sure no one was around before hastily asking, "What is this all about?"

Lance looked at her shifty expression, a little speechless. Even if there wasn’t a problem before, there would be one now, seeing you like this, he thought.

She’s indeed smart, but that’s about it, Lance mused. Lacking guile, her thoughts are plain to see on her face; no wonder she could ruin a trading company in a month.

"Come over here, and you’ll understand."

Lance didn’t beat around the bush and led her straight to his warehouse, where his own soldiers were on guard at the entrance.

"When I came here earlier, your people wouldn’t let me in!" Tiffany complained upon seeing them, feeling her status declining even more, as not even a guard would listen to her.

Lance ignored her. He had issued strict orders himself: no one but him was allowed entry or exit. If I actually let you in, I’d have to consider retraining this batch of soldiers, he thought.

"My Lord!"

"Open the door," Lance gestured, and the warehouse doors were opened.

Tiffany saw her quip elicited no response, but she didn’t care. She eagerly went inside. To her surprise, the warehouse, only a third full yesterday, was now packed solid. Only a narrow corridor, wide enough for one person, remained.

"This..."

She hurried forward and opened a bag, looking at the grain in her hand. She stood there dumbfounded and then turned to look at the rest of the piled-up goods.

"These are all... How is this possible?"

She hadn’t held much hope for what Lance had said earlier, but the situation in front of her was beyond comprehension.

Though he hadn’t said it outright, his actions confirmed he had burned Gene’s warehouse. The question that puzzled Tiffany, however, was how he had managed to move all these goods so silently.

"Is this grain enough?"

"It’s definitely enough, there’s even a surplus. But how did you do it?"

"Want to know?" A strange smile played across Lance’s face.

"Tell me, quickly!"

"I’ll tell you after you’ve earned my approval."

"Why are you like this!"

Lance’s enigmatic attitude only fanned the flames of Tiffany’s curiosity, making her desperate to know; it was positively eating her up inside.

"I’m protecting you," Lance said. "Sometimes, knowing too much isn’t a good thing."

Tired of the charade, Lance ordered directly, "Arrange for the goods to be loaded onto the ship. We set sail for Totnes in two days."

Tiffany watched as Lance walked away, frustrated by his teasing and irresponsibility, yet she knew there was urgent work to be done. The delivery date was nearing and could not be delayed any further.

A convoy had formed a camp outside the city. Within it, several large pots were bubbling, not with grass roots or tree bark, but with porridge—real, tangible food.

Not to mention the fish mixed within; its aroma was a precious delicacy in this era.

The scent of the grains, released with the steam, was a fatal attraction for the refugees who had starved for who knew how many days, barely surviving. They began to gather around.

But what faced them were the cold faces of the soldiers, along with their sharp, bloodstained Spears.

After two days of rest, the soldiers had long since recovered and would engage in their duties in better condition.

"Recruiting Serfs! Those who can read will be given priority! Craftsmen will be given priority! Those with a skill will be given priority!"

"See this food? You’ll be provided two meals a day!"

"Slots are limited! If you want to eat, then come over!"

Lance stood on top of a wagon and called out loudly, his hand holding a simple megaphone rolled into the shape of a horn.

In principle, he wouldn’t need to get his hands dirty now; a simple order would naturally have others handle it for him.

But he didn’t delegate this task. His foundation was still weak, so he had to personally sift through the refugees to prevent any undesirables from slipping in.

At the same time, he needed the accepted refugees to recognize his face and deepen their impression of him. Otherwise, they wouldn’t know who had saved them.

Displaced refugees who had lost everything kept approaching. They weren’t drawn by Lance’s words but purely by the food. Their first reaction wasn’t to join, but to beg.

"My Lord, have mercy on me! I haven’t eaten for days!"

"My eighty-year-old mother is bedridden and can’t get up. She just wants to eat some food before she dies."

"My six-year-old son..."

"I don’t care what your situation is!" Lance snapped, his anger flaring as he looked at them. "If you’re not joining, then get lost! I don’t support freeloaders."

These people are infuriating, Lance thought.

The first group to surround him were not good people. How could they still have the energy to move when even the grass roots and tree bark in the surrounding area had been consumed?

It was because these miscreants had seized most of the food supply; they were oppressing and plundering other refugees’ resources.

As their situation was not yet truly dire, they weren’t eager to sell themselves into servitude.

These fellows were the type you’d find loitering at the city gates; had this been outside the city, they would have already swarmed over and forcibly taken what they wanted.

Damn it! Lance fumed internally. I’ve always been the one to freeload off others, and now these bastards are trying to fleece me?

Seeing that his words were ineffective, he immediately gave an order.

"All troops, form ranks! Drive these bastards out!"

"HA!" The spearmen raised their Spears and advanced, driving away the undesirables who had gathered.

The beggars who had been pleading were driven away, their words turning to curses and grumbles.

It was a good thing Dismas wasn’t here. If he had heard someone daring to offend the Lord, these scoundrels would have surely met a bad end.

This commotion, however, drew the attention of more refugees.

"Sir, are you serious? Can you really provide food?"

A man who looked to be in his forties or fifties stepped forward. He appeared exceptionally old due to his suffering, as if he were sixty.

Lance sized him up. From his calloused hands and thick joints, it was clear this was an old farmer.

"That’s correct. Work for me, and I’ll provide you with food and shelter."

"I’m in." There was nothing to hesitate about; he had lost everything on his journey as a refugee.