CHAPTER 182: CHAPTER 178: AMBUSHED_1

Returning to the base, Lance found Tiffany, who had been coordinating the cargo and arranging the loading during this time.

"Is everything ready?"

"All the cargo has been loaded onto the ship. We’ve also selected sailors from among the refugees and completed their training so they can assist in maintaining the voyage.

But is it a bit much to cram more than two thousand people onto a single ship? And the sea isn’t calm. Taking only seven days’ worth of food and fresh water... is that enough?"

Tiffany was somewhat conflicted. Though it was a large ship, it normally operated with just fifty or sixty people. To cram in close to two thousand would mean there would hardly be room to turn around.

Not to mention, with only this amount of food and fresh water, what would they eat if something went wrong?

She worried that Lance didn’t understand the risks of shipping, and such arrangements defied common sense.

"They are fleeing for their lives; do you think they’re going on a vacation?"

Lance’s arrangement was simple and brutal: one ship for cargo, including the craftsmen and valuable talents, and the other ship was simply a slave transport.

Stuffing people into the cargo hold, they were indeed being treated as cargo.

To fit so many people, the cargo hold had to be emptied, and preparing only seven days’ worth of supplies was all he could manage.

It would take four days to return to Hamlet; preparing for seven days had already taken accidents into account.

Regarding Lance’s arrangement, Tiffany had nothing more to say and just ensured everything was organized.

It had to be said, after yielding, Tiffany no longer felt any pressure. She used to stress daily over the caravan’s operations, but her orders weren’t implemented, and she could only watch helplessly as the caravan declined. Now, all she needed to do was follow Lance’s instructions without worrying about anything else. Commands that were previously hard to enforce now went through easily and smoothly.

"Sir, the camp has been attacked by those refugees!"

A servant rushed in, gasping for air.

"Ha!" Upon hearing this, Tiffany’s expression immediately became agitated, her hands fluttering as if she didn’t know where to place them.

"I’m not dead yet; what’s the panic?" Lance’s expression remained calm, his eyes slightly narrowed.

That single statement brought Tiffany back to her senses. Seeing Lance’s composure gave her chaotic heart an anchor.

"What do we do now?"

"Let’s check out the scene first."

Lance was disinclined to waste words and headed straight to the camp outside the city.

He had spent so much time preparing everything. If something went wrong now and caused a delay, it would be a huge problem.

By the time Lance arrived, the situation had already stabilized. The refugees who had besieged the camp had long since withdrawn. Only a pungent, bloody stench lingered in the air, refusing to dissipate.

As they approached, they saw the camp’s surroundings covered in blood, with mutilated bodies strewn everywhere. The blood had even pooled, flowing into the river like a stream and staining its surface crimson.

Tiffany, having never witnessed such a gruesome scene, was overwhelmed and threw up. Lance, however, walked over as if nothing was amiss.

Amidst the corpses, Boudica patrolled with her halberd, her body so drenched in blood she resembled a crimson figure.

He could see she had suffered some injuries. Although wounded, she was still exhilarated, paying no mind to her wounds as she saw Lance approaching and shouted.

"Boss! Look, I’ve taken them all down."

"You did well. I’ll give you two extra cups of wine tonight," Lance said without wasting words, simply raising his hand to activate Flesh Reconstruction and heal all her minor wounds.

Boudica, having experienced this kind of treatment before, showed no surprise. According to her, Lance possessed magical powers akin to a tribal chief.

Upon hearing there’d be wine, she cared even less about her minor aches and pains, acting like a happy child.

Watching the cheerfully foolish Boudica, Lance realized she was quite useful. She was even more unconstrained than Dismas; willing to follow any order, she wouldn’t hesitate to strike down women or children. Among those refugees who had attempted to attack the camp were many of the weak and elderly. And she didn’t require much; it was quite simple to satisfy her. For instance, she had completed the task he’d assigned her very well—protecting the camp—and her reward was merely two cups of wine. But she wasn’t astute, so it was unlikely he could get the details of the incident from her.

"Go wash up; you’re all dirty."

After sending her off, Lance stepped into the camp.

"Sir."

The camp supervisor hurried forward upon seeing Lance. His harried appearance made it clear he knew he was in trouble.

He braced himself for a scolding, but Lance didn’t show any signs of irritation and instead inquired about the actual situation.

"How bad are the casualties?"

"Twelve injured, two dead," the supervisor responded immediately, clearly aware of the situation.

"Come, show me," Lance said.

He wasn’t surprised by this news. The distribution of refugee corpses around the camp indicated the assault had been widespread, and Boudica couldn’t have stopped them all on her own.

Fortunately, he had previously selected a group of people from those refugees, forming a defense squad with the caravan guards to maintain camp security.

And they had proven quite effective in this instance.

Lance personally went to inspect the injured.

Despite his preparedness, when he saw the wounded, he couldn’t help but frown.

Here, no one knew how to treat injuries, apply bandages, or provide medical care. The wounded simply lay on the ground, with only their families to look after them.