Olivier was greatly alarmed, and the refugees also stared wide-eyed at Arthur atop the boulder, but they were eager; they craved punishment for these villains, the more bloody and cruel, the better.
The men kneeling on the ground were first stunned, thinking they had misheard, then burst into frantic pleas for mercy and curses.
"Mercy! Lord Arthur! We'll never dare again!"
"Lord Arthur! Give us a chance!"
"Please!!! May the Seven Gods bless you! Lord!!!"
"You are too cruel!!! Cruel Arthur!!!"
Arthur was oblivious to all of it; he didn't even spare those men another glance.
Lucien also didn't hesitate; he walked behind the first man kneeling on the ground, who was still wildly writhing and cursing.
The longsword cut a cold arc through the air, bringing with it a whistle.
A head fell to the ground, the body collapsing, its face still frozen in an expression of disbelief, and hot blood gushed from the severed neck, staining the ground beneath.
The entire refugee camp instantly fell silent, with only the sound of the wind and heavy breathing audible.
Lucien's movements didn't stop; he showed no reaction, numbly carrying out this task: a second, a third, a fourth...
Arthur gestured for Brin to take a few soldiers to help Lucien with the slaughter.
Swords rose and fell, blood splattered, heads rolled to the ground, blood flowed, and fear, like an invisible rope, choked every person's throat.
Just then, Arthur's gaze fell on the young man in the crowd, supported by a soldier, Margaret's son.
Arthur pointed at him, then beckoned with his finger: "You!"
"Come here!"
The young man walked with a limp to the foot of the boulder.
Arthur looked at Brin and gave his command.
"Brin!"
"Let him ride your horse! Take him for a circuit around the camp! Have him identify the people who stole your food yesterday and injured you and your mother!"
Brin stopped his blood-soaked sword: "Yes, My Lord!!!"
Brin helped the young man onto the horse's back, seating him in front of him, and the warhorse slowly moved through the crowd, everyone instinctively giving way.
The young man's finger quickly rose, pointing at three trembling men in the crowd: "It was those three!!!"
The soldiers immediately dragged the three men out and threw them onto the ground already soaked with blood.
The three men instantly turned ashen, kneeling and repeatedly kowtowing: "Lord Arthur! Please forgive our crimes! All our food was stolen! We were truly starving and had no other choice!"
"Our children and families haven't eaten for two days, that's why we went to steal food!"
"Please, Lord Arthur."
Their cries were choked, their words broken.
"We... didn't... want to, My Lord, if... it wasn't for these people... stealing... our rations."
Arthur looked at Olivier again: "And for this, what should be done?"
Olivier watched the soldiers still carrying out executions below, his face pale, his lips moving as he whispered: "My Lord, according to the law, their... their hand should be cut off."
Upon hearing this, the three men cried even more piteously.
"No! Lord Arthur! Without a hand! We won't be able to work! We won't be able to farm! Our whole family will starve to death! Please! Lord Arthur!"
They banged their heads on the muddy ground, making thudding sounds, breaking skin and drawing blood.
Arthur looked at them, silent for a moment. These three indeed had extenuating circumstances. He slowly began: "While you three did have reasons."
Hearing Arthur say this, a glimmer of hope erupted in the three men's eyes.
"But!!!"
"If you had only stolen food, I might not have charged you with a serious crime, but you laid hands on people, injuring the family of my soldier. This crime, you cannot escape."
The three men, hearing the sudden change in tone, trembled like sieves, weeping bitterly.
Arthur thought for a moment, then looked at the injured young man sitting in Brin's arms: "You, come down."
"Give him a whip. Each of them gets a hundred lashes, and you will do the whipping."
Brin handed his horsewhip to the young man.
The young man froze, looking at the three men who had once been fierce and menacing, but were now kneeling on the ground, weeping bitterly.
Arthur's voice sounded again: "Whip them. This is the justice I give to you and your mother."
The young man gripped the whip. The three men, on the other hand, looked as if they had received a great pardon, weeping as they desperately kowtowed to Arthur.
"Thank you, Lord Arthur! Thank you, Lord Arthur!"
For them, a physical beating was far better than losing a hand, especially with a group of fierce soldiers beheading people nearby, blood flowing freely.
Everyone watched the soldiers carrying out the death sentences, watched a young man vigorously whipping three men, then looked at Arthur, high upon the rock.
The entire refugee camp was deathly silent, with only the sound of the young man's forceful whipping, as if it resonated in everyone's ears, lashing at their very bodies.
Finally, the whipping stopped.
The young man dropped the blood-stained horsewhip, collapsing to the ground, crying and laughing, letting out sounds of release and whimpers.
Even those standing in the back rows, unable to see the crowd in front, could feel the scent of blood permeating the air.
Arthur watched as the soldiers finally completed the executions. Over fifty headless bodies lay beneath the boulder, the congealed blood turning the hard earth into deep red mud. Thousands of refugees stood frozen in place, like animals startled by thunder. He was momentarily speechless; for some reason, he felt nothing at this scene.
Children were held tightly by their parents, their wide, terrified eyes reflecting the image of the young man on the rock. No one dared to move, no one dared to make a sound.
Finally, Arthur dismounted.
He simply stood there, his gaze slowly sweeping over faces that were happy, joyful, numb, fearful, or blank.
Wherever his gaze turned, the crowd bowed their heads deeply. Fear silently spread and fermented through the crowd, like an invisible plague. Everyone's eyes were on him, waiting for his words.
Order had been established, paving the way for his coming words.
When the silence reached its peak, when everyone's nerves were stretched to their limit, Arthur finally spoke.
His voice was not loud, yet it easily cut through the dead silence. Everyone perked up their ears, giving their full attention to hear his words: "You are now my people!"
"I cannot and will not let you always crowd together here."
"Living like maggots, in a rotten and filthy environment."
His words were so simple, brutal, yet they struck directly at people's hearts.
A small stir arose in the crowd, then quickly subsided.
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