Thousands of refugees huddled together, packed tightly like a flock of lambs awaiting slaughter. The air was filled with fear and unease.
Arthur's voice rang out again, this time like a winter's cold wind, sweeping through everyone's eardrums: "I gave you food,
I gave you shelter, I gave you hope to live!"
His voice wasn't loud, but it carried a peculiar penetrating power, overriding all whispers.
"But some people have taken my benevolence as capital for their evil deeds!"
"They snatch food from the weak, and bully the families of soldiers who fought for me!"
"Such people do not deserve to live on my land!"
He paused abruptly, every word like a heavy stone striking people's hearts.
"Now, I give you a chance!"
He raised his voice, letting it permeate everyone's mind.
"Everyone, identify those villains who oppressed you!"
"As long as thirty people simultaneously identify one person!"
"Your Lord will be here, to carry out judgment for you!"
He gestured to the horsemen, who immediately spurred their horses into the crowd, repeating his command at the top of their lungs.
A deathly silence fell over the crowd.
The refugees looked at each other, their eyes filled not only with fear but also with long-suppressed anger and a faint glimmer of hope.
They feared retaliation from the bullies, and that deep-seated fear prevented them from speaking. Time passed minute by minute, and silence weighed on everyone like a giant rock.
Suddenly, in a corner of the crowd, a thin woman raised her bony hand high. She trembled, pointing at a burly man with a coarse face in the crowd.
The woman's voice was sharp and hoarse: "It's him!"
"It's him! He stole my child's bread! And he broke my arm!"
This voice was like a spark thrown into a haystack, instantly igniting all the suppressed fury.
An old man pointed at another person: "And him!!!"
"He broke my grandson's leg! Just because my grandson looked at his food for too long!!"
A young woman sobbed inconsolably, squatting on the ground and weeping before she could finish her sentence: "That one! That one! He... he forced me...
"It's him!!!"
"It's him!!!"
"And him!!!!"
Once the flood of anger burst its banks, it could no longer be stopped. Hand after hand went up, and name after name was shouted out.
The faces of those identified instantly turned ashen. They tried to intimidate the accusers in the crowd but found that the eyes that had once feared them now turned into sharp blades, ready to devour them.
The soldiers walked into the crowd expressionlessly, dragging the identified individuals one by one from the crowd like livestock, roughly throwing them onto the open ground in front of Arthur.
Screams, curses, and pleas for mercy mingled together.
Soon, more than fifty people knelt on the open ground in front of the rock. They had once been the overlords of this refugee camp, but now they were like a flock of lambs waiting to be slaughtered, their faces ashen.
Arthur's gaze swept over the faces of those fifty-plus people one by one, his expression unchanged.
He turned and calmly asked Olivier beside him: "Olivier, according to the laws of the Seven Kingdoms, how are such crimes usually punished?"
Olivier looked at the weeping bullies, then at Arthur's emotionless face, and hesitated.
He believed Arthur wanted to establish his authority, but over fifty people were able-bodied men, all laborers. Perhaps Lord Arthur intended to choose a relatively gentle way to demonstrate his authority.
"My Lord, according to the laws of the Seven Kingdoms, for robbery and assault, punishment usually involves flogging, or... depending on the severity of the crime..."
"Chopping off a hand or a few fingers."
Arthur nodded.
"Very good."
Then, he turned to Lucien and issued an order that made everyone's blood run cold.
"Lucien."
"Chop off their heads."
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