The Wandering Knight looked at Buerwell with disdain. "You're the leader, and I'm supposed to listen to you? If you hadn't been the first to kneel, I would've charged over and killed Porcupine! You've gotten old, or maybe—"
A blade pierced the Wandering Knight's throat. His eyes widened in shock as his body slumped to the side.
Buerwell withdrew his sword and swept his gaze over the other Wandering Knights, their expressions a mix of emotions. "This is the fate of an oathbreaker who draws his sword on the lord he swore to serve!"
One who draws a sword on their lord must not be allowed to live. Unconsciously, the men even began to blame the slain Knight for their own impulsive actions. 'If it weren't for him,' they thought, 'we wouldn't have to risk angering Leech.'
The dead make the best scapegoats.
Someone asked, "What do we do now?"
"Follow the Baron's orders and do our jobs," Buerwell said. "Life will be better than before, at the very least."
