No sooner had he returned to camp than Bannott's smiling face fell. He shot a sidelong glance at the guard following beside him and tossed out an order.
"Give every slave who left the camp to watch the excitement fifteen lashes."
The guard nodded and was about to carry out the order when he suddenly remembered something and asked.
"What about Madam Sistil?"
At the mention of that old hag, Bannott's face darkened even further.
"Give her thirty lashes!"
Damn it.
If I can't deal with The Alliance, can't I at least deal with you lot?
Whenever Bannott thought of the way the crowd had looked at them, a surge of anger rose in his chest. He wanted nothing more than to drag that tactless centurion over and have him whipped too.
Unfortunately, military officers held fairly high status in the Legion, and the factions had always been united. Even if that fellow was only a centurion, Bannott could not easily touch him without a legitimate reason.
Slaves, on the other hand, required no such consideration.
Just then, Bannott suddenly thought of something else. He reached out and grabbed the soldier who was about to carry out his orders, pulling him back.
"Wait."
The guard hurriedly bowed.
"My lord, do you have any other instructions?"
Bannott's eyes flickered slightly.
"...Remember to close the door."
The guard froze for a moment before nodding with an odd expression after a long pause.
"Yes!"
After giving the order, Bannott returned to his tent.
Perhaps because the soldier had followed his instructions and tied the tent flap shut tight, Bannott heard neither the crack of whips nor the wails of those servants after sitting down inside.
Still, Bannott's anger had not subsided. The more he thought about it, the more aggrieved he felt.