"All right, enough. Hit him anymore and he won't last the week."
The column did not move quickly. Brook walked at the front, staring straight ahead. Garrett stayed in the middle without saying a word. In the ranks behind them, the reserve force soldiers escorting this merchant caravan—which had nothing going on and no real value—gradually grew impatient.
They longed for battle. They longed for slaughter. Even if it was filled with danger, when it came to this sort of thing—
They felt as if they had come to understand the frustration of that punished centurion. A centurion of the Stag Legion was at least a Silver Knight, and being assigned to a meaningless mission like this really did count as a severe punishment.
Watching the serf on the ground tremble nonstop while not daring to cry out, someone frowned and stopped it, disgust showing on his face. After all, in the Frozen Earth Territory, even knights like them were not allowed to whip slaves. The order of the Frozen Earth Territory made them unwilling—or rather, made them not wish—to see the possibility that it could be broken.
Hearing the knight's words, the soldiers of the viscount's territory turned around and gave the knight an awkward smile, then put away the whip and kicked the serf far into the distance.
"Damned mud legs. How dare you disturb the lord's guests."
"It's all right, my lords. You needn't concern yourselves with trash like this at all. It's all their fault."
The difference between civilization and barbarism changed the atmosphere in the column somewhat. Garrett never spoke, and even when they arrived before Viscount Everet's castle, it was the caravan leader who dealt with the viscount's steward.
Indeed, just as everyone had thought, this mission was completely calm and uneventful. From the