Winning Hearts with Virtue

Dozens of people were squatting in front of Old Walker's shop, a spectacular sight, the sour smell unusually intoxicating.

"Everyone squat properly, don't cause trouble. Just stay for six hours, and you can each take a full kilogram of rye bread from me." The lackey held the bread in his hand, his face full of smugness. He enjoyed this feeling of being superior to others.

The outcasts didn't speak, their gazes fixed on the mountain of rye bread. Occasionally, the sound of swallowing could be heard from their throats.

The lackey was somewhat cunning and resourceful, knowing that to get a horse to run, you had to feed it. From time to time, he would break off pieces of bread and toss them to the outcasts who were behaving well.

Whenever someone received bread and stuffed it into their mouths haphazardly, it would draw envious glances from those around them.

Soon, the commotion outside the shop door disturbed Old Walker. He rubbed his sleepy eyes, yawned, stretched, and walked out of the shop.

Immediately after, his expression and movements froze completely. His mouth hung open, wide enough to fit an apple.

After a long silence, he suddenly roared, "What's going on? Why are you outcasts squatting in front of my shop? Get lost!"

The angry voice startled the many outcasts, causing them to tremble. Several immediately scrambled away in a panic, and after a moment's hesitation, the rest also got up and quickly followed.

In less than two minutes, the street was quiet again.

Old Walker immediately noticed the lackey not far away, as he was too conspicuous, still holding the rye bread aloft. He stared at him, then spat forcefully on the ground, "Pah! Trash!"

The tall, skinny lackey's face turned red at the word "trash," but he didn't dare step forward to argue. After all, he still vividly remembered the beating he took two hours ago. Thus, he could only curse inwardly, "Damn old bastard, I'll smash your shop one day."

While cursing, he began to blame Renard, "What kind of rotten idea was that? You wanted them to come begging? You must be dreaming!"

Thinking this, he tossed the rye bread in his hand onto a cloth bundle and prepared to pack up and leave.

However, just as he finished arranging the rye bread, he saw another large group of people rush out from the end of the street. Looking closely, he saw it was the same group of outcasts he had just driven away, and their numbers were even larger than before.

The outcasts once again squatted silently in front of Old Walker's shop, their eyes still fixed intently on the rye bread at the lackey's feet.

The lackey was stunned, then a playful smile spread across his face. He spread out the bundle again, letting the piled-up rye bread appear before their eyes.

"Gulp!" The sound of swallowing continued incessantly, with a strange rhythm.

Time ticked by, and many residents noticed the unusual situation in front of Old Walker's shop. They pointed and speculated about the truth of the matter.

"Did Old Walker owe someone money?" "I don't know, maybe he provoked these outcasts somewhere." "I think Old Walker's character is bad. Last time, he helped a group of people fence stolen goods."

About half an hour later, a few people dressed as mercenaries arrived in front of Old Walker's shop. They also looked stunned upon seeing the scene at the entrance. After exchanging a few words, they shook their heads and left.

Similar incidents continued to happen, and Old Walker, inside the shop, once again sensed something was amiss.

His shop was quite famous in Saint Brieuc Fortress, so business was very good, with about twenty groups of customers daily. However, there hadn't been a single customer all afternoon, which was quite surprising.

He frowned slightly, stood up, and went to the door, only to have his jaw drop at the sight before him.

Dozens of outcasts were gathered in front of the shop, more than a dozen more than when he had chased them away. There wasn't even standing room. He couldn't help but become enraged and reprimanded them sternly, "All of you get lost, or I'll break your legs."

The outcasts immediately panicked, then scattered like before.

However, after Old Walker turned and went back inside, they gathered at the shop entrance again like persistent flies, continuing to stare with dead eyes at the rye bread at the lackey's feet.

This cycle repeated countless times. As dusk approached, Old Walker's patience was completely worn out.

He was utterly perplexed. Why were these outcasts piling up in front of his shop instead of working hard for food?

Unable to figure it out, he decided to use force to get answers. He strode up to an outcast, grabbed him by the collar, and lifted him up, "Speak! What are you doing squatting in front of my shop?"

The outcast was a very sturdy-looking young man, but he had no strength to resist in Old Walker's grip.

The young man didn't speak but looked towards the lackey in the distance. Old Walker naturally followed his gaze and immediately locked onto his target, "It's you!"

The lackey put on an innocent expression, shrugged, and said, "It has nothing to do with me. Young Master Renard ordered them to stay here. If you have any complaints, you can go talk to him."

He had already vaguely understood Renard's intention and put on a nonchalant demeanor. "Old Walker, you'd better let him go. He's a resident under the Baron, after all. If anything happens to him, you'll be in trouble."

After speaking, he pointed to the ground and said with a grin, "And I must solemnly remind you, the street is public property, not your territory, Old Walker."

The lackey looked around and raised his voice by two decibels. "The Baron's tenant farmers are tired and resting here. They haven't broken any laws. But if you dare to use force..."

He didn't finish his sentence, but his meaning was very clear: this was Baron Hamilton's territory, not a place for him to run amok.

Old Walker narrowed his eyes and said nothing, but his heaving chest indicated he was on the verge of exploding.

The lackey met his gaze calmly. After all, he had been a scoundrel following Renard for years. If he lacked this much courage, he wouldn't deserve the name "lackey."

Of course, he was a little nervous inside, but then he thought, at worst, he'd just get another beating. What was there to be afraid of?

Both were silent. After a long while, Old Walker suddenly leaned in and whispered in the lackey's ear, "Why is he doing this? Just to get Wilson's heirloom Medal of Merit, or is there another purpose?"

The lackey thought for a moment, then shrugged, offering no answer.

Seeing this, Old Walker's heart suddenly flared with anger. Fortunately, he was an old hand who had been in the world for many years. He didn't make any rash moves. Instead, he threw the outcast on the ground, let out a forced chuckle, and turned back into the shop.