Dozens of people squatted outside Old Walker's shop, making quite a spectacle. The sour stench was almost intoxicating.
"Everyone, stay put and don't cause trouble. Just wait here for six hours, and you can take a whole kilogram of rye bread from me." The lackey held up a loaf, looking utterly smug. He relished the feeling of being above everyone else.
The commoners said nothing, their eyes fixed on the mountain of rye bread. Every so often, someone swallowed audibly.
The lackey had some brains and knew that if you wanted a horse to run, you had to feed it. From time to time, he broke off a piece of bread and tossed it to those who were behaving well.
Whenever someone got a piece and shoved it into their mouth, the people around them looked on with envy.
Before long, the commotion outside the shop alerted Old Walker. He rubbed his bleary eyes, yawned, stretched, and came out of the shop.
Then his expression and movements froze completely. His mouth fell open so wide that he could almost fit an apple inside.
After a long silence, he suddenly roared, "What's going on? What are you commoners doing squatting outside my shop? Get out of here!"
His furious voice made the commoners tremble. Several immediately scrambled away, while the rest hesitated for a moment before getting up and hurrying after them.
In less than two minutes, the street was quiet again.
Old Walker immediately noticed the lackey nearby. The man was impossible to miss, still holding the rye bread aloft. Old Walker stared at him, then spat on the ground. "Pah! Trash!"
The tall, skinny lackey flushed at the insult, but he didn't dare go over and argue. The beating he'd taken two hours ago was still fresh in his mind, so he could only curse inwardly. Damn old bastard. One day, I'll smash up your shop.
As he cursed, he began blaming Renard. What kind of stupid idea was that? Getting people to come beg us on their own? As if.
He tossed the rye bread onto the cloth bundle and started packing up to leave.
But just as he'd arranged the loaves neatly, a large crowd came pouring out from the end of the street. He looked closer and saw that it was the same group of commoners who'd just been chased away—and there were even more of them now.
The commoners silently squatted down outside Old Walker's shop again, their eyes still fixed intently on the rye bread at the lackey's feet.
The lackey was taken aback, then broke into an amused smile. He spread the bundle open again, displaying the pile of rye bread.
"Gulp!" The sound of people swallowing came one after another, forming a strangely rhythmic chorus.
As the minutes ticked by, many residents noticed the strange scene outside Old Walker's shop. They pointed and speculated about what was going on.
"Does Old Walker owe them money?" "Who knows? Maybe he did something to tick off these commoners." "I don't think much of Old Walker's character. Last time, he helped a bunch of cheaters fence stolen goods."
About half an hour later, several people dressed like mercenaries arrived at Old Walker's shop. They too looked astonished by the scene outside. After exchanging a few words, they shook their heads and left.
Similar incidents kept happening, and Old Walker, inside the shop, noticed something was off again.
His shop was well known in Saint Brieuc Fortress, so business was usually excellent. He typically had around twenty groups of customers come through each day. Yet this afternoon, not a single customer had shown up, which surprised him.
He frowned slightly, got up, and stepped outside. The sight before him left him utterly dumbfounded.
Dozens of commoners were gathered outside his shop—more than a dozen more than the last time he'd chased them off. There wasn't even room to set foot outside. His anger flared, and he shouted, "Get out of here, all of you, or I'll break your legs!"
The commoners panicked at once, then scattered just as they had before.
But as soon as Old Walker turned and went inside, they gathered outside the shop again like flies that wouldn't go away. They continued staring vacantly at the rye bread at the lackey's feet.
After who knew how many rounds of this, Old Walker's patience was finally exhausted by dusk.
He couldn't understand why these commoners weren't doing hard labor to earn their food and were instead crowding outside his shop.
Since he couldn't figure it out, he'd have to use force to get an answer. He strode up to one of the commoners, grabbed him by the collar, and lifted him off the ground. "Tell me, what are you all doing crowding outside my shop?"
The commoner was a sturdy-looking young man, but he was powerless to resist Old Walker.
The young man said nothing. Instead, he looked toward the lackey in the distance. Old Walker followed his gaze and immediately locked onto the target. "You!"
The lackey put on an innocent expression and spread his hands. "It's got nothing to do with me. Young Master Renard ordered them to stay here. If you have a problem with it, you can go argue with him."
He had a vague idea of Renard's intentions now, and put on a nonchalant air. "Old Walker, you'd better put him down. He's one of the baron's subjects, after all. If anything happens to him, you might have some explaining to do."
Then he pointed at the ground and said with a grin, "And I must remind you that the street is public property. It doesn't belong to you, Old Walker."
The lackey glanced around, his voice rising two notches. "The baron's tenants are tired and taking a rest here. They haven't broken a single law. But if you dare lay a hand on them..."
He didn't finish, but his meaning was clear. This was Baron Hamilton's territory, and Old Walker couldn't do whatever he pleased here.
Old Walker narrowed his eyes without saying a word, but the heaving of his chest showed that he was on the verge of losing it.
The lackey met his gaze calmly. He'd been a scoundrel in Renard's company for years; if he didn't even have this much nerve, he wouldn't deserve to be called a lackey.
Of course, he was still a little nervous. But then he thought that the worst that could happen was another beating. What was there to be afraid of?
The two of them fell silent. After a long while, Old Walker suddenly stepped closer and whispered in the lackey's ear, "Why is he doing this? Is it just to get Wilson's family Medal of Merit, or does he have some other purpose?"
The lackey thought it over, then shrugged without answering.
Old Walker felt a sudden surge of anger. Fortunately, he was an old hand who'd spent years in the underworld. He didn't do anything rash. Instead, he let the commoner drop to the ground, gave a humorless snort, and turned back into the shop.
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