As for the notorious thug on Micca Street in Turin, the moment he raised his dagger, a single look from Garibaldi frightened him into a cold sweat.
This thug was a hardened man who had killed quite a few people, yet the instant he glanced at Crooked Joseph and that military uniform, his whole body began trembling uncontrollably. He even felt that the slightest movement would get him killed without hesitation.
He had seen plenty of vicious men, and countless such men stood around him. Their eyes all carried a violent, savage malice.
Yet the man before him held only indifference toward life itself. How many people had he killed for murder to become a habit, a job?
Coupled with the Austrian Empire's notorious reputation—slaughters of hundreds of thousands, even millions, at the drop of a hat—just thinking about it terrified him.
Silvia lashed out with whip after whip until the surroundings fell utterly silent and the middle-aged woman no longer had the strength to speak.
"Throw her outside the camp."
Silvia's words were cold to the extreme. Someone nearby clenched his fists, but the words lodged in his throat and would not come out.
As for the middle-aged woman's husband, he merely lowered his head even further, terrified of meeting their eyes.
Even people who were normally this fierce were cowering, let alone the ordinary people who had been stirred up. They felt that staying alive was better.
"Who else wants to leave? Get lost! If you're not leaving, shut your mouths! A curfew is in effect from now on. Anyone who keeps spouting nonsense will be dealt with under military law!"
The unrest among the crowd was finally suppressed. In truth, the middle-aged woman's crime did not warrant this, but Garibaldi and Silvia had only a little over