Cries, arguments, and curses mingled together, throwing the situation into utter chaos.
"All of you, shut the fuck up!"
Barrett's thunderous roar bought him only a moment of silence.
Despair was more stubborn than fear. Like the sludge in a swamp, once you sank into it, every struggle only dragged you down faster.
Before long, the complaints rose again, finally coalescing into a single demand-go back.
Barrett's face darkened. He knew the situation was slipping out of control.
These settlers were not soldiers. They were paupers, a pitiful, infuriating bunch.
Suppress them by force?
The mercenaries under his command could cut down enemies five times their number without hesitation, but turning their blades on these unarmed civilians would only make things worse.
His men, too, began shifting uneasily, sweat seeping into the palms gripping their weapons.
They could feel the despair in the air, cold and damp, slowly eating away at their morale.
No one wanted to die for a mission doomed to fail.
Just as Barrett prepared to make one last attempt, Veylin moved.
He stepped onto a cargo crate and stood still, calmly surveying the contorted faces below.
One minute... five minutes... ten minutes.
Beneath his silent gaze, the clamor gradually crumbled, until only the whimpering wind remained in the village.
"I understand your fear."
Veylin spoke quietly, yet his voice reached every ear clearly.
His tone was flat, as though stating an established fact rather than offering reassurance.
"I promised to give you enough land to feed yourselves. But did I ever say you would get it now?"
"Open your eyes and look at yourselves. A bunch of famine refugees who nearly starved to death by the roadside, a bunch of slaves who should have been wearing collars! What makes you think you deserve everything the moment you arrive here empty-handed?"
Veylin stared straight at them. Wherever his gaze fell, people lowered their heads in shame.
"My promise still stands. Anyone who wants to leave may do so."
A faint stir ran through the crowd, and a glimmer of hope appeared in some eyes.
"But," Veylin's tone abruptly turned cold, his wine-red eyes growing more vivid, "from this moment on, I will take charge of storing and distributing everyone's food and fresh water."
"Anyone who attempts to leave the village will be considered to have voluntarily forfeited their status as a settler. They may go back, but they will not take a single grain of wheat or a single drop of water."
Veylin's voice was not loud, but it pierced every heart.
His ruthlessness stunned them all.
Leave without supplies?
Here, on the edge of a swamp, with no settlement or inn anywhere nearby? How was that any different from suicide?
"Captain Barrett."
"Yes, my lord." Barrett instinctively straightened his back.
"I need your mercenaries to inventory and confiscate every household's food reserves immediately, then place them under centralized management. You may use force against anyone who resists."
"Also, send two men here," Veylin said, drawing a circle in the mud with the tip of his boot, "to dig a reservoir and build a simple filtration system. For water... use what we brought on our wagons for now."
"Finally, assign them to the empty houses. No one may leave without permission. Anyone who disobeys will be dealt with as I just explained."
Order after order, clear and concise, with no room for negotiation.
For the first time, genuine astonishment appeared on Barrett's weathered face.
He had seen far too many nobles.
Arrogant ones, foolish ones, ones who blustered to hide their weakness, and ones who thought they knew everything.
But he had never seen anyone like Veylin.
Faced with such chaos, with everything on the verge of collapse, he had neither panicked nor made promises. He had not even offered a word of comfort.
He had chosen the simplest, most direct method.
Deprive them of food. Restrict their freedom.
Use absolute power to seize everyone's lifeline.
When someone else held the power over whether they lived, all their despair and anger could only be buried for the time being.
"...Yes, Lord Veylin," Barrett answered in a deep voice. He gave Veylin a long look with his one remaining eye, then spun around and roared at his equally stunned men.
"What the fuck are you standing around for? Didn't you hear his lordship's orders?!"
"Rat, Sam! You two, get over there and dig!"
"Everyone else, follow me! Pair up and go door to door. Collect every scrap of food! If anyone resists, let them taste your fists!"
The Grey Wolves mercenaries snapped out of their daze and immediately sprang into action.
They were mercenaries. Following orders was their duty.
Now that their employer had issued clear instructions, they had grounds to act.
For a time, the village filled with the mercenaries' rough commands, women's sobs, men's muttered curses, and the scraping of sacks being dragged away.
The settlers dared not resist.
Those burly mercenaries with blades in their hands were not about to reason with them.
They could only watch as their meager food reserves-a little black bread, a few sacks of oats, and several pieces of air-dried salted meat-were mercilessly confiscated and piled beside Veylin's wagon.
That had been their last hope.
Now even that hope had been taken away.
A despair even deeper than before spread through the crowd.
Veylin paid it no mind.
He did not even spare the paupers another glance.
He silently calculated that the confiscated rations, combined with their reserves, would probably sustain everyone for two or three months. Food would not be a problem for now.
His gaze passed over the lifeless Graymist Village and settled on the swamp shrouded in gray mist.
To others, it was a symbol of death.
But to him, a biologist from Earth with a doctorate, it was an ecological treasure trove waiting to be unraveled.
Though a saline-alkali swamp was an extreme environment, any stable ecosystem necessarily contained cycles and flows of energy.
In other words, there had to be producers here.
Some plant, or several plants, must have adapted to this highly saline, humid environment, forming the foundation of a food chain.
Those plants were the key to breaking this deadlock.
They might be misshapen, might contain mild toxins, and might taste terrible.
But they had to exist.
And his task was to find them before the food and gold suns ran out.
"My lord."
Barrett's voice sounded beside him, interrupting Veylin's thoughts.
The one-eyed mercenary captain had completed the initial arrangements. His men were efficiently carrying out their orders like a pack of wolves, bringing the entire village firmly under control.
"All the food has been gathered, and we're taking inventory. What... do we do next?"
There was something in Barrett's tone that even he had not noticed... obedience.
The methods Veylin had demonstrated had earned this veteran's most basic respect.
"Good." Veylin nodded, his gaze sweeping over the numb settlers before finally settling on the tightly shut doors and windows of the village's few original households. "Bring everyone to the square, including the people who already live here."
Soon, the mercenaries brought more than a hundred sallow, emaciated villagers before Veylin, half ushering and half shoving them along.
At their head was a hunched old man. His clouded eyes held neither fear nor submission, only a gray emptiness.
He raised his head and stared at the young noble standing atop the cargo crate, sighing inwardly.
Another lord...
The instant their eyes met, Veylin's heart gave an inexplicable jolt, and he instinctively activated his ability.