Our Family Has Fallen-Chapter 665 - 396: Leprosy_2

"What do I need to do?"

"You all settle down first; leave the rest to me and the doctor," Lance said, extending his hand to him. "I am Lance, Lord of Hamlet."

"Baldwin. A man about to die," he said, raising his hand in a slight wave, still unwilling to make contact.

"Let's go. We'll talk more when we get back."

Lance turned to leave, not forgetting there were still unresolved issues.

"Why?"

The senses of those patients were mostly ravaged by their sickness. As soon as they had moved a short distance away, Grendel couldn't help but ask. She didn't understand why he would expend resources on those sick people; it wasn't his style.

"Do you think an ordinary person could still be alive in this condition? And to have killed more than a dozen heretics? His strength is no less than Warwolf's before the mutation. Keep in mind, this is while he's tormented by illness. His strength before falling ill is even harder to estimate."

"Also, do you think an ordinary person, as sick as they are, could still walk with him? They'd be long dead. Those who follow him aren't ordinary people either."

Upon hearing Lance's explanation, Grendel was somewhat astonished.

How strange. Warwolf is dead, and suddenly everyone claims to be his equal?

She had indeed sensed something extraordinary about the man. However, she lacked Lance's ability to perceive the power of flesh and blood, nor did she possess the profound inspiration to peer into the aura of Holy Light. Thus, her feeling was merely superficial.

However, she understood and wouldn't question Lance's decision; she knew what she had to do.

"I will prepare the potion as soon as possible."

"Those who have no place in the 'civilized' world may yet be of use to us."

Lance casually tossed out the sentence, which seemed somewhat cold-hearted, as if these people were merely pawns in his hand.

But that was indeed the truth. Only if they proved valuable would he expend his energy; otherwise, the deaths of so many ordinary people hadn't elicited any reaction from him...

Lance returned and turned his attention to the refugees.

"What in the world happened here?"

"My Lord, I have already fully grasped the situation," Vick reported at that moment. He summarized the events in just a few sentences, as the circumstances hadn't been too complicated.

As Lance listened, a strange expression surfaced on his face. He turned to the crowd and asked, "Didn't he just save you from those lunatics? Why would you treat them like this?"

No one answered; silence was the predominant response.

"They are Punishers of the Gods, spreading curses! They must be exterminated!" a man suddenly spat, gritting his teeth as if he harbored a deep hatred for Baldwin and his companions.

Clearly, he was the one who had thrown the stone. It was evident from his words that he was the most radical, and they revealed his motivations.

"And then?" Lance calmly inquired.

However, this attitude was interpreted by those people as Lance's agreement with them. Suddenly, some refugees began to speak up.

"Exactly! If those people get close to us, we'll be cursed too!"

"That's right! We did it to protect everyone!"

"The Gods decree judgment..."

With just a few sentences, their actions were transformed into heroic deeds to protect everyone, even if they had only stood behind the steward moments before, shouting a few taunts.

Baldwin, on the other hand, who had drawn his sword and faced the heretics to protect them, had become a great evildoer, a blasphemer spreading curses.

Seeing their agitated expressions, Lance suddenly felt the urge to laugh. He wondered if Baldwin regretted saving them.

His mask covered his disfigured face, but it couldn't conceal his kind and righteous heart. In contrast, those who kicked a man when he was down didn't need masks to hide their faces, yet their malicious and twisted hearts were hard to conceal.

These people were essentially ruined in Lance's eyes. He saw it at a glance—they were fanatics, consumed by their ideas of Holy Light.

"This is not some divine punishment, but a contagious disease. It's normal for you to fear and resist it," Lance's calm voice suddenly rose as he looked toward the refugees.

"But they just saved you! They even deliberately tried to avoid you and had no contact with you; they were merely passing by. Do they really deserve such malice, as if you wish to kill them?

"You speak of divine punishment when you open your mouths and curses when you close them, as if you are the messengers sent by the gods to Earth. But are you really so righteous? Are you truly acting for others?

"Judging others in the name of so-called gods is nothing but an excuse for your own incompetence, a way to unleash your twisted and ugly souls!"

Lance was not a good man, and his temper was not easily placated. His words became sharper, like bone-chilling daggers tearing away their human facades, exposing their ugly, twisted souls.

"A hero who falls ill is still a hero, while maggots, even if they feast on a hero's flesh, are forever maggots! Your presence disgusts me! You creatures, who cannot even be called human, have no right to join Hamlet!"

At the sound of his voice, all those people hung their heads. Among them, some turned ghostly pale. They were not ashamed of their actions but were terrified of Lance, the noble.

The fear of the nobility made them resentful yet too afraid to show it, their twisted psyches driving them almost to the point of madness.

The undisguised voice even reached Baldwin further back, and he was deeply moved.

Their tongues were tormented by illness, making speech difficult. They had no strength to argue back. Furthermore, their long-term experiences had made them accustomed to this treatment; they knew that saying more was pointless.

Eventually, they even began to believe that perhaps the others were right, that they deserved divine punishment.

But hearing those words just now sent a warm surge through their numb hearts, and they couldn't help but question:

Do we really deserve to be treated like this?

Lance didn't notice Baldwin behind him but took in the reactions of the refugees who had been shouting earlier.

He knew that hidden hatred lay in their fearful eyes, but he didn't care about this worthless rabble. Instead, he urged them on.

"Don't wait for me to act. Those who were cursing just now, step forward and get out of Hamlet immediately!"

Not one dared meet Lance's gaze, nor did anyone step out voluntarily. The one who had shouted the loudest now offered no response, trying desperately to hide in the crowd.

Life on the run was too bitter; who would willingly give up a place that had finally agreed to shelter them?

It seemed to these self-proclaimed Divine Envoys that their "just judgment" ultimately couldn't outweigh a bowl of gruel.

But Lance would not be lenient with them.

"Take action."

With just that command, a few stewards picked up their short cudgels and advanced. They dragged out the most obvious agitators, beating them wildly if they offered any resistance.

"AH! Stop hitting me! Stop it!"

"Please, I beg you, let me go!"

"..."

In an instant, the area was filled with screams of agony. It seemed these "Divine Envoys" who shouted of judgment possessed no special powers after all—they couldn't even withstand a cudgel and writhed on the ground, weeping and begging for mercy.

"Let them be. They know they were wrong now..." a hoarse voice pleaded. Baldwin had put down his pushcart and stepped forward, unable to bear the sight any longer.

"You're wrong. One may be as lowly as an ant, but one must not be as twisted as a maggot. Tolerating evil is more poisonous than evil itself, for you harm the good and teach ordinary people to do evil." Lance's will was unshaken, his gaze sweeping over the culprits. "Report on each other. For every confirmed accusation, you'll be rewarded with a bowl of gruel."

Lance had already given them a chance.

"Him! I saw him cursing too just now!"

Immediately, someone reacted, directly pointing out a person nearby.

And with that, others followed suit, starting to accuse those around them.

They fell into a spiral of suspicion. The looks they exchanged became filled with terror, each fearing that others would act against them. Accusations spread like wildfire, and the scene descended into utter madness.

Lance didn't care if these people could truly identify anyone; he already had his targets in mind.

This stratagem also had a deeper purpose: to shatter the relationships among these people. After today, their community would be rife with suspicion and hatred, redirecting their animosity away from him and toward each other.