"You call yourselves knights?

Do you deserve that title?

Pah!

Anyone standing with you is embarrassed!"

Lance's words had none of the so-called decorum of the Imperial Nobles, nor the Church priests' sanctimonious tone, but were rather crude.

However, this down-to-earth way made the meaning clear to everyone—you're despicable, I'm insulting you.

The onlookers, influenced by Lance's ideas, were no longer apathetic in comparison and reacted strongly to the remarks.

In the public outcry, some even shouted to hang these fellows.

"Traitors to the Empire!"

"Scum!"

"Hang them!"

Lawrence's face was ashen, his tense expression revealing his discomfort and struggle.

They used to be proud knights but had abandoned everything.

Their masks of hypocrisy were torn off, directly knocking them off the moral high ground, and they shrank back in fear facing those angry eyes.

They should understand why they became prisoners...

Let alone the Hamlet crowd, even Francis and the soldiers he brought showed varying degrees of resistance, just as Lance said, no one wanted to stand with these "knights."

"And you! Do you think you're any better?"

Lance noticed this, unapologetically opening up to rebuke.

"Count Bastia despises those refugees as burdens, he propagates Hamlet to the refugees on one hand, while on the other he schizophrenically promotes the threat narrative of Hamlet.

Those refugees were discarded like trash by the Count, captured and driven to Hamlet, deliberately arranging spies among them to incite riots, even resorting to slaughtering them.

Three thousand refugees arrived at Hamlet with less than fifteen hundred, you know how many you killed, what gives you the right to look down on them?"

Lance's barrage crushed their sense of superiority.

In reality, these words weren't meant for them, Lance wasn't so idle as to try and awaken these people, the true audience was the Hamlet crowd.

To continue occupying the moral high ground, and to lay the groundwork for Bastia's sins, useful for future actions.

"We didn't slaughter refugees like you, we could've watched you die, we could've stood by as you were killed by heretics, but we didn't.

Remember, who reached out to the refugees, who saved you, who treated your wounds—it was us, Hamlet!"

Lance looked over at them, and none dared to meet his gaze, no longer bothering with words he raised his hand to point outward.

"Leave here now!"

These words once again stirred up the crowd.

"Get lost!"

"Hamlet does not welcome scum like you."

"..."

The guards gradually withdrew, even signaling the cursing crowd to leave.

Soon only about a hundred captives were left on the empty ground, all appearing confused and uneasy, with no joy from being released.

Lawrence and Francis, the two leaders, had mentally prepared—they were now undercover agents of Hamlet, what's Bastia? Don't know them.

So while they were slightly shaken, they quickly calmed down.

The current issue is...

The two seemed to realize something, and couldn't help but glance at each other, thinking: this person is one of Count Bastia's men.

"Hmph! Easier said than done, they certainly weren't polite to us." Francis said as he approached Lawrence, he needed to hide his identity and show enough loyalty to the Count.

Hearing this, Lawrence agreed with a sentence, "That's if my Bastia army hadn't arrived, or how dare he treat us this way."

The reactions of both were noticed by the other—indeed, a dog of Count Bastia.

"We've been through hardship, but for now let's return, and leave any decisions to the Lord Earl." Francis quickly responded with a bitter smile, calling for Lawrence.

"Indeed, let's go back and talk." Lawrence didn't reveal much, only nodding in agreement.

Then they saw those two carts, equipped only because some injured couldn't walk.

"This Lord really is ruthless, these two carts with these few supplies cost me a hundred Gold Coin." Francis looked pained.

But how he truly felt couldn't be said, after all, those hundred Gold Coin included ten from him, and he'd love to charge more, considering all were reimbursed to the Earl.

"No weapons at all? This trip won't be easy." Lawrence was concerned about safety, not the cost.

Focused more on strength, whether they could return safely.

"There are a hundred Spears over there, one Gold Coin each." Francis lifted the cloth on the cart, revealing bundles of Spears.

"Ah!" Lawrence was shocked, quickly picking up a spear showing clear signs of use, with a metal tip and a wooden handle, still bearing traces of blood that couldn't be washed off, it had been used to kill.

Yet the high-quality silver-scaled breastplate crafted by Bastia City's best blacksmiths was only five Gold Coin each, was a rusty, used spear worth a Gold Coin?

Not more than five copper coins.

"This worth a Gold Coin?"

"Exactly, this Lord is too ruthless, I had no choice but to agree to save you." Another ten Gold Coin pocketed, Francis was almost laughing in pain.