The scene before their eyes would make anyone flare up with nameless anger.
But for Weiss, this was nothing more than an everyday occurrence.
“Not enough rations to go around?”
Fia narrowed her eyes, scrutinizing the source of the commotion.
It was obvious this imperial refugee camp had been hastily constructed; supplies not meeting expectations was only natural.
But Weiss pressed his lips together.
Enough or not, things would end up the same.
He tipped his chin, signaling Fia to look in another direction.
Following Weiss’s gaze, she saw that behind a squad of patrolling soldiers, the cart they pushed was piled high with goods, bulging cloth sacks clearly betraying a substantial stock.
Yet those who had also passed by and received relief rations—women, children, and the elderly—had nothing but the starkest difference in their hands.
The common folk clutched at most half a piece of hard, black rye bread, or a small bowl of coarse bran mixed with sour buckwheat, its damp, moldy smell still wafting.
Meanwhile, those dressed in fine clothes—obviously travelers or peddlers—were handed fluffy yellow bread, even cheese and smoked sausage.
Fia now fully understood, blurting out her judgment before she realized it:
“They’re reselling the distributed food?”
It was clear: if food could be sold, so could everything else.
As long as it was relief supplies, how it was used depended entirely on the distributor’s mood.
“Even if it’s just a little, public authority profiteering is common here.”
Weiss spread his hands, his tone as calm as ever.
“Welcome to the Zongri Empire.”
Fia’s brow furrowed tightly.
Even if the Knight’s Hall wasn’t spotless, the kingdom’s officials would never so brazenly squeeze the people in such desperate straits.
Her gaze drifted back to the little girl who had fallen to the ground.
The child’s thin body lay sprawled, but she refused to let go of a soldier’s leg, clutching it tightly as she sobbed for mercy.
A knight’s compassion surged in Fia’s heart.
“Mister Weiss, should we lend a hand?”
Fia’s voice was tight.
“I really can’t watch this any longer.”
Weiss let out a faint sigh:
“Look, before you even spoke, someone already stepped in.”
Only then did Fia notice: at some point, the silent blonde girl by Weiss’s side had already moved, striding up behind the lead soldier.
“You filthy animal! Let go of me, now!”
The soldier cursed, raising his leather whip high to lash once more at the girl stubbornly clinging to his ankle.
The whip traced a vicious arc through the air.
But before he could bring it down, a piercing pain shot through his wrist.
“Plack.”
The whip slipped from his grasp, falling into the dust.
He only now realized—his wrist had bent into an unnatural shape.
“Ah—!”
His shrill scream tore through the din of voices.
Clutching his wrist, the lead soldier spun around, only to find a blonde, emerald-eyed girl standing there, her gaze as cold as ice.
Everyone around them was stunned by the sudden turn.
At the moment the soldier’s wrist broke, several eyes had clearly seen the girl flick a pebble with her toe.
That stone had struck the soldier’s wrist dead-on.
The kneeling girl had already squeezed her eyes shut, bracing herself for the lash.
But the pain she expected never came.
She opened her eyes in confusion, staring blankly at the soldier now clutching his right hand and howling, and at the beautiful blonde sister walking towards her.
“Can you stand?”
Lortissa ignored the wailing soldier, reaching out a hand to the girl.
Her voice was cool, but as warm as the autumn midday sun.
The girl nodded, dazed.
The beauty of the girl before her seemed to captivate anyone, regardless of gender.
For a moment, the little girl couldn’t look away, blankly reaching out her dirty little hand, letting herself be pulled up from the cold ground, mumbling instinctively:
“Thank you…”
Lortissa looked down at her.
Her rough linen shirt was in tatters, barely covering her, nothing underneath. One gust of wind would reveal her scrawny ribs.
Underneath the whip-torn fabric, welts were already seeping blood.
Her exposed arms and legs were mottled with bruises and scars, old and new.
Seeing the pitiful sight,
The icy glint in Lortissa’s emerald eyes flickered faintly.
But before she could say anything, the lead soldier, having recovered from the agony, got up with a twisted expression.
Pointing his good left hand at Lortissa, he bellowed:
“Hurry! Seize this troublemaking wench!”
His squad finally snapped awake, abandoning their cart as they snatched up their spears, gleaming tips all aimed at Lortissa.
The surrounding crowd saw the turn and panicked, screaming as they scattered, not daring to look back.
The little girl, seeing things go south, paled in fright. She tugged anxiously at Lortissa’s arm:
“Sister, run! Don’t worry about me! Don’t get in trouble for me!”
Lortissa didn’t look at her, but her eyes calmed the girl.
“Hide.”
She gave the girl a gentle reminder, shielding her behind, then looked up at the soldiers bristling with hostility.
Seeing this blonde girl not only unafraid but daring to meet them head-on, the lead soldier felt his status and authority being brazenly challenged.
“All—all of you, attack!”
There was no more hesitation. With a roar, they charged.
Lortissa made no show of preparation; she simply stood casually and slowly clenched her fist.
Just as she was about to strike, the force she unleashed kicked up dust and wind, but halted just a few paces from the frontmost soldier.
“Hey now, everyone, calm down, please, calm down.”
A teasing voice broke in.
At some point, Weiss had stepped between the two sides, arms outstretched to stop both.
Lortissa naturally heeded Weiss’s advice and stilled.
But the soldiers wouldn’t listen.
Seeing Weiss dressed as a mercenary, they paid him no heed.
“Out of the way, you bastard, or I’ll run you through too!”
“Or are you in cahoots with them?”
Amid the rabid shouts, Weiss pursed his lips and said nothing more.
Fia answered in his place.
With a crisp “Shing,” her longsword left its sheath.
The blade flashed, reflecting sunlight in a sweeping arc.
A surge of sword wind neatly severed the spearheads of all the soldiers’ weapons.
Clatter, clatter—several metal spear tips meant for Weiss fell to the ground in a cascade of crisp sounds.
All seven or eight soldiers froze, clutching bare shafts, faces full of disbelief.
Seeing his men reduced to helpless fools, the lead soldier—ignoring his aching wrist—cursed furiously:
“Look at her, just a mere mercenary! If you can’t even beat a mercenary, what kind of imperial soldiers are you! Get them!”
Fia slowly slid her sword half back into its sheath, her icy gaze sweeping over each soldier:
“If I may offer some advice, you’d all best know your place. Otherwise, next time, what falls to the ground won’t just be your spearheads.”
Zongri Empire soldiers might not be good at much, but knowing who could be bullied and who was solid steel was a professional instinct.
Realizing brute force would get them nowhere, the lead soldier scrambled up, threatening weakly:
“Fine, fine… you—you lot just wait!”
With that, he led his defeated subordinates away in disgrace.
Not even sparing a glance at the cart piled with relief rations.