"What's going on?!"
Torches suddenly flared up all around, illuminating the entire camp. The firelight revealed Anwei's stunned expression—and Phield's thoroughly displeased one. The slaves trembled, staring in disbelief at the baron seated atop his warhorse.
"I've been waiting for you for quite a while," Phield said coldly as he rode forward. "If you're bored, go play with filth. But if you dare start a rebellion, then you're just tired of living."
This bunch was truly incompetent. They had exposed themselves three separate times, yet still wore confident expressions—as if they had no idea where their courage even came from.
A chill ran down Anwei's spine. Realizing his mistake, he hurriedly waved his hands. "My lord, this is a misunderstanding!"
"So a misunderstanding means you don't have to die?"
As if he had heard a joke, Phield casually waved his hand as though discarding trash. "Kill them."
