Just after he returned to the camp, Bennott's smiling face immediately fell, and he cast a sidelong glance at the guard beside him and tossed out an order.
"For those slaves who have just left the camp for some excitement, fifteen lashes each."
The guard nodded his head, ready to carry out the command, when suddenly something occurred to him, and he asked.
"And what about Lady Sistil?"
Hearing the name of that old hag made Bennott's face turn even darker.
"Give her thirty lashes!"
Damn it all.
If I can't deal with the Alliance, can't I deal with a few of you?
Every time Bennott thought of the looks in the crowd's eyes as they watched them, his heart filled with infuriation, and he wished he could take that clueless Centurion and flog him as well.
Unfortunately, in the Army, officers held higher status, and the factions within were united. Even though that guy was just a Centurion, without a valid reason, it wasn't easy to lay hands on him.
