In a courtyard behind the city lord's mansion, there was no noise, only the faint sound of someone sipping liquid.
Caesar sat at a stone table in the courtyard, enjoying the breakfast his soldiers had just brought him. It was simple: meat pies and porridge, likely scavenged from a tavern or the kitchen of a wealthy household. Although Caesar hadn't disclosed his current location to anyone, his subordinates had still managed to find him. Such was the charm of power—there was always someone eager to curry favor.
Naturally, Caesar was happy to accept such tributes, especially since he was genuinely hungry. He understood the intentions of his men well; after all, he had once been one of them. The baron had only tacitly permitted looting on the day the city fell, but one day—or more accurately, one night—was far from enough to strip a city of thousands clean. Caesar hadn't received any orders from the baron to cease looting, nor had the other squad leaders. So, with a subtle glance, he signaled the soldier who brought his meal that they could continue their plundering.
As Caesar enjoyed his meal, three pairs of eyes stared longingly at him from inside a nearby room.
"Grumble~" A stomach growled, followed by another and then another. The three faces flushed red with embarrassment.
"Uncle, I'm so hungry," said little Christine softly, peeking through a crack in the door.
Uncle…? Caesar felt awkward upon hearing that. He was only eighteen. Was he already at an age where children would call him uncle? He stroked the stubble on his chin, looked at the calluses on his hands, and even pulled out two strands of prematurely gray hair. Am I really just eighteen? Caesar wondered.
"Come over, Christine. I can't finish all this by myself," Caesar said kindly. The amount of food seemed ample, but for someone who practiced fighting energy, it was far from enough. He had noticed that fighting energy seemed to refine and absorb the food he consumed, storing it as energy. He rarely felt full anymore. But for a little girl, this should be plenty.
Christine wobbled as she stepped out from behind the door. She still hadn't fully recovered from her illness and walked with visible difficulty. Seeing her struggle, Caesar's heart softened. He walked over, picked her up, and placed her gently on his lap.
The sudden movement made Christine squeal in surprise. After the brief dizziness passed, she realized she was sitting in Caesar's arms and blushed furiously.
Thinking her flushed face was due to her illness, Caesar said, "Eat up. If it's not enough, I'll find more."
Christine nodded softly and began eating while still sitting in Caesar's lap.
Last night, when Christine had been startled awake by a nightmare and called out for her aunt, the woman had ignored her own pain to return to bed and comfort the little girl. That moment had been like a refreshing spring that soothed Caesar's bloodstained heart. After that, he had left them alone and gone to sleep in the adjacent room. The city outside was still chaotic—if it wasn't Garrel soldiers causing trouble, it was Shiloh rioters—but Caesar wasn't worried about the three women sneaking away.
What puzzled Caesar was that little Christine didn't seem afraid of him. Men who had taken lives always carried an unintentional aura of intimidation. Caesar had killed at least fifty, if not a hundred people. Coupled with his fighting energy, even most grown men would avoid making eye contact with him. But Christine was different. That morning, during his training, Caesar had noticed a pair of bright eyes peeking at him from behind the door.
Christine hadn't finished the food on the table. She had only sipped some of the leftover meat broth and nibbled on a meat pie, leaving most of it untouched. Four meat pies remained. She glanced at them, then back at the two women behind the doorframe, and finally turned her pleading eyes to Caesar.
Caesar understood her intention immediately. He had also heard the sounds of rumbling stomachs earlier, which made the situation rather awkward. These women weren't ordinary civilians; their clothing, especially that of Christine and the older woman, gave that away. Not to mention the maid, who clearly had some fighting energy abilities. Caesar suspected they might be of even greater value. So, he nodded at Christine, signaling his consent.
"Yay~" The little girl cheered, waved her arms excitedly, and then planted a kiss on Caesar's cheek. She picked up all four meat pies, including the one she had already bitten into, and skipped back to the room.
Caesar touched the damp spot on his cheek, momentarily stunned before calling after her, "From now on, call me brother!"
The two women in the room had clearly witnessed the entire scene.
Grace glared angrily at her niece. "You are a noble! How could you do such… such a shameless thing!"
"Big brother is a good person," Christine said dismissively. After enduring such hardship and upheaval, Christine had developed an instinctual trust in this strong man who had appeared to protect them. In truth, she was smarter than anyone realized.
Grace could do nothing against her niece, who had earned the nickname "Little Witch" in the royal capital. Christine was both clever and mischievous. In the family, only her father, grandfather, and Grace herself could rein her in. Now, it seemed even Grace had lost that authority.
The maid Raffi dared not voice any opinion. While she also adored the charming Christine, she had been on the receiving end of her pranks more than once. Raffi was still deeply troubled about her failure during last night's battle—not only had she been defeated, but she had also lost the bracelet her mother had given her, her only heirloom and a future part of her dowry. She resolved to search for it later, hoping it was still somewhere nearby.
Caesar had no interest in the inner thoughts of the women in the room. After briefly instructing them not to wander outside, he left the courtyard.
The resistance forces in the city had been wiped out on the first night, but the refugees still posed significant trouble for the soldiers. These refugees couldn't simply be driven away. If provoked, they could start a riot, and that would be difficult to control. So the soldiers acted with restraint, targeting only the wealthy or middle-class households.
When Caesar found his men, this was the scene he encountered: Gulas was wielding a massive wooden beam, using it to ram open a pearwood door. A scream followed as the door splintered, and soldiers poured into the house. Cries of alarm echoed inside, but soon the soldiers emerged, laughing and carrying jars, ducks, and other plundered goods.
Once the soldiers had left, the refugees swarmed into the house like locusts, looting whatever they could get their hands on. They were even more thorough and frenzied than the soldiers.
However, the refugees were cautious around the Garrel soldiers. When one hapless refugee accidentally bumped into a soldier, knocking a jar from his hands, the enraged soldier drew his sword and struck the refugee across the back. He cursed loudly and walked away without a second glance at the fallen man. The surrounding refugees fell silent, fear evident in their eyes. Clearly, they had seen such displays before.
How pathetic, Caesar thought with a sigh.
Spotting Caesar, Gulas hurried over. "Boss, is there something you need?"
Since the siege, Gulas had developed great respect for Caesar. Caesar, in turn, had been actively fostering loyalty among his subordinates.
"Nothing much, just looking around," Caesar replied casually.
Seeing that Caesar was genuinely at ease, Gulas smirked mysteriously and said, "Boss, I've got something good to show you."