Chapter 3986: Outlaws (Part 3) "You have your answer." Salaark’s words made more than one mouth open in shock. "Your current patients chose to be outlaws. I had no voice in the matter, hence I have no responsibility for the outcome of their decision." The merfolk sighed in relief, drawing several looks on themselves. Rem and the rest of the merfolk had been afraid that whatever fate had led an entire tribe to become outlaw could befall them too. ’I can’t believe humans can be that stupid.’ Rem thought. ’We merfolk would never make such an insane decision.’ "Could you at least give us a field hospital to treat them, please?" Tista asked. "Nothing fancy. Just a place away from the sun where we can take care of our patients." "Of course, Featherling." The Overlord smiled as though Tista had asked for a candy. "Anything for *you*." The emphasis on the last word made it clear that the first impression was right. The tent was akin to a candy to Salaark, and she cared nothing whether Tista used it as a trauma center or to throw a party. "Do you want to resume the welcome ceremony, Overlord?" Rem asked, afraid that any further delay might be taken as a lack of courtesy. "Thank you, but I’d rather wait." Salaark replied. "I’d like to share such a special event with my Featherlings if it’s okay with you." "Of course." The merfolk nodded. The Guardian had been nothing but polite and caring with them, which made her heartless treatment of the refugees even more unsettling. With plenty of Awakened Healers, potions, and a bit of aid from the tower, Solus and the others managed to bring everyone back to health, no matter how severe their wounds were. "We’ve done everything we can." Lith said while cleaning his hands from the blood with a pulse of darkness magic. "What they need now is food, water, and plenty of rest." "I need answers, though." Solus said. "I can understand someone like Meln being declared an outlaw, but not an entire village, let alone their children. This is madness." She waved at the rows of beds filled with those too young to make any decision or even understand a complex concept like becoming an outlaw. "I agree, but it’s not Grandma’s." Lith said. "Their parents must have made that choice for them." "You are probably right, but I want to be sure. I need to be sure." Solus took a deep breath to calm down. The misery and pain in the room tightened her throat like thick smoke. "I’ll stay here with them. Don’t worry." Friya said, and Nalrond nodded. A quick scan of the Watchtower revealed that Salaark was in the nursery, playing with the children and Shargein like nothing had happened. "Grandma, I need a word, please." Solus said. "Sure. I’ll be right back, Featherlings." The Overlord kissed the babies one by one, her kindness in so much contrast with her earlier behavior that Solus felt like she was hallucinating. "Is everything alright, dear? You don’t look well." Salaark Warped everyone in the dining hall and offered tea and biscuits to everyone. "Can you please tell me who the people in the tent are and who those yellow-robed butchers were?" Solus asked. "Outlaw tribes. Both of them." Salaark shrugged. "How many outlaws are there in the Blood Desert?" Kamila was flabbergasted. "As many as they want to be. You know that the people of the Blood Desert are nomads, correct?" Salaark asked, and her guests nodded for her to continue. "Those you call refugees belong to a tribe that refused to bend the knee. "They turned down my offer for protection and chose not to follow my law. They are parasites that I don’t waste resources persecuting, but I don’t protect them either." "How can you call them parasites?" Quylla regretted the anger in her tone the moment she met the Overlord’s stern gaze. "They travel along the routes that *my soldiers* keep safe. They barter their goods with the merchants, enjoying the prices *I* bartered for. They drink the water from the oases *my Nest* protects and eat the fruits of the plants *I* sowed. "Yet they contribute nothing to the prosperity of my domain. They don’t serve in my military and keep for themselves whatever resources they accrue while they occupy my oases. How am I supposed to call them, Lady Ernas?" "I apologize for my rudeness, Overlord." Quylla bowed as deep as her swollen belly allowed her. "What about the yellow-robed riders?" "They belong to another tribe that refused to bend the knee as well, but they’ve chosen to exploit their condition as outlaws to commit all sorts of crimes instead of living in peaceful isolation." Salaark replied. "They know better not to attack the tribes with my Feathers and incur my wrath, but as I said, other outlaw tribes are fair game." "This is monstrous!" Solus said, staring at the Guardian and hoping for an excellent answer. "Monstrous how?" Salaark blinked a few times in honest confusion. "I’ve not banished anyone in the wilds. If any tribe wants to join my country at any time, all they have to do is accept me as their Overlord and swear their undying loyalty to me. "They must follow my law and help me build a better country for everyone, not just for themselves. How is it my fault for not allowing arrogant fools to have their cake and eat it too? "Showing mercy to those like you saved today would be cruelty towards all those who devoted their life to me. With what courage could I look my loyal citizens in the eyes after giving out to the undeserving for free those same things they worked hard to obtain?" Salaark’s answer was indeed excellent, but nothing like Solus, Quylla, or Kamila had hoped to receive. To make matters worse, they had no argument to counter the Guardian’s logic that wouldn’t make them sound stupid, childish, or in bad faith. "Thank you for your patience, Overlord." Quylla said. "I apologize again for my earlier outburst. It was uncalled for and unbecoming." "Please, just call me Salaark, dear." The Guardian shook her head. "I’m not angry with you, and you guys are my honored guests. The next time, however, be more careful how you address me. "When you talk to me as Salaark, Lith’s grandmother, you are among friends and can say anything you want as long as you are not mean-spirited. When you talk to me as Salaark, the Overlord of the Blood Desert, instead, you must mind your words. "Especially when you criticize the way I rule my people and steer my country. The moment you questioned my authority as sovereign inside my own palace, you forfeited to your status as friend and became an uninvited foreign ambassador. "I addressed you with your noble title not out of anger, but because when you questioned my government, you changed the rules of hospitality." "I know, and I apologize one last time." Quylla blushed a bit and gave an awkward bow. "It’s just that I’m so used to Salaark the sweet grandmother that facing Salaark the Overlord all of a sudden took me aback." "It’s understandable." The Guardian replied.