Thorne's hand was already on the sword hilt, but he also knew that managing such a chaotic place still depended on the local thugs.
Pete didn't get angry; instead, he just raised his hand.
Two knights came forward, holding the strong man from left and right, dragging him away from the line.
"What are you doing!" The strong man struggled, cursing.
Pete's voice was low, yet it carried clearly to everyone's ears: "Tie him over there."
Beside the gruel stand was a wooden platform with a pole originally used to hang flags.
The strong man was bound to the pole, a cloth shoved into his mouth, causing him to emit muffled whimpers.
Pete didn't spare him another glance: "Continue serving the gruel."
The first bowl was handed out to the orphan who had been pushed down.
The child held the crude pottery bowl, his hands trembling fiercely, yet he bowed his head and took large gulps.
Steam rose against his face, but he didn't care about the heat, only focused on stuffing his mouth.
