The countless battle scars on the breastplate were a warrior’s dals. Lance was certain that the old soldier was a tough man who had wandered between life and death.
Dismas brought Lance a bag containing so Coins; this was all the ringleader’s worldly wealth.
There were only a few silver coins, mostly copper coins. So, while it looked like a lot, it was actually only about a hundred pieces in total.
Lance still had unfinished business. After dealing with it briefly, he led his team to a particular location to continue clearing out the rcenaries.
The bandit invasion resulted in a massive death toll among the town’s n, leaving many won behind. Faced with the high cost of grain after losing their family’s breadwinner, what were these won to do?
The answer was that they all beca commodities. Most of these people had been driven to desperation. To survive, selling themselves, their wives, or their children was not uncommon in those days.
The only ones with money now were those rcenaries and the sailors docking at the port. In this era, there were few places to spend it.
Soon, the town’s booming industries provided the answer—taverns, gambling dens, and brothels.
Won were forced to service these n to obtain the money they needed to survive. So had fallen to such depths rely for a bite to eat.
When Lance learned of these circumstances from Susan, he was furious. People were the most lowly yet most precious resource in this world. As a Lord, Lance knew that to develop the town, a larger population was necessary.
So now, if the town’s young, fertile won were being used by these people as tools to make money, when could the town’s population recover?
These people weren’t just exploiting the won; they were dooming the future of the territory.
Damn it! They weren’t just selling vice; they were digging up his very foundation!
"Allowing the people of my territory to survive only in this way is a disgrace for as their Lord!" Lance looked up at the building before him, his expression grim.
Dismas and Reynard sensed their Lord’s anger. They had been to many territories but had never before seen a mber of the Nobility erupt in anger over the living conditions of commoners.
The brothel was a wooden, two-story building, a large structure for such a place. It looked like it had been around for so ti and had, fortunately, survived the war unscathed.
Inside, the architectural style had no aesthetic appeal whatsoever, looking just like an utterly ordinary inn.
The main entrance was wide open, with a portly, middle-aged woman manning the front desk. Lance’s party had barely entered when they heard her welcoming words.
"Dear guests..."
"Where are the sheriffs?" Lance cut her off before she could finish.
"Sheriffs? What sheriffs? I only have won here." The Pimp looked at them with an odd expression.
Lance had no intention of indulging her. He slapped his gun onto the counter.
"I only want to hear the information I’m looking for."
Although Lance and his party looked like n not to be trifled with, the Pimp wasn’t the least bit afraid. She clearly mistook them for broke rcenaries looking for free services.
"Who are these upstarts, daring to cause trouble on my turf? Don’t you know who I am?"
"She’s the mayor’s wife, the owner of this brothel."
Susan whispered the introduction to Lance, but this also caught the Pimp’s attention.
She looked Susan over with a disdainful expression and said, "If you’re looking to sell her, this one isn’t worth much."
Before anyone could react, Lance abruptly grabbed the Pimp by the hair, slamd her head onto the counter, and smashed the butt of his gun hard against her temple.
"Fuck your mother!"
Lance didn’t hold back. The first blow cracked the Pimp’s head open, drawing blood. The sudden dizziness prevented her from reacting further.
Under the successive strikes, she quickly collapsed onto the counter, unconscious, blood still oozing from her head.
But Lance showed no signs of stopping. He struck her again and again, until the Pimp had utterly ceased to breathe.
"Who gave you the courage to speak to like that?" Lance’s contemptuous gaze was undisguised. He calmly wiped the blood from his hand onto her body and then perford the Sacrifice.
"The space inside isn’t large. Reynard, you stay here and don’t let anyone out. Dismas and Susan, co with ."
Susan, without hesitation, picked up a candlestick from the counter and followed. Seeing this, Dismas quickly did the sa, leaving Reynard alone at the door. Reynard stood in silence, his sword held ready before him, hands on the hilt, immobile as a statue.
Unwilling to waste ti on a slow investigation, Lance directly opened a door.
A strange stench perated the interior. The bed’s covers were stained with filth, unwashed for so long they were almost forming black crusts.
But the next scene was one he found hard to stomach.
The woman behind the door didn’t even glance at him. Hearing the door open, she moved like a marionette, stripping off her rag-like clothing and lying on the bed. Her naked flesh was covered in all sorts of bizarre scars. This, coupled with her expressionless face and hollow eyes, made her almost indistinguishable from a corpse.
The woman’s reaction held no interest for Lance. Instead, he felt a surge of anger—a sense that human dignity was being trampled.
She was no longer a person, not even an animal. She was an instrunt. An instrunt for the Pimp to make money, a tool for rcenaries to vent their desires. Nothing more.
"Put your clothes on. I promise you will see tomorrow’s sunrise."
The woman’s numb expression flickered. By the ti she ca to her senses, the door had already closed. The words she thought she’d heard felt like an illusion. As darkness engulfed the room once more, the nascent spark of hope in her heart was extinguished.
Lance had no ti to waste on individuals. He moved from door to door.
Behind each door, he found either the sa numb expressions or frightened, anxious figures hiding in the corners of the beds.
There were not only adults but also minors; not only girls but also young boys.
Lance had never encountered such places, neither in his past life nor this one. Hearing about them was vastly different from seeing them firsthand. There was no beauty here, only filth, perversion, and chaos.
Besides those not currently with clients, opening so doors revealed scenes unsuitable for children. But hardly anyone could react in ti at that mont. Those n were swiftly subdued by Dismas’s firearm and Short Sword.
Susan took the won to be resettled elsewhere. The rcenaries, however, weren’t so lucky. They all beca offerings for Lance’s Sacrifice.
But soon, an unexpected person appeared.
Lance pushed another door open. Inside, he found an old man, as gaunt as a skeleton, embracing a woman. Woken by the sound of the door, the man was fumbling for his glasses, which had been left to one side.
"Who’s there?"
Dismas, who had been about to swing his Short Sword, paused. He involuntarily looked to Lance for orders.
For the man before them was none other than the Butler who had previously abandoned them and fled alone.
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