Under the threat of violence, the coachman quickly divulged his destination: a high-end tavern or, more accurately, a clubhouse in the affluent district.
The coachman was not a Heretic but rely a driver, tasked by his boss with taking the girl to a banquet.
"How can you even say that with a straight face?" William angrily pulled him over and, pointing at the unconscious girl, demanded, "Look at her—does she look like she’s going to a banquet?"
The coachman looked embarrassed but could only offer a helpless defense.
"It’s not sothing I can decide. She was sold into a brothel by her parents, not by . I’m just responsible for taking her there."
"How many people have you taken to that place?"
"Countless. The demand there is huge. As long as there’s a good newcor, they’ll be sent over—about four or five tis a month."
Lance’s brow furrowed. Damn it, with such a high demand for Sacrifices, just how many followers have they recruited?
He couldn’t be bothered to think further. With no ti to waste, he imdiately got into the carriage.
"Continue with the delivery."
"My Lord, this..."
Before the coachman could say anything more, Dismas pressed the tip of his sword into the man’s waist, forcing him back into his seat.
Having no choice, the coachman had to get the carriage moving again.
This ti, however, the carriage didn’t just hold a child.
Lance observed the child by the light of the carriage lamps. He didn’t know what would make parents sell their child to a brothel. Although it irritated him, he couldn’t say anything.
Because that’s just how this world is.
「Later that night」
Most streets were shrouded in complete darkness. In an era without electric lights, going out at night ant relying on man-made light sources or moonlight.
Darkness breeds sin. Therefore, few people went out at night. Those who did often stayed in lively, populated areas with companions.
But the situation was different on the streets of the affluent district. Guards with lanterns patrolled day and night. One needed real strength to cause trouble here.
And yet, ruthless individuals still existed.
As they drew closer, Fergus suddenly beca agitated. William comforted the dog, explaining, "It slls a strong scent of blood."
"That ans we’re in the right place," Lance said, looking up through the carriage window. He saw a very quiet building in the affluent district, with few people around.
Although it was a tavern, it was without the usual noise. If it weren’t for the torches outside and the two tall Guards, one might think it was closed.
Indeed, high-end establishnts are different. But what exactly is hidden beneath this respectable facade?
"Once the fight starts, don’t hold back against anyone. They’re all Heretics, beyond redemption," Lance said calmly, though his eyes glinted with a fierce light.
William, sensing sothing, simply petted Fergus.
"Stop!" A Guard halted the carriage. He was expecting the usual routine of welcoming guests or receiving goods. Instead, he got a surprise.
The mont the door opened, a Short Sword lashed out from within, cleanly slicing his throat.
He instinctively clutched his neck, but couldn’t stop the gushing blood or make a sound.
Using the Guard’s body as cover from the other Guard’s line of sight, Lance made his Short Sword disappear, instantly replacing it with a readied Crossbow.
As the first Guard crumpled into a lifeless heap, Lance erged from stealth, simultaneously loosing a Crossbow Arrow.
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The Crossbow Arrow struck the second Guard squarely in the forehead, killing him instantly.
Lance went over and perford the Sacrifice on the two n. Their relics were tossed into the Exhibition Room to be sorted out later.
Dismas, anwhile, slit the coachman’s throat and jumped down from the carriage.
At the sa ti, Reynard and William also stepped out of the carriage.
The scent of blood excited Fergus, the hound’s blood coursing through his veins.
"Let’s go in." Before leaving, Lance thoughtfully closed the carriage door, ensuring the child had a peaceful sleeping environnt.
Their mission: eliminate all Heretics within the building, room by room.
The squad advanced, with Lance and Dismas in the lead. William, Number Three, followed, holding a baton in one hand and Fergus’s leash in the other, while Reynard brought up the rear.
They had just stepped inside when they encountered two coly Maids behind the door. Before they could react, Lance silenced one with a sword to the throat, and Dismas quickly dispatched the other.
Dismas, now unbound by his vows, felt a pang of pity, but his hatred for the Heretics was far stronger.
Lance withdrew his gaze. His actions could not be witnessed by anyone left alive. Innocent or not, at this mont, they were all considered Heretics.
With no outsiders present, he didn’t need to hesitate, performing the Sacrifice on the two Maids’ bodies with a casual motion.
To Dismas and Reynard, this was nothing strange, but William, who had never seen such a thing, was clearly astonished.
"The world is more complicated than you imagine," Lance explained coolly, clearly not intending to elaborate.
"My Lord is chosen by the gods; there’s nothing surprising about it," Dismas chid in, a hint of pride in his voice.
"Save it for later," Lance cut them off. "The Heretics have been alerted. We don’t have much ti; we must act quickly." He refocused on the urgent need to eliminate the enemy.
Once inside with the main doors locked, they had the Heretics surrounded.
It was as quiet inside as it had been outside—unexpectedly so. The corridor was lined with lit Candles, and the interior was luxuriously decorated, every detail speaking of substantial wealth.
Damn it! Could the Old Ancestor have spent the family’s money here?
Despite his suspicions, Lance wasted no words and continued to advance, checking the rooms flanking the corridor. As they neared one, they heard bizarre noises from within.
"Hahaha! Am I strong or what!"
"Ah! My lord, you’re so powerful!"
"You just watch how I wear you out..."
They quickened their pace and crouched by a door, peering through a crack where candlelight seeped out, to observe the situation inside.
A greasy, bald, middle-aged man was flaunting his "treasure," cackling strangely.
This potion is incredible! It’s rejuvenated my weary body, filling with boundless strength!
I’m definitely going to achieve Ascension tonight!
Just then, the room door was abruptly pushed open, and several figures burst in.
The sudden intrusion, coupled with the sight of gleaming Short Swords in their hands, was a rude awakening for the man. His body trembled violently, and cold sweat beaded on his forehead.
The vigor he had just mustered instantly deflated, and along with it... *that*.
The man watched this happen, tears of regret welling in his eyes.
Impossible! My little brother is invincible!
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