And what’s the aning of that smile on your face?
Watching Lance dispose of the corpses, even Geralt’s usually cold expression seed odd.
Any further delay, and the main force, marching rapidly, would soon arrive.
Wang Cai was the first to arrive, but Lance was so covered in filth and the reek of blood that his scent was obscured. The wolf circled him, hesitant to confirm his identity.
"Can’t even recognize your own master, you mutt?" Lance scolded. Wang Cai imdiately reacted, bounding forward to lick the blood from his hand.
The bloodstains on its white fur suggested it had enjoyed an appetizer on its way here.
Next ca Boudica, halberd in hand and eager for a fight, only to beco visibly annoyed when she found no enemies left.
"Boss, you should have brought along for the slaughter!"
"Alright, alright. We’ve alerted them now. The real trouble is just beginning; you’ll have plenty to cut down."
Lance knew the situation was critical. There was no ti for the soldiers to rest, so he imdiately began issuing commands:
"Hold this position! Send n to search the upper levels and secure the high ground on the walls! Move out! And be wary of the enemy. Anyone you encounter here isn’t a normal human, especially the won. I trust you rember the warnings," Lance concluded sharply.
The troops promptly sprang into action. Squad leaders took their teams and charged, their objective clear: the warehouse.
"Let’s move! Objective: secure the church!" Lance declared, then, with a glance back at Junia and Geralt, charged out without another word.
A town like this would normally have at least a thousand inhabitants. Even if the Ascension Sect had purged many of the common folk after occupying it, the remaining numbers were likely still substantial.
Moreover, these weren’t ordinary civilians; they would never surrender. Attempting to capture the town with only three hundred regular soldiers was a daunting, if not unrealistic, prospect.
Therefore, Lance had to be at the vanguard, drawing the brunt of the enemy’s attention.
It was ti to give those cultists a taste of true, Extraordinary power!
Lance charged at the very head of the assault, his sword a whirlwind. With each strike, he cut down whatever stood in his path, shattering all resistance and subduing every foe.
Wang Cai loped beside him, its white fur flowing elegantly with its powerful movents. It looked almost majestic, if one could ignore the bloodthirsty savagery it displayed in combat.
A single pounce from the heavy wolf could easily fell an adult man. Its powerful jaws and sharp teeth tore through throats, while a swipe of its claws could rend flesh and crush skulls.
Its movents were swift and brutal. Pausing only montarily, blood mixed with saliva dripped from its jowls as its cold, lupine eyes locked onto the next victim.
Wang Cai’s killing efficiency surpassed that of an ordinary soldier; its primal bloodlust was on full display.
Geralt and Junia were far more reserved, only attacking if attacked first.
Honestly, Junia found herself confused. Were these people truly heretics, as the Lord claid, or was this just his side of the story? She hadn’t seen the camp, after all. Who were the real heretics? Lance, slaughtering indiscriminately, or these seemingly ordinary townsfolk?
But Lance had dragged them into this. How could they possibly remain uninvolved?
The frenzied heretics, however, cared little for such nuances. Soon, Geralt and Junia were forced to defend themselves.
Lance was succeeding. A large group of enemies now surrounded the three humans and the wolf. Yet, terrifyingly, they continued their steady advance towards the church in the town center, with Lance paving the way.
He pressed on like a boat battling upstream—such terrifying strength!
「anwhile, other squads launched their assault.」
The commotion at the gate had already alerted so of the town’s defenders. However, those who erged from the buildings ran straight into Dismas and his squad.
"Kill them!"
Dismas, ever decisive, charged without hesitation, his sword flashing out to slit the enemy’s throat.
The cultist, caught off guard, felt a sudden warmth spread across his chest as he instinctively clutched at his neck.
Such a wound would be fatal for an ordinary person, but those who had undergone the Flesh Rite possessed unnatural resilience.
Unfortunately for him, Dismas followed up with a swift axe blow, finishing him off for good.
"Quick! Open the warehouse!"
Dismas ignored the corpse, ripped the keys from its belt, and tossed them to a nearby soldier.
He was no longer killing rely to survive; now, he fought for Hamlet.
The soldier took the keys and opened the warehouse. What lay within stunned everyone, and one of them cried out:
"My lord!"
Dismas whirled around. For a mont, his composure wavered, and a look of pure horror spread across his face.
Inside the warehouse, there was no food, no supplies—only human bodies.
No, not whole bodies. They were bisected human torsos, headless and disemboweled, hung up in rows like sides of cured pork.
As far as he could see, there were at least twenty or thirty such... things. And looking back at the dense rows of warehouses lining both sides of the street, just how much of this "food" was stored here?
In that instant, Dismas was consud by rage!
"Kill them!" Dismas roared, his voice cracking with fury, the words practically spat through clenched teeth. "These heretics must die! Leave no one alive!" His cry ignited the soldiers, who echoed:
"Leave no one alive!"
The soldiers were already well-drilled on the dangers posed by heretics. So had even participated in operations to clear out cultist encampnts and had witnessed their depraved practices firsthand.
But those instances had been small-scale, isolated acts of cannibalism. This... this industrial slaughter, so blatantly displayed, unleashed a torrent of pure fury within them.
Fortunately, they were soldiers. Faced with such horror, their primary reaction was not fear, but a burning, righteous anger.
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