Geralt’s hearing was not mistaken; indeed, there were six people hiding in the tent, and they weren’t even bound.
In the chaos just monts ago, even though a few steps would have allowed them to leave the tent, these individuals were psychologically shattered. They were too terrified to even attempt an escape, trembling uncontrollably where they stood.
Faced with Lance’s questions, they naturally couldn’t hide much and explained their situation.
But what surprised Lance was that they weren’t refugees at all. On the contrary, they had once been key figures in a small town or influential individuals within Ovando City, people who held power and influence among commoners.
However, because they obstructed the growth of the Ascension Sect, they were swiftly subdued. Then, they were thrown here as slaves, tasked with the camp’s dirtiest and most exhausting chores.
The oppressors have beco slaves here—what is the Old Ancestor up to?
Soon, Lance understood. The Old Ancestor’s motives weren’t benevolent; his actions were purely aid at psychologically dominating the newly joined commoners.
Once high and mighty oppressors were now reduced to slaves, while these forrly oppressed people could trample them underfoot simply by joining.
This was an unthinkable reversal, a kind of ascension in status. No wonder the new believers are so fervent.
The Old Ancestor truly has a gift for manipulating people’s minds...
As slaves, they had witnessed the Heretics practicing cannibalism and heard piercing screams. A series of tornts had long since tad them.
This was precisely why they hadn’t dared to seize the chance to escape when they heard the commotion outside, not even daring to take a furtive glance.
This also explained their reaction upon seeing Lance just now.
However, Lance wasn’t interested in their ramblings.
"I’m not interested in your origins. I want to know what has been happening in this camp," Lance stated.
"I don’t know! I really don’t know! Please, just get us out of here!" one of them pleaded, still terrified. They were more eager to escape this hellish place than to answer Lance’s questions.
"How can I get you out if you don’t talk?" Lance asked, his voice calm. "Besides, who knows when those Heretics might return."
His words instantly made them compliant. They hurriedly told him everything they knew, terrified that any delay would an the Heretics returning to imprison them again.
"When was this camp established? Why? What about personnel changes, supply movents...?" Lance pressed.
They didn’t know exactly when it was established. Since their arrival as slaves, the details were hazy. However, the one who had been there longest said it was at least a year. Of his original group, only he survived; the rest had perished.
They usually had contact with areas like the kitchen, so they knew the number of Heretics in the camp fluctuated. There were constant losses but also reinforcents, generally maintaining a population of forty to fifty.
Until recently, the frequency of reinforcents increased, surpassing those leaving, with the peak reaching nearly two hundred people. But just today, a majority were withdrawn, leaving only a few behind.
"What were the newly arrived believers like? Did they seem like ordinary people, or refugees?" Lance continued.
"How could those ’masters’ be refugees? They all looked very strong," a slave replied.
Lance’s expression flickered upon hearing the slaves call the Heretics ’masters,’ but he didn’t comnt, instead pressing on.
From their descriptions, he quickly confird these weren’t raw recruits but individuals who had undergone so training.
"Did this camp have regular patrols and sentries before?" Lance inquired.
"Yes, there have always been patrols and sentries. Soone once tried to escape but was caught..." The man trailed off, but it wasn’t hard to imagine they were likely eaten.
Hearing this, Lance glanced at Geralt. It ant the patrols here weren’t a new asure because of their previous attack on a camp, but a long-standing practice.
If not to guard against us, then what are they guarding against?
This camp isn’t for training new believers. Instead, trained personnel are transferred here from other places. The frequent losses suggest these Heretics are fighting so enemy.
Choosing such a strange location and stationing guards to defend against sothing ans there’s definitely a problem with this place.
"Where did the believers who disappeared go?" Lance probed.
"We don’t know. But when they left, they always went out from the back of the camp. Sotis, when they returned, they brought back prey," one of the slaves revealed.
"’Prey!’" The word made Lance snap to attention. "What kind of prey?"
The slaves didn’t answer imdiately. Instead, they exchanged glances before one finally said, "We don’t know. It was just large chunks of unidentifiable at."
Lance exhaled slowly. A confident smile touched his lips—he finally understood the true danger Amanda’s prophecy had warned about.
The situation is finally back to a familiar pattern, sothing within my grasp. These recent oddities were making a bit paranoid.
Lance understood, but Geralt and the others were still puzzled by the cryptic exchange. What was settled? What exactly is going on? they wondered.
Lance, however, showed no sign of explaining. He waved to Boudica. "Let’s keep moving. I think I’ve figured out what the Sect of Ascension is up to with all this."
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