CHAPTER 113: CHAPTER 113: MISSING PERSON NOTICE_1

These human traffickers didn’t deserve any sympathy. If they weren’t still useful, he would have fucking killed them already. In his past life or this one, he wished he could flay these bastards alive a thousand times over.

"Remember, you only have one chance. If you make a mistake, the next knife will be at your neck."

"Big Brother... I’ll definitely lead you to her... Please, I beg you to spare me!"

The man gasped, begging for mercy. He now felt it would have been better to die in battle than endure this.

Yet, the intense pain also sparked his will to live, making him fear death even more.

Lance couldn’t be bothered with him. After giving Reynard some instructions, he left him to guard the camp while he took the others to the small town.

The so-called town wasn’t a town in the modern sense. Rather, it was a growing settlement that, once it reached a certain population, would be called a town.

This scale of settlement had also given rise to stable commercial activities, further attracting people from nearby rural areas to come and develop it.

Lance led his men openly into the small town, observing the surroundings.

It was much like the villages, mostly simple longhouses separated by fences, with chickens and ducks kept within.

Outside the town lay vast farmlands where many people were tending to crops.

Yet, in contrast to the robust crops, most of the townsfolk were thin and frail, their faces etched with the hardships of life.

No doubt the situation was similar to Hamlet’s. Most of these fields were controlled by farm owners, and those laboring in them were nothing more than Serfs.

However, unlike the dilapidated state of Hamlet, this place hadn’t been ravaged by bandits on a large scale; it was largely intact. The more crowded it became, the livelier and more prosperous it seemed, but the sanitary conditions were appalling.

Lance, who had a slight aversion to uncleanliness, could smell a fermented stink like a pigsty the moment he arrived. He also had to carefully avoid the large patches of excrement littering the ground.

The ground was all mud. He was just thankful it hadn’t rained; otherwise, he wouldn’t have dared to step into a scene overflowing with muck and filth.

Only when he approached the center of the small town did he see wooden buildings taller than two stories—clearly the town’s central area.

As he stepped onto the busiest street, a middle-aged woman stopped him. Raising a piece of paper, she asked in a hoarse voice, "Have you seen my daughter?"

Without needing a close look, it was evident the paper was a missing person notice. Lance’s expression hardened as he looked back at the woman. Her face was blank, her eyes devoid of light, and her cheeks were streaked with tear tracks, dried and then wetted anew, over and over.

Witnessing this, Lance felt anger burn within him. He now regretted killing those traffickers so easily; they had gotten off too lightly.

But he managed to control his emotions and asked the woman gently,

"I haven’t seen her, but tell me when your daughter went missing. I’ll help look for her."

"It was early this morning..."

After some discussion, he learned her daughter worked at a farm as a dairymaid. She usually went there early in the morning to milk the cows for the day’s supply. The farm staff notified the family when the daughter hadn’t shown up. They waited for a long time, but she didn’t return. Considering the recent spate of disappearances, they realized she had been kidnapped.

If what she said was true, there were no leads, no eyewitnesses, and no clues.

Fortunately, he didn’t need to investigate to be sure of the culprit; now it was just a matter of finding the person.

Lance also learned that the disappearances in town mostly involved girls between fifteen and twenty years old, and all had occurred within the past month—precisely when Hamlet had fallen.

What exactly were the Heretics plotting...

"I will help look for her. Don’t worry."

After leaving the woman, Lance slowly turned to the man. Placing a hand on his shoulder, he pulled him closer, his gaze as sharp as a blade.

"Where is the person you spoke of?"

Realizing Lance was very angry, the man hurriedly said, "Right in the backstreet! According to their instructions, captives are taken there after being caught."

"You should know the consequences of lying to me." Lance increased the pressure of his hand, causing a pained expression to appear on the man’s face.

"I’m absolutely not lying!"

"Take me there now. If we don’t find the person, you know what’s coming to you!" Lance released his hold, but his gaze grew more ferocious.

Naturally, the man dared not waste any more words and led them straight to the so-called backstreet, which was actually just a row of houses behind the central area.

The flow of people here was quite steady. Some shops were established here, along with some ’special workers.’

Unlike Hamlet, which had a port to sustain fishermen, sailors, and mercenaries, this place was mostly farmland, and its inhabitants were generally poor. Consequently, no sizeable brothels had developed; instead, there were only individual operators.

Women stood outside doorways, enduring the gazes of passersby. Some appeared calm, while others were more enthusiastic, waving at men or gyrating their bodies and casting sultry glances.

It was as if they were unaware of their own dignity as humans, instead showcasing themselves like goods.

"Big guy, come and have some fun!"

"Handsome, come take a look!"

"..."

Lance glanced over and saw they were very ordinary-looking women. Some even looked sickly, as if they had a disease, making him recoil.

In contrast, Dismas seemed quite interested, appraising them and remarking, "The quality of women here seems quite average."

"Haven’t you learned your lesson with women? Or have you forgotten what we’re here for?"

Lance’s quiet, chilling words immediately made Dismas shrink back.

He instantly remembered the woman they had encountered during the bandit extermination. That had been a close call, and she was a Heretic.

Dismas composed himself, his demeanor becoming cautious.

"It’s that house."

The man gestured with his eyes. Lance glanced over and saw that its doors and windows were tightly shut, and it looked uninhabited.

He didn’t approach, however. Instead, he turned his head to look at an open doorway on the opposite side, where a woman leaned.

"Sir, you’re mistaken. It’s the one opposite," Dismas whispered.

But Lance paid him no heed. While they were speaking, he had already started walking toward her.

"Hello, I have some matters I’d like to discuss with you." Lance assessed her: a very ordinary woman, appearing to be in her early twenties.

The woman glanced at Lance, seemingly curious as to why such a handsome man would come to a place like this.

Dismas, bringing the man with him, caught up. When the woman saw both of them approach, her expression changed slightly, and she spoke with a hint of disdain,

"You’ll have to pay extra for that!"