CHAPTER 120: CHAPTER 120: THE CONCESSION OF JUSTICE_1

If the Church were to find out, it would unleash a slaughter upon this land. Everyone, Heretic or not, would become nourishment for the Old Ancestor’s growth.

Moreover, these were merely randomly recruited ordinary believers. Their deaths meant little; with only one-way communication, the Church could not unearth their superiors, posing no significant threat to the organization’s core.

If undetected, they would gradually erode and even seize control of the entire settlement, then rapidly expand by leveraging this foothold.

It was a brutal selection process: only those who survived were truly qualified to join the Ascension Sect.

They exploited the Church’s power to create bloodshed and strengthen themselves, while also screening for capable and qualified believers to enhance the evil cult itself.

What a cunning ploy, reaping two benefits from a single act.

One could only say the Old Ancestor truly lived up to his reputation, winning twice over.

This approach did have its costs—namely, the lives of the most ordinary believers—but the Old Ancestor didn’t care.

The way Heretics think is vastly different from normal people. If not for Dismas’s words, I would have been led astray.

Based on this logic, the evil cult must already be flourishing across this land—a thought that alone gives me a headache.

Do I really need to start the plan to reclaim the territory ahead of schedule...

The atmosphere in the room grew increasingly tense as Lance fell into deep thought; everyone unconsciously acknowledged him as the one in control of the situation.

For the Sheriff, this was especially true, as the man before him would decide his fate.

Just then, a sudden series of knocks on the door made everyone instinctively look over.

Lance’s thoughts were interrupted. He instantly realized it must be those who had come for the ritual and immediately glanced at Dismas.

Dismas clearly understood what the Lord meant. Donning his hood, he quickly walked over.

The door opened. Dismas yanked the person inside and swiftly closed it.

The Heretic didn’t understand what was happening until he saw the corpses littering the floor and the few people still standing.

The Heretic gasped sharply and turned to flee, but a bloodstained dagger was already pressed against his neck.

"My Lord," Dismas said, clearly asking if he should kill the man.

Lance said nothing, merely waving his hand; the meaning was clear.

Once he had taken over this place, these people were useless.

However, upon seeing this, the Constable spoke up to stop him. "Wait! They have just joined; perhaps they can still be saved."

"All of these people participated in the sacrifice of those six innocents. They are all murderers," Lance replied, slowly shaking his head. "Compassion is a fine virtue, but showing them pity does the greatest harm to the victims."

"Then they need to be brought to trial! They should hang for those six lives to bring solace to the victims’ families, not be subjected to vigilante justice here!"

"Do you think if the Church learns about the Heretics here, and that so many are involved, how many people in this town will survive when they launch a Judgment War?"

Lance retorted sharply, his eyes signaling Dismas to act. He had no time to waste on these people.

Though Dismas admired the diligent Constable, the Lord was right: showing mercy to these wretches would only compound the victims’ suffering.

The Heretic, realizing his imminent fate, tried to plead for mercy, but the blade, uncomprehending, slit his throat.

The Constable watched the man fall, a myriad of emotions too complex to articulate swirling within him.

The justice and rule of law he believed in had been utterly trampled today.

His superior officer had betrayed the law and fallen into heresy. Now he faced a choice: expose everything to the public, using the lives of everyone as his badge of honor, or conceal the truth...

Lance paid no heed to the Constable’s turmoil, turning instead to the Sheriff.

"How many more people in town have joined the Heretics?"

"A total of twenty-two," the Sheriff wailed. "It’s really not my fault! He’s the one who recruited them. I just provided some minor conveniences; I have no real involvement with them!"

"Nearly your entire security team has been drawn into this by you. What nonsense are you spouting?"

Beneath the Heretics’ black robes, one could see police badges. How could so many have been recruited in such a devoutly religious environment if this man hadn’t been leading the way?

The Missionary lacked such ability; this man was definitely the one truly selecting and recruiting followers.

There were twenty people present, with two still missing. Unwilling to waste time waiting, Lance immediately gave an order.

"Dismas, take him to that woman’s house first," Lance ordered. "I’ll join you after I’ve handled things here."

The Constable was somewhat obstinate, and Lance was unwilling to reveal his abilities in front of him, so he simply sent him away.

The Constable, for his part, didn’t refuse. He picked up the girl and left. To some extent, his actions acknowledged Lance’s methods.

Sometimes, even justice must yield to reality.

"I know you know more than this. Tell me the real situation now," Lance said, dropping all pretense as soon as the Constable had left.

"I’ve told you everything, really!" the Sheriff insisted.

"Guess who I am. Why do you think I specifically sought you out?" A scornful smile touched Lance’s lips, instantly heaping immense pressure upon the Sheriff.

Indeed, these men didn’t act like members of the Church Judiciary. Who could they be?

As for guessing—he was just a lowly Sheriff; how could he possibly know more?

"Who exactly are you?"

"Hmph! Since when do you have the right to question me?" Lance snorted coldly. His expression froze, and his oppressive aura seemed to solidify, terrifying the Sheriff until his legs went weak.

"No—I just..." the Sheriff stammered, utterly bewildered.

"Speak. The more you know, the more valuable you are. If I can report satisfactorily, you might live."

Lance adopted a haughty posture, alluding to some non-existent superior he had to answer to, presenting an enigmatic and utterly inscrutable front.

It was precisely this air of inscrutable authority that made the Sheriff feel like he was grasping at a lifeline, and his psychological defenses immediately crumbled.

Ordinarily, when either the Empire or the Church encountered Heretics, there was a tacit agreement to eliminate them. Thus, he knew his chances of survival were slim.

The only difference would be whether he was hanged or burned at the stake.

But this mysterious figure had just actively helped cover things up. Perhaps there truly was a chance he could survive.

Having come to this realization, the Sheriff no longer hesitated and immediately began to divulge more detailed information.

"The true sacrificial ritual..."

From the Sheriff’s account, Lance learned about a more detailed sacrificial ritual. The Sheriff was not as clueless as he had previously claimed; on the contrary, he had been the one orchestrating everything.

From selecting the sacrificial victims to reaping the rewards.

The horror of this ritual lay not merely in a swift death, but in torturing a person alive until they died, then using their flesh and blood to concoct various materials.

Such as these eerie, red-glowing Blood Candles...