CHAPTER 186: CHAPTER 180: HOPE AND REDEMPTION_1

"What’s going on?" The leader cried out in alarm. His hand snatched the hand axe from the side, while his other drew the musket from his waist. Together with his underlings, he charged straight out, weapons ready.

Gang clashes were as common as meals here, so they were all sufficiently vigilant.

The moment they stepped out, a bloody scene greeted them. Two masked figures were mercilessly slaughtering their gang members. The ground was strewn with the bodies of those who had stayed behind.

"Damn it!" The leader shouted furiously, raising his musket to fire.

Dismas, having just slit a man’s throat, faced the charging leader without any panic, even taking the initiative to meet him head-on.

Thrust!

With a single stride, the distance between him and his enemy closed instantly. The Short Sword in his hand slashed at the leader’s wrist, interrupting his action.

"Ah!"

The leader hadn’t expected such a vast gap in strength. His tendons were severed the moment Dismas neared, and his musket fell uncontrollably, eliciting a cry of pain.

But he was a ruthless man. Ignoring the pain in his hand, he swung the hand axe furiously, his face consumed by ferocity and madness.

Dismas was also an expert in close-quarters combat. Had there been no restrictions, his pistol would already be pressed against the enemy, ending the fight.

However, this man clearly had some status and was still useful. So, Dismas didn’t use his gun, fighting instead with his Short Sword. He quickly severed the man’s fingers, causing the axe to drop.

"You should be grateful this sword wasn’t at your neck," Dismas said, delivering several heavy punches to control the screaming leader.

Meanwhile, Lance slowly lowered his weapon. All the underlings who had rushed him now lay on the ground. In fact, only the two of them remained standing.

One important reflection of Totnes’s wealth and openness was that almost everyone, from leaders to underlings, carried a musket.

Lance bent down to pick up the firearms from the underlings. Upon inspection, he found they were all loaded and ready to fire with just a pull of the hammer.

These guys’ guns are all loaded in advance; aren’t they afraid of misfires? Luckily, it was a stealth attack, and they were quick. Otherwise, even a skilled fighter would have been riddled with holes.

"Take him inside for questioning. I’ll search for anyone else," Lance ordered.

Dismas dragged the man into a room, while Lance quickly sacrificed the corpses and began to search the hideout.

This was just a small gang. This hideout housed barely a dozen people, with perhaps thirty to fifty in total if counting the streets they controlled. Such gangs were as numerous as ants in the Outer City, but they each had their own connections and businesses that allowed them to survive.

Lance pushed open a door. Inside, it was dim, and he could only hear faint sobbing and panicked breathing. He activated Spiritual Vision to observe.

The image before him simplified, making otherwise hard-to-spot traces more apparent. The distinction between day and night blurred in his vision, as if he were wearing night-vision goggles.

Many human silhouettes appeared before him, huddled together, trapped in this dark, filthy little room.

Not everyone was as fortunate as Joan and her daughter to be found by him. The women and children here were merely "goods" these men had kidnapped and were waiting to sell.

Human trafficking—that was their main business, along with protection money and other dealings on this street.

Lance didn’t speak, merely closing the door behind him.

The night’s actions carried risks; they couldn’t show their faces. They would handle the captives later, move them to the camp, and then escort them back to Hamlet. That would settle things.

Turning back, Lance looked at the leader, who was nearly dead from blood loss, and actually smiled. "Did you get anything out of him?"

"Quite the coincidence," Dismas said, his expression a bit strange. "They’re backed by that grain merchant."

As Dismas explained, Lance realized his previous arrangements hadn’t curbed the grain merchant’s greed. They were accustomed to using the simplest methods: driving the gangs they controlled to put pressure on the trading consortiums.

But this gang leader was also suspicious and cautious. Having lost men to Dismas before, he hadn’t dared to act directly. Instead, he had consistently arranged for people to observe their base and had also noted the camp outside the city.

Just as this gang relied on the grain merchant, some refugee gangs also relied on this leader, helping him abduct refugees. So, he simply incited those thugs to attack the camp, figuring that muddying the waters would fulfill the orders from his superiors.

Unfortunately for him, they failed, and before he could react further, Lance had come knocking.

But now, he wasn’t important anymore.

Lance waved his hand, his meaning clear.

"My Lord, are we really going to dispose of him?" Dismas asked. "We could perhaps arrange for someone to take control here."

"Don’t forget our mission," Lance said. He knew Dismas meant to control the leader and thereby take over the gang’s territory. But in such a fiercely competitive environment, the investment risk was too high; they might be swallowed up by the next day.

Continued investment would certainly attract the attention of the local gangs. Lance didn’t fear those thugs, but the people standing behind them.

His power base wasn’t here. Collecting basic information from the trading consortiums was sufficient. The investment and return for managing operations here were disproportionate; he’d be better off using the money to develop Hamlet.

With one swift stroke, Dismas ended him. Dismas never disobeyed his Lord’s commands.