Chapter 10 The Mercenary Leader <TOC> Chapter 12 Blood and Flesh Reconstruction
Translator: SumTLMan
Gazing upon the countless battle scars etched into the armor, such marks serve as a warrior’s badge of honor. Lance was convinced that the Man-at-Arms before him was a hardened soul who had frequently danced on the razor’s edge between life and death.
Dismas handed Lance a pouch, within which lay some coins, representing the entirety of the mercenary leader’s wealth.
Though there were only a few silver coins amidst a sea of coppers, giving the illusion of abundance, the actual worth amounted to but a mere hundred or so.
Lance, with tasks still unfinished, quickly dealt with the immediate concerns and led his team to a specific location to clear out the remaining mercenaries.
Bandit raids had resulted in the mass demise of the town’s men, leaving countless women behind. What were these women to do in the face of exorbitant grain prices after losing their family’s main breadwinner?
The grim reality was that many had become commodities. Most here had been driven to the brink by life’s harshness, where selling oneself, one’s spouse, or even one’s children wasn’t an uncommon act in those desperate days.
Those with money now were predominantly the mercenaries and sailors docked at the port. There were only a few places in this era where one could squander their wealth.
The flourishing local industries — taverns, gambling houses, and brothels — quickly painted a picture of the current state of affairs.
Women were forced into servitude, scraping together enough money from their ‘clients’ to survive. Some had fallen so far that they traded their dignity for just a morsel of food.
Lance’s fury was palpable when he learned of this from Susan. In this world, the populace is both the most undervalued and the most invaluable resource. As a lord, Lance knew that for the town to thrive, it needed a growing population.
So, when these young women, capable of bearing children, were treated merely as tools for profit, how could the town’s population ever hope to recover? Those taking advantage of them weren’t just exploiting the women, but mortgaging the future of the entire domain.
“Damn them! They’re not just selling their bodies; they’re undermining the very foundation of my domain!” Lance thought, his face darkening with each reflection.
Both Dismas and Reynard sensed their lord’s fury. Despite having visited many domains, this was the first time they had seen a nobleman so incensed about the wellbeing of commoners.
The brothel was a rare two-story wooden structure in this area, showing signs of age yet having miraculously escaped the ravages of the raids.
Its interior lacked any semblance of aesthetic appeal, looking no different from any ordinary inn.
Upon entering, a portly middle-aged woman greeted them from behind the reception. Before she could finish her hospitable spiel, Lance interrupted, “Where are the sheriffs?”
“What sheriffs? We only have women here,” the madam responded with a hint of mischief.
Lance, without a hint of patience, slapped his pistol onto the counter, emphasizing, “I only want answers.”
Though Lance and his company appeared formidable, the madam showed no fear, seemingly dismissing them as penniless mercenaries seeking a free ride.
“Who do you think you are, daring to challenge me? Do you even know who I am?” she scoffed.
“She’s the mayor’s wife and the owner of this brothel,” Susan informed Lance, catching the madam’s attention.
The madam sneered at Susan, saying, “If you’re thinking of selling yourself, don’t expect much.”
To everyone’s astonishment, Lance swiftly grabbed the madam by the hair, slamming her head onto the counter before fiercely striking her temple with the butt of his pistol, shouting, “Sell your own damn self!”
The force was enough to break her skin, causing her to daze momentarily, unable to react.
Several blows later, she lay motionless on the counter, blood continuously streaming from her wounds.
But Lance showed no signs of relenting, continuing his assault until her life was utterly extinguished.
“Who gave you the audacity to speak to me that way?” Lance’s disdain was evident as he coldly wiped his blood-stained hands on her body before making a ritualistic [Sacrifice].
“The interior isn’t vast. Reynard, guard the entrance. Ensure no one leaves. Dismas, Susan, come with me,” Lance ordered.
In a swift, undeterred motion, Susan lifted the candlestick from the counter and proceeded forward. Seeing this, Dismas found no choice but to hasten his steps to follow. Reynard, left standing by the entrance, remained silent, his sword poised in front of him, hands resting upon its hilt, resembling a sentinel armored in steel.
Without the patience for a meticulous investigation, Lance unhesitatingly pushed open a room’s door.
A pungent, eerie stench wafted from the room’s interior, the bed’s sheets tainted with filth, their hue suggesting a long absence of cleansing, almost coalescing into darkened slabs.
However, what met his eyes next was profoundly unsettling.
The woman behind the door didn’t spare him a glance. Upon hearing the door creak open, she seemed puppet-like in her mechanical motion, stripping off her rag-like attire and laying on the bed. Her body, marred by a tapestry of bizarre scars, coupled with her emotionless face and hollow eyes, bore an uncanny resemblance to the dead.
Lance found no allure in the woman’s reaction; instead, a deep-seated anger burgeoned within him — a feeling as if the dignity intrinsic to humanity had been trampled upon.
She was no longer a person, not even an animal, but merely a tool.
A tool exploited for monetary gain, an instrument for mercenaries’ base desires. Yet, not a human being.
“Clothe yourself; I promise you’ll witness tomorrow’s sunrise,” he intoned.
A fleeting change brushed across the woman’s numb expression. Yet, by the time she regained her senses, the door was shut again. The hopeful ember that had kindled within her heart was swiftly snuffed out by the encroaching darkness.
Lance had no time to dawdle on individual souls, proceeding to open door after door.
Behind each one, he either met the vacant gaze reminiscent of the first woman or eyes widened in terror, occupants huddled in bed corners.
There were adults and children, females, and young boys.
Whether in his past life or the present, Lance had never experienced such a place. Hearing tales was vastly different from facing grim reality. There was no semblance of beauty or nobility here; only perversion, chaos, and distortion.
Beyond rooms of those yet untouched, there were doors revealing scenes inappropriate for young eyes. However, in such circumstances, few could comprehend what was happening, and the men therein were swiftly subdued under Dismas’s blade and gun.
The women were escorted to safety by Susan, but the mercenaries weren’t as fortunate. They were offered as a sacrifice, a token returned to Lance’s hands.
Yet, soon after, an unexpected figure emerged.
Upon opening another door, Lance found a skeletal old man, his form reminiscent of a desiccated corpse, embracing a woman. Startled awake by the door’s sound, the man fumbled for his spectacles set aside.
“Who’s there?”
Dismas, initially poised to lunge forward with his dagger, hesitated, inadvertently seeking Lance’s directive.
For the man before them was none other than the butler who had once abandoned them in a cowardly escape.
Chapter 10 The Mercenary Leader <TOC> Chapter 12 Blood and Flesh Reconstruction