Chapter 51

Chapter 51: Clues

These three despicable soldiers gave the young witcher a deeper understanding of the world.

What kind of soldiers had he encountered before? Enforcement teams, elite hunting squads. Phillip's fully mounted squad, the baron's guards, and his direct forces.

These men might have been rude, barbaric, or harboring ignorant prejudices. But there was no doubt that they were skilled, superior to the common folk and ordinary soldiers of this era. They excelled in killing, tracking, riding horses, and operating military equipment. These skills gave them status and also imposed discipline upon them.

As the baron's guards, they had no time or space to run amok in the countryside. As elite soldiers, they had no energy or opportunity to moonlight as robbers.

For ordinary soldiers, these three men, whom Lan had beaten to death with his fists, might represent the norm of soldiers in this era. Lazy, undisciplined, and believing they held power because they wielded swords in remote areas. Then they would act recklessly, robbing and killing on the roads, only following tax collectors to do some real work once a year. In the eyes of most people, they were little more than state-sanctioned bandits. Lan felt no remorse for his violent actions.

The young witcher had intended to leave after dealing with these scum and continue with his business. But an overturned storage box caught his attention. Lan squatted next to the box and picked up a black, hard piece of salted meat.

His cat-like eyes moved, noticing there were still half a box of such meat strips, which was quite a lot by the average living standards of Velen. According to the traces, this bag of salted meat had been placed here less than two days ago. The witcher's fingers rubbed the surface of the meat strip, and the tips of his gloves soon reflected the oil.

"Is this the 'tired of eating salted meat' they were talking about?" Lan's eyes narrowed slightly. "In the entirety of Velen, there are at least several hundred such outposts. If every outpost had this level of supplies, could Vserad afford it?"

Mentos quickly picked up on Lan's thoughts, calculated the total supplies, and based on the single trip to the Crow's Perch, estimated the extent of Vserad's assets.

"Sir, based on my calculations, I believe Sir Vserad cannot afford to supply his troops at this standard. In reality, being able to support seven to eight hundred men is his limit."

"So, this is not the standard configuration an outpost should have." Lan rose from his half-crouched position and looked around.

The bodies and signs of struggle had turned the place into a mess. But with the available [Tracking] and his extraordinary senses, along with Mentos's ability to record images, he could perform a scene analysis.

"Except for me, no one has left traces of a bloody conflict here in the past week. Three days ago, a merchant passed by, but he was a flower merchant."

Lan walked to a barely noticeable track mark, picked up a handful of soil, and sniffed it.

"The merchant's cart only had the scent of flowers. Even if he was extorted by soldiers, he could only give coins."

The answer was clear. The source of the salted meat was neither official supplies nor extortion, nor could it have come from villagers' "donations." In this hilly area, what other possibilities were there?

"We should have thought of this earlier, Mentos," Lan said, his eyes lowered. "How could such a criminal gang not have an understanding with the 'officials' here?"

It was so much effort for criminals to cover their tracks. But by getting along with these three worthless soldiers representing official power, they could get them to report "everything is normal" to their superiors. Wouldn't that save them a lot of effort? As for whether these three soldiers knew that they were being "honored" by cannibals, they probably didn't care.

Looking again at the already tattered corpses, Lan had no extreme reactions. The men were dead, and he wouldn't vent his anger on the bodies.

"Hmm-"

He held the salted meat strip under his nose and sniffed lightly. Mentos, in his mind, struggled to block out the scent of the meat itself. The scent of the meat carrier emerged. Fortunately, these dried meats had only been transported two days ago, and the residual scent was still useful.

The witcher's extraordinary senses were not unreasonably strong. If another day passed, Lan might not get any clues no matter how hard he tried.

The slightly glowing cat-like eyes also found intermittent footprints on the ground, guiding them as road corrections. Lan followed the footprints with Popeye.

At least for today, the young witcher's luck was good.

***

Phillip Strenger wiped the wine off his big beard and sighed deeply. Even though he was still riding, he couldn't help but take a couple of swigs from his flask. These past few days, he felt he was becoming more and more dependent on alcohol. It used to be just to drown out the misery at home, but now, if he didn't have a bottle in his hand, he felt uncomfortable all over.

He was addicted. He knew it himself. But the reason it was called an "addiction" was that there was no cure. Fortunately, he was still strong and could kill and ride a horse. His superiors only asked that much of him.

"How far are we from... Con…. Condall?" Phillip, with his mouth full of alcohol, asked York, who was riding next to him.

"The village is called Condyle, boss. We should be at the outpost in about half an hour."

York, who wasn't particularly outstanding among a bunch of battle-hardened veterans, had been favored by Phillip during the last mission because of his connection to that capable witcher. After a few more toasts from the sergeant during their drinking sessions, the group of old soldiers knew this kid had a different status. So even in the formation while riding, he could ride next to the sergeant.

"Damn it, those cursed human traffickers are getting more and more rampant, making it impossible for me to drink in peace!" Phillip burped, full of alcohol, his face fierce.

The number of kidnapped children was increasing, and the scope was expanding. The matter itself wasn't big, but the impact was significant. The farmers had no mind to farm, and the baron was furious in Crow's Perch. That was his money! His money!

So, Phillip's squad had to rush around and investigate.

In the baron's own words: "Even if you have to turn over the water hags' butts in the remotest parts of Velen, you must find those human traffickers!"

Now, only the remote places hadn't been searched. But no one wanted to go to the swamp, so they could only check out places like Condyle and call it a day.

***

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