Early the next morning, before the sky had even begun to lighten, Yang Jing set off alone. She was heading to Constance City to verify the authenticity of a piece of intelligence. If the information was accurate, it would simultaneously solve the team's problems of insufficient funds and a lack of skilled personnel.
The journey from Fengtao Village to Constance City was over thirty kilometers. Even at an assassin master's pace, a round trip would take a full day. To return before nightfall, Yang Jing had risen exceptionally early.
By the time Siegfried crawled out of bed, Yang Jing had been gone for almost three hours. Since yesterday, he'd delegated all his farm work to his underlings – the soldiers who were essentially drawing a salary for doing nothing – freeing up considerable time for other matters.
"Good morning, Sir Melan,"
The blond soldier, Lyme, bowed respectfully to Siegfried as he emerged from the house. Today, he was temporarily assigned as Siegfried's guard, though Lyme didn't believe this fearsome figure needed any protection whatsoever.
Siegfried glanced at him, replying indifferently,
"Morning. Is your injury almost healed?"
Lyme froze, immediately lowering his head respectfully. "Yes, sir. Thanks to the villagers' care."
In the village attack, Lyme's injuries were second only to Katarina's. However, that little tigress was as strong as an ox; Siegfried simply applied some medicine, and she was bouncing back the next day. Lyme wasn't so lucky. The priest refused to treat him, and the man spent two days in bed, his food and drink delivered by the villagers, including little Tova, whom he had almost beaten up.
Siegfried, with a mischievous glint in his eye, mocked, "Oh? Now they're villagers, not 'scum'?"
Lyme blushed with shame, his head nearly buried in his neck. "My subordinate is at fault, my subordinate…"
"Enough. Just remember, it was these 'scum' you looked down upon who saved your life."
"Yes! My subordinate will keep it in mind!"
"Speak. What is it?"
Lyme took a piece of parchment from his bosom and handed it to Siegfried. "This is a list of the spoils and prisoners from yesterday's ambush, sir. Please have a look."
The handwriting on the parchment was neat and elegant – clearly that of Her Highness the Princess.
Siegfried took the list, his brows rising slightly. There were nearly one hundred sets of ordinary equipment, including spears, straight swords, and armor. There were even several magical weapons and a considerable amount of military rations.
(A bountiful harvest! It seems we wiped out an elite unit. It's amazing that Roland managed to annihilate them without a single casualty.)
"Categorize the spoils and put them into the warehouse. Make sure to keep a proper record."
"Yes!… Sir, what should we do with the prisoners?"
Besides the equipment and food, Roland had brought back seven prisoners. One of them, a leading Great Knight, was someone Siegfried had specifically instructed to keep alive. The rest were likely survivors.
Siegfried pondered for a moment, then a cruel smile spread across his face.
"Keep the Great Knight alive. The rest… kill them all!"
"What?!"
Lyme's legs went weak, almost causing him to fall. He'd heard of some historically bloodthirsty heroes, fiends who left rivers of blood wherever they went, more demonic than the demons themselves. But he never imagined that this man wouldn't even spare prisoners.
Cold sweat trickled down Lyme's back. He immediately knelt on one knee, urgently pleading,
"Sir, they're already incapable of resistance. Killing prisoners will not only terrify everyone but also damage your image among the soldiers. Her Highness would not approve of such actions. I beg you to reconsider."
Siegfried, of course, wouldn't actually kill the prisoners. He simply wanted to utter that line, and scare this soldier.
(I always thought the phrase 'kill them all' was incredibly badass. Saying it myself really is different.)
After indulging his inner edginess, Siegfried looked at Lyme, who was kneeling and trembling, and said seriously, suppressing a smile,
"Alright, alright, I was just joking. Look at you. Where's the Great Knight? Take me to him."
Lyme let out a long sigh of relief, sincerely hoping that this man would never joke again.
"Yes, sir, this way, please."
......
Outside a dilapidated wooden hut, Lyme worriedly reminded him,
"Sir Roland interrogated him yesterday, but he wouldn't say a word. Sir, please be careful. He might lash out if cornered. If anything happens, call for me immediately."
"Heh, a tough nut, huh? Doesn't matter. Even if he's dead, I can get him to talk."
Lyme felt a chill down his spine. He suddenly realized his last statement was unnecessary.
Siegfried wasn't boasting. Even if the man was dead, the Wanderer's Handbook could retrieve his information.
Now, it was time for Siegfried's favorite activity: torturing – no, interrogating prisoners.
He pushed open the door. The air inside the dilapidated wooden hut was damp, with a musty smell of decaying wood. There was only one chair in the room, and a man in his thirties was tied to it. His face was covered in blood and his body was bruised; clearly, Roland hadn't been gentle.
Hearing the noise, the man said without looking up,
"Don't waste your effort. I don't know anything, and I won't say anything."
Name: Roy Barrett
Male, 35 years old
… (Too much water, the following is omitted)
Siegfried scanned the information displayed in the Wanderer's Handbook. Unsurprisingly, Roy's personal information was very complete. This man was originally Yang Jing's former teammate; his recent activities had been witnessed by Yang Jing and recorded in her database.
Siegfried pulled up a chair and sat down in front of Roy, smiling ambiguously.
"You've misunderstood. I'm not here to interrogate you."
"Humph, then what are you doing here? Watching me… uh!"
Roy raised his head, intending to see who this pretentious idiot was. However, as soon as he saw the man sitting opposite him, the rest of his sentence got stuck in his throat.
"I'm just here… to chat."
Siegfried really wasn't here to interrogate. He'd already received information about the Second Prince's faction from Yang Jing yesterday, and he didn't think a Great Knight would know more than Yang Jing, his personal bodyguard. He was planning an experiment.
"You… you… you are…"
Roy stuttered in shock. Black hair, black eyes… it was exactly like the legendary…
Siegfried flashed a sly smile and politely introduced himself.
"Hello, Mr. Roy. My name is Siegfried."
"Sieg…fried?"
"Or you can call me Melan."
Roy's pupils constricted sharply, almost causing him to fall off the stool.
"You… you… the Melan family… involved in this civil war?"
Roy's voice trembled uncontrollably.
Why had their actions been exposed? Why had this simple pursuit mission become so deadly? Why had this half-year-long chase suddenly turned into a death trap?
Since his capture, he had been thinking about these questions sleepless nights, unable to find an answer. Now, he finally didn't need to think anymore.
A Melan was involved in this civil war. This fact was enough to answer all the unreasonable questions.
Roy felt despair. Even when facing Durandal, he had never felt this hopeless.
The pursuit force's failure was just his personal failure; Prince Roderick still firmly held the majority of the kingdom's power. But if this Melan joined the war, the balance of power would be shattered in an instant, and Roderick would have no chance of winning.
The long history of the Kiran Continent had taught everyone that these were monsters who could sweep across armies.