Our Family Has Fallen-Chapter 405 - 272: The Lord’s Mercy_2

The disobedient were right there beside them—the losers from the previous day. Their blood was in wine jugs, their flesh either on the grill or in the pot.

Geralt saw this scene through the dense canopy, and he understood why that Lord was so adamant about eradicating this evil cult...

He had crouched there for two days; by his count, today was the third.

To be honest, he really didn’t want to deal with this. He wanted to draw his sword and chop all these guys down. But he remembered the Lord’s words: don’t alert the enemy, or those heretics would flee.

Suddenly, there was a disturbance nearby. Geralt sensed it but didn’t panic, remaining carefully hidden.

Perhaps it was because one camp had been raided and wiped out, so all these camps had strengthened their defenses, even sending out patrols and scouts.

This was a situation not disclosed in the mission intelligence; however, these small fry did not trouble Geralt, who quickly figured out their patrol routes and times.

It was precisely this knowledge that made Geralt immediately sense something was amiss: those people weren’t on patrol.

He investigated cautiously, and at that moment, even his weathered face couldn’t help but break into a smile.

The wait was finally over; these were the people coming to contact the camp...

***

"My Lord, the man named Geralt has returned."

The voice from outside interrupted Lance’s work. Hearing it, he knew some progress had finally been made.

He felt a surge of excitement and, ignoring his other duties, hurried to meet the arrival, only to find Geralt had returned via the old route.

Geralt’s return by this unusual route alerted Lance to a hint of trouble, but Geralt didn’t linger and spoke directly.

"I’ve found those heretics, and indeed, there’s more than one camp."

Lance noted Geralt’s grave expression and the unintentional anger in his words. He must have witnessed the heretics’ methods, Lance presumed.

"Come, let’s go back and discuss it slowly."

Without wasting words, Geralt explained what he had discovered. He had been tracking for many days but had only found one camp. It housed about a hundred people, had simple conditions, and no defenses other than a ring of wooden fences.

He had watched for two days. Besides their twisted activities, he had detected no anomalies until the third day, when he noticed a group leaving the camp. This prompted him to follow, and at a distance from the camp, he discovered a transaction.

The other party in the transaction was a group of humans.

Upon seeing this, Geralt didn’t return to the camp but followed the traders, ultimately finding a particular place.

It was a seemingly normal small town beyond the northern wilderness, situated beside an old, dilapidated road. There, he discovered the cult’s followers were using it as a hub to transport refugees.

As Lance looked at the routes Geralt had hastily marked on the map, the emphasized small town reminded Lance of some unpleasant memories.

The town where William had previously been located had also seen preaching by the heretics, but their presence there was wiped out in one fell swoop.

Yet, Hamlet had too many such towns, and it was very possible that some had already fallen under the control of the Ascension Sect.

The location of this particular town Geralt pointed out was also tricky. The route went from Ovando to this town, then to those camps, and extending further, it reached the old district of Hamlet.

Looking at it now, this was clearly a supply line. It allowed those from the Ascension Sect to circumvent Hamlet via a small path, with this town serving as a node connecting everything.

It had to be taken down!

"We can’t wait any longer," Geralt said, his voice urgent. "I found this place because they had just escorted a new batch of refugees into the camp. I followed them to the town. We must find a way to save them."

Geralt appeared rather anxious. Seeing him like this, Lance was surprised. I didn’t expect such a kind heart beneath that cool exterior, he thought.

Such a thing was all too rare in this cold and despairing world...

"I understand."

Lance was keen on any opportunity to strike at the Progenitor, perhaps even more impatient than Geralt.

He promptly summoned the town’s leaders, explained the situation, and began formulating tactics.

"Do you have any questions?" Lance asked after outlining his arrangements, looking at everyone.

"We need to confirm the authenticity of the information first," someone said. "What if it’s a trap? The army would need to deploy a large portion of its forces, and the risks we’d face are not small at all."

"That’s right," another person questioned. "The Ascension Sect knows we annihilated one of their camps. Why didn’t they relocate? Why are they still there? Aren’t they afraid of our attack?"

"They must have other preparations as well," someone else added. "It’s impossible that they’ve only increased patrols..."

Deploying for combat couldn’t be done hastily; many factors needed consideration. However, the opinions raised clearly showed a mistrust of the information Geralt had brought back.

It was no wonder they doubted. Firstly, Geralt’s origins were unclear. Secondly, the intelligence he provided seemed a bit too simple, which, in turn, heightened their vigilance.

Geralt understood this, but he didn’t show too strong a reaction, nor did he intend to defend himself.

His experience as a Witcher had taught him not to get involved in power struggles. A Witcher’s eyes are only for monsters, not worldly affairs—that’s the rule, he reminded himself.

However, Lance addressed these doubts directly.

"First of all, I am inclined to believe our friend, Mr. Geralt," Lance stated. "As a Witcher Master, he’s not easily corrupted, and his professional capabilities are trustworthy."

Lance wasn’t blindly trusting Geralt; both Tamara and Junia had confirmed the Witcher’s excellent reputation.

A Witcher’s special constitution made them difficult to corrupt. If someone could fake nearly being killed by a Wizard during a grueling long-distance trek, then there’s nothing I can do. I’d have to admit, Progenitor, you’re truly impressive, Lance thought.

Once Lance made his stance clear, the others had no further objections. Geralt noticed this, realizing the extent of the Lord’s control here.

He had been prepared to listen to their bickering and was ready to devise his own plan to save the people if they didn’t act.

But now it seemed the previous annihilation of the camp was no coincidence; it was surely orchestrated by this Lord.

"To hell with all this talk! I alone can wipe out those small fry," Boudica interjected, eager for action. Staying idle in town was truly boring for her.

But her words carried little weight, and the others continued to discuss their combat strategy.

"The town likely has a considerable population," Barton mused, studying the makeshift map on the table. "What do we do after its capture? Taking it means formal war with the Ascension Sect. Are we fully prepared for an all-out war?"

His mention of war wasn’t simply about the Ascension Sect; he was also worried that such a drastic action could draw the attention of Ovando City.

Anyone with a bit of sense could see the strategic importance of this small town. The Ascension Sect might feign ignorance over a few raided camps, but attacking the town would undoubtedly tear the final veil between them and us.

"It’s not us; they’ve already torn it," Lance countered. "Things aren’t calm out there. If they want to wage war on us, they have other powers to worry about first. They can’t be bothered with us right now."

Even if Ovando’s high echelons were corrupted by Ascension Cultists, it wouldn’t have happened so quickly, as I conveniently eliminated a core group of them previously, Lance thought.

The news Dismas brought back further indicated that the Empire’s situation was dire. In the ensuing chaos, those imperial factions might be able to defend themselves, but I don’t believe they have the resources to send troops against us, Lance considered.

If they did come out, even better. I’m confident I can defeat their city defense force in an open-field battle.

"We can mobilize at most three hundred soldiers," Balistan pointed out. "Completely locking down a town will be challenging. And while our Legion can use its collective strength to resist heretics in a pitched battle, if we get bogged down in street fighting, we’ll be divided and unable to exert our full power."

Balistan’s words indeed reminded Lance that, individually, most soldiers might not be a match for heretics who had undergone the Flesh Rite.

Not to mention the difficulty of distinguishing heretics from ordinary civilians among them.

Encirclement, extermination, guarding prisoners—all these tasks require soldiers. Three hundred wouldn’t be enough; even five hundred fully deployed would be stretched thin.

"No prisoners except high-value targets," Lance declared. "The heretics must die."

His declaration made it obvious that Lance hadn’t planned to slowly sift through the population or rescue individuals. He intended a clean, decisive cut, without the slightest concern for collateral damage.

One engaged in great endeavors cannot be held back by minor details. If I were to truly waste manpower and resources on this, I’d be falling right into that old fiend’s trap, he thought.

His mercy was for his people, not for heretics.

The only mercy he could offer these heretics was deliverance...