Our Family Has Fallen-Chapter 420 - 278: Trap, Retreat?_1

The followers were not without resistance; they too had organized teams to attack. However, for some unfathomable reason, despite operating here for so long, their organizers hadn’t actually prepared any armor for them.

Even their weapons were mostly rudimentary, poor-quality cold arms. More absurdly, some of the powerful Fanatics disliked wearing even clothes, let alone armor, yet they dared to charge into battle like that.

What era is this? Even the damn White Lotus Society knew to stuff steel plates in their chests to block bullets. It would be illogical for these idiots not to die.

Of course, the Old Ancestor didn’t care about their deaths. In fact, their bloody demise was precisely the outcome he desired.

"I’ll leave this place to you. I’m going to check the tunnels."

Lance didn’t understand the Ascension Sect’s structure, but having scoured the church, he was certain there had to be more than just one minor leader. The so-called Deacon was likely only in charge of combat; someone else had to be managing the town.

The flames had already been extinguished, and over time, the smoke that had once filled the passages had dissipated.

The tunnel was low and narrow, with wooden planks propped up at intervals, possibly as barriers, and recesses along the sides for inserting torches.

And in such a place, all that remained was the brutal aftermath of slaughter, like Abyssal Hell itself. Every step landed on either a corpse or a blood-filled depression.

The air was thick with the foul smell of charring and, of course, the overwhelming, unconcealable stench of blood.

Lance’s Sacrifices along the way had slightly cleared the corpse-clogged passage, but the Spiritual Essence continually flowing into his body didn’t lift his spirits; on the contrary, it made his heart grow heavier.

Anyone witnessing this scene would be emotionally affected.

These were all people, or at least, they were once living, breathing individuals. They had only wanted to live but were twisted into Heretics, and now they had ended up like this.

For what?

All for that Old Ancestor’s twisted, evil plan?

"Damn it! If that old bastard doesn’t die, there’s no justice in this world!" Lance cursed as he delved deeper. His resentment had already built up substantially, and this sight further soured his mood.

Eventually, Lance found the real person in charge. Attire doesn’t lie, and neither do the dead.

The scene was chaotic. Even Lance found it hard to reconstruct what had happened, but it was clear that the few corpses near the responsible person had been crushed by something.

Half of their bones were shattered, and their lumbar spines were compressed and fractured, as if something had coiled around their waists and then hurled them away.

Other corpses were smashed against the wall, leaving bloody imprints, evidently killed by tremendous force—they couldn’t be more dead.

Moreover, all these bodies bore traces of corrosive damage, something completely beyond human strength. Lance struggled to imagine what could have caused such a scene.

As for the Priest, his body was covered in overgrown tissue. The hand holding the Magic Wand was even fused to it. His head was tilted, neck snapped cleanly. Half of his head was a bloody, corroded mess, the skull itself seemingly turned to soft mud.

Lance took one look and felt something was off. Could this thing have killed itself?

Seeing its grotesque state, he couldn’t be bothered to investigate and simply performed a Sacrifice.

After making his rounds below, Lance emerged and exhaled deeply. Anyone else going down there would have gone mad.

"Report, counting is complete."

A nearby soldier reported the situation. After hearing about those "preserved meats," Lance hadn’t held out much hope for the Old Ancestor’s "tributes."

But he soon discovered that the "meat" was only a small part. After inventorying the warehouse, they found supplies like steel, fabric, and grain—all desperately needed hard currency.

Of course, there was also a batch of Spiritual Materials. These were what the Ascension Sect truly needed for their ceremonies or creations, all of which relied on such materials.

But that wasn’t the most important part. What truly relieved Lance’s immense pressure was finding over forty horses and more than twenty matching horse carts throughout the town.

These discoveries finally brought a smile to Lance’s previously grim face. In this era, horses were more valuable than people. Two-legged humans were everywhere, but four-legged horses weren’t so easily found.

Otherwise, with a fortune of millions, he wouldn’t have been so reluctant to buy even a single horse.

No denying it, the Old Ancestor’s tributes are indeed coveted!

"Take the wounded and supplies and leave this place."

"’My lord...’ Several men nearby were puzzled. ’Why abandon this place? If we’re not occupying it, shouldn’t we at least destroy it? Leaving it intact is just asking for trouble, isn’t it?’"

"This location is too important; they won’t give it up," Lance explained. "Trying to hold it ourselves is unrealistic, as we’d constantly face harassment from the Heretics. Moreover, those people are elusive; their exact locations and numbers are unknown. But as long as this place remains, we can let them gather here on their own."

Lance’s reasoning was straightforward. Holding this place would put them under too much pressure. Too few troops would mean they couldn’t defend it, while stationing too many would restrict Hamlet’s development.

Similarly, finding the Heretics’ gathering spots was difficult. However, if they left this place standing, those people would eventually come out on their own.

Then, they would only need to fight them once more to gather and annihilate them, just like today.

Simply put, it was a fishing strategy: bait the spot and wait for the fish to bite. He was waiting for those people to take the bait.

"Should we blow up the city walls?"