Bear School Astartes-Chapter 581 - 583. Gang of bandits

Chapter 581: 583. Gang of bandits
The Demon Hunters are experts at tracking; they had obtained the intended action directions of the remaining six search teams from last night.
So they began searching along this clue.
The clue appeared quickly.
On the first route, Lann and his team found the cavalry of the refugee group who had gone out to search for supplies; their corpses lay exposed beside the road.
Being part of the Niflgaard forces, they certainly didn’t need to hide their tracks, for who in all of Sintra now was stronger than them?
Thus, Lann and his team witnessed the unabashed behavior of that special unit.
"He was dragged to death alive."
Lann crouched down to examine the boots of the corpse.
The ankle of the boot was tied with a broken rope.
"They looped a rope around him and then galloped their horses. It took less than a hundred and fifty meters for his face to be worn off."
"Looks like he wasn’t very good at controlling his position; if he landed on his backside, he might have lived a bit longer."
Ged said from his horse, while Geralt on another horse shook his head, denying his statement.
"I think he was very good at controlling his position, which made his end quicker... In the face of abusers who take pleasure in torment, living longer only excites them more."
"Hmm." Ged muttered, scratching the bristles under his chin, "That makes sense too."
Even though he could grow a fine beard, due to laziness, he’d usually shave it all off.
But recently, he hadn’t had the opportunity to deal with the beard in weeks.
The guys who dragged the cavalry to death circled back after the rope snapped, confirming their ’toy’ was indeed dead.
So they left behind blood-stained hoof prints.
Lann stood up, grabbed some dirt, rubbed it in his hand, and wiped the bloodstains off his gloves.
The eyes of the three Demon Hunters, those cat-like pupils, started to unpredictably contract and dilate simultaneously.
Then, a crimson hoof print appeared vividly on the road before them.
"Don’t walk on the road, head into the woods beside it."
Lann turned away from the road, and Geralt and Ged followed him on horseback.
"My vision is farther than yours; in the forest, I can see clearly, just follow me."
"That’s really nice; at least we won’t run into a Niflgaard patrol head-on," Ged grumbled, and Geralt nodded in agreement.
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Continuing along the road leads to a fork.
This fork hosts a small inn, which under normal circumstances would care for any traveler along the roads of Sintra, providing them with hot water and a place to rest.
Sometimes, Sintra’s Royal Family would even subsidize this inn, helping maintain its existence for the convenience of road travelers and the flow of goods and the economy.
But now, inside the inn’s fence stood a wooden cart, its painted signs barely legible, leaving a clear silhouette of a man holding a razor, indicating it was a barber’s mobile work vehicle.
The owner of the work vehicle was now curled up by the cart’s wheel, seemingly wishing to embrace the wheel still smeared with dog dirt, bird droppings, and mud.
He was terrified.
Inside the inn, the ugly, dirty but sturdy and durable tables and chairs were mostly scattered and broken on the wooden floor of the room.
Only the bar and a few chairs remained intact, with two people sitting at the bar, fetching beer from inside to quench their thirst.
One of them had an empty sword sheath at his waist, but a bloodstained sword lay on the bar. The other seemed not to have drawn his sword or engaged in any strenuous activity; thus, he drank his beer in a leisurely manner.
The sound of boots squelching in the mud came from outside, causing the two at the bar to tense up, then relax again.
Because they could tell from the footsteps who was coming.
"What have you guys done?"
The outsider’s voice came in before he entered.
The man gulping beer at the bar raised an ornate painted jar from the table, lifting it behind him.
"Nothing major, boss. How about having some of this first?"
His gaze was hazy and unfocused, filled with a strange gleam, and his movements were rapid like spasms.
His offer was accepted.
A man with a soft cloth cap entered from outside, followed by a woman with the cloth cap draped around her neck like a scarf.
The cap man glanced at the bloodstains on the ground and the fading traces among the sawdust. Clearly, someone had dragged a corpse, ending at the side door.
This wasn’t a big deal.
He poured a bit of white powder from the jar and rubbed it on his gums with his fingers, then his gaze matched the sword-bloodstained man’s.
Drug powder, a ’great stuff’ to focus and wake oneself up.
"What have you all done, Harris?"
The cap man asked in a languid tone.
"Nothing big," replied the man at the bar who hadn’t unsheathed his sword.
"We ran into the ’Long-toothed Rat’ here; they were rude, so Blas dispatched all six of them. I didn’t draw my sword, so if you want trouble, look for him."
’Long-toothed Rat,’ a gang who had gained some notoriety in the area after the war began.
War makes most people’s lives tough, but gangs unshackled by order are not included.
Though their living conditions were poorer than before, the gang didn’t care much about it; as long as there was a free life and enough drug powder, they lived like in paradise.
Unlike refugees fighting for survival. Gang members, loaded on drug powder, mostly resembled brainless crazy kids. One unbridled day at a time.
The bloodstained Blas burst into a raspy laugh.
Anyone with sense could see that potent drugs had put him in a good mood. "Exactly, killing one as a warning, which is why there’s a pool of blood on the ground."
His carefree demeanor made it hard to picture him single-handedly wiping out a notorious gang in mere minutes.
And these people were only wearing leather vests, with no other protection, suggesting it wasn’t their armor capability that achieved the feat.
Blas boasted, "The others got in line quickly, even though the innkeeper was cursing a moment ago. This is called terrorism!"
"Oh, so that’s called terrorism," the cap man mused, still staring at the blood marks on the floor, "What about the innkeeper? His wife? Their son? This is one of the few resting points on this road; even the army uses it. If you paralyze it, you’ll be staying here as cooks for me!"
"No." Blas washed his sword blade with beer, and it gleamed like new.
"I’m not stupid; why would I kill honest business people? We kill to earn money, then use money to buy pleasures. What fool kills the ones providing us enjoyment?"
"See, I even rescued a barber from the ’Long-toothed Rat’!"
"Terrorism," Blas squinted his gleaming eyes, sniffling the snot running down his nose, "we conquered this inn with it! Emperor Enshir conquered the world; we conquered this shabby building. But the principle is the same!"
"Whether it’s the same or not, just don’t forget the purpose Emperor Enshir pardoned us from jail and equipped us and the consequences of failing that purpose," the cap man grumbled, pouring more drug powder into his hand.
"I don’t want him dancing on my tombstone."