CHAPTER 118: CHAPTER 118: DESTROY THE HIDEOUT_1

The sheriff immediately released the leash, wrapping the chain around his own hand.

The hunting dog seemed to understand his words. Its ears perked up, and its expression turned resolute and aggressive.

He swiftly approached and, with a fierce kick, the unlocked wooden door burst open, even knocking out the gatekeeper behind it.

"Nobody move!"

The sheriff raised his baton high, while the hunting dog barked threateningly. The two coordinated as they had countless times before during criminal arrests.

But just as he was about to take further action, he caught sight of a familiar figure amidst the eerie red light, standing out among the Heretics.

The familiar uniform, the corpulent body, and the police badge even more exquisite than his own.

His gaze slowly lifted to see the man sporting a defiant grin.

Even the police chief is one of them!

The sheriff froze, a look of disbelief spreading across his face. His hesitation also made the dog seem somewhat lost; it didn’t know whether to charge or retreat.

"Seize him!" the Missionary commanded from above, his voice booming. All the Heretics rushed violently in that direction.

But the Missionary had not foreseen that the Heretic standing before him would not follow. Instead, the man lifted his cloak to reveal the Longsword underneath.

"Do it now!" Lance spoke and thrust his Longsword into the Missionary’s chest. Without pausing, he withdrew the blade and swung it, severing the cowled head in one swift strike.

The head rolled on the ground, revealing the face of an ordinary middle-aged man, his expression full of surprise. He probably didn’t realize until his death that the believer he had just praised would suddenly attack, and so he died without any chance to retaliate.

The Heretics, oblivious to what had occurred behind them, mindlessly charged at the sheriff, who was currently fending them off.

Yet the sheriff didn’t flee. Instead, as the Heretics were merely ordinary farmers without weapons, he deftly swung his baton, aiming for their heads and leaving each one bloodied.

The hunting dog, too, exhibited beastly ferocity, darting into the crowd, baring its fangs and biting at the Heretics’ legs, each bite causing profuse bleeding and agonized screams.

It even lunged, toppling one person and savagely biting their neck, clearly having undergone special training.

The positions of the Heretics were deliberate; the more powerful among them stood closer to the altar at the front.

So, when the Heretics converted from farmers fell, the mercenaries and other cult members who were former sheriffs were not so easily defeated, as they carried weapons.

But Lance and Dismas were no mere decorations. After felling the Missionary, they both promptly grabbed their weapons and charged into the fray, slaughtering indiscriminately.

Dismas wasn’t boasting; his skills remained sharp, without a trace of rust.

He moved with agility and speed, each strike aimed at a vital spot, his sword drawing blood with every swing.

But suddenly, a scream made him tremble. The Short Sword he had swung out was hastily retracted, and he became cautious and timid, all his earlier bravery vanishing.

"You go protect the people."

Lance noticed this and immediately instructed Dismas to fall back. He, however, showed no such restraint. When he swung his Longsword, no one there could withstand him; he left a trail of dismembered limbs, with hardly a body intact.

In total, there were no more than a dozen Heretics, ten of whom he killed.

The Heretics quickly realized that something was wrong, but by that time, it was already too late.

"Where do you think you’re going!" Lance saw the police chief trying to flee. He shifted his sword mid-swing; what was meant to be a slash turned into a flat strike, smacking directly onto the man’s plump belly and knocking the panic-stricken police chief to the ground with a miserable howl.

"Shut up!" Lance immediately placed his Longsword across the man’s neck, causing his voice to catch in his throat from fright.

The scene was cleared. Now, only three people and a dog remained standing.

They exchanged glances, and Lance took the initiative to break the heavy silence lingering after the battle.

"Close the door. Don’t alert any Heretics who haven’t arrived."

The sheriff paused, seemingly hesitant. Then, looking at the downed police chief, he sighed, lowered his baton, and closed the main door.

"Save her, then tie him up there."

Lance gave the signal. Only then did the other two remember, and they hurried to take the girl down from the altar.

"Get up. Either you do it yourself, or we’ll help you," Lance gestured with his sword.

The police chief was still dazed. He had yet to grasp how the powerful Priest had fallen.

"Hurry up!" Seeing he was still dallying, Lance kicked him squarely in the stomach, nearly knocking the shit out of him.

Only after the police chief—that fat pig—was strung up on the altar did the place begin to resemble a slaughterhouse.

Lance then turned his attention to the girl.

She was a very ordinary-looking girl and bore some resemblance to the portrait on the missing person poster he had seen that day. This confirmed she was indeed the one who had disappeared.

No external injuries, Lance assessed. She must have been drugged with the evil cult’s Incense. She should wake up once it wears off.

Lance knew a little about the evil cult’s Incense. Seeing this, he felt relieved and turned to look at Dismas, who seemed somewhat off.

He immediately walked over to the corpses, flipped back the hood of one, and discovered it was a woman.

Then he understood why Dismas had suddenly held back.

Lance didn’t say much, merely flipping back a few more hoods to find that three of these Heretics were women.

He then turned towards the police chief, who was trussed up like a pig for slaughter, looking as wretched now as he had been arrogant before.

"Talk. What’s the deal with this evil cult?"

"No! You’ve got it all wrong! I was just here to investigate; I’m not one of them."

"Be honest, and I might give you a chance to live. Keep this up, and you’re forcing my hand. Care to guess how enjoyable the Church’s pyres are?"

These people had only joined about a month ago; they weren’t long-time brainwashed Fanatics. Moreover, he was no ordinary peasant but the head of the town’s sheriffs—somewhat worldly, he certainly hadn’t joined the evil cult for simple reasons.

Furthermore, given his portly figure and seemingly dull wits, he didn’t appear to be a man of strong resolve. When he heard "Church" and "pyres," his face immediately contorted in distress as he struggled to argue, "I’m not with them! I’ve always been a devout follower of the Holy Light! I go to church every week for prayers..."

"You can tell that to the people from the Church."

Lance turned away. "Take the girl and notify the Church to come and clean up."

"Wait, wait, wait! Sir, I have money! I’ll give you money! We can discuss this, please!"