Lann flicked the blood off the Bear School Steel Sword and wiped it clean with a rag before sheathing it on his back.
The ground was littered with corpses, much like the first small camp he tracked down by scent.
"That’s the fourth one... should be enough."
The young Demon Hunter murmured to himself.
Mentos in his mind confirmed his estimate.
"73% chance, sir. It’s quite high enough."
"In the end, they set up guard posts with shifting rosters every two days, unable to use smoke signals for quick alerts, which inherently can’t achieve rapid information transfer. It’s merely interception and surveillance."
"Clearing four posts is enough to ensure this passageway is clear."
Having said that, Mentos made a prudent addition.
"Of course, this probability only takes effect if you indeed succeed in rescuing people. And if you’re injured, reducing your operational efficiency, this probability will plummet."
"I understand, but you also know, such words don’t scare me."
The dense forest rustled loudly as the Demon Hunter’s footsteps echoed, his silhouette slowly vanishing into the shadows.
He continued downhill.
Thanks to the intel tortured out of the four guard posts, Lann now had a rough understanding of their main base, the secret port.
The regular number of people varied from forty to fifty, including members of the Head Eater group, but also some unknown to them.
According to them, "These are the buyers brought in by the ’Head Eaters,’ it’s a big business, having some people follow is perfectly normal."
Upon thinking of this, Lann smirked coldly.
The cannibals probably ate away their brains to believe such words.
Most of the cannibals, the main force in the business, were sent to the outer guard posts, only allowed to return to the port when switching shifts for rest.
This is called "having people follow"? This is basically treating the cannibals like laborers!
However, to the Demon Hunter, these aren’t the most urgent matters.
Child trafficking, cannibalism... each one should damn well die.
Lann’s movement was strategically planned to arrive at the main base, based on enemy confessions, just as darkness fell.
The outer defenses were not as complete as expected, allowing Lann to crouch and observe some scenes within the camp from the bushes.
And true, they already set up many guard posts outside.
Manpower is a valuable resource, and it’s already absurd for a hundred-person criminal gang to exist in Velen.
A resource within an organization is limited, balancing gains and losses are the norm.
"The situation is much more optimistic than expected, Mentos, looks like we two don’t have to argue."
Those amber cat eyes alertly scanned.
The camp wasn’t large, about three hundred square meters.
A small port was built along the sea, with several small boats moored that could navigate shallow waters.
They likely employed this transport method: goods loaded onto small boats at the port, with larger boats arranged in the deepwater to collect them.
Within the camp, most armed personnel lived in simple tents, arranged crescent-shaped around a dark wooden cage-like prison.
The center of the crescent had the biggest tent, probably the leader’s place.
They didn’t care for lighting in the prison area, as the unwrapped side directly met the sea.
Moreover, before civilization developed electric lights, nighttime illumination was always a luxury.
Candles, lamp oil, firewood... those unnoticeable items were glaringly expensive!
Neither the AI nor Lann seemed to remember this in their tense states before.
So in Lann’s modern eyes, not only was the prison zone pitch black, but even the armed personnel’s living quarters were merely "dim."
A few fixed campfires, several guards each with a torch, made up all of the bright arrangements.
Darkness is an advantage for the Demon Hunter.
Mentos also abruptly relaxed upon setting eyes on the camp.
It’s too dark here... simply wonderful!
The body, after all, doesn’t need to risk life and limb this time.
"Rescue success rate up by 30%, sir. However, I think you should still secretly eliminate over a third of the armed personnel in the camp to ensure safety."
Damn, you bastards! Do you know how I felt looking at that emotional curve chart like watching a bomb fuse?!
Just quietly go to hell, all of you!
No doubt, cyber-minds can learn to swear.
It’s just that, under the Human Union’s educational law, they can’t declare it in conversations with kids.
Lann picked up on a hint of excitement in Mentos’s automated voice.
His own mood was similar — the target he wished to rescue was in that dark prison zone... he was very close now.
He took the silver sword from behind and placed it on the ground.
Tightening the scattered iron fasteners on his harness to prevent armor and scattered gear from chiming with movement.
Finally, Lann pulled a potion from his Alchemy Pouch.
The overall texture was translucent milky white, but at the base, there seemed to be a thick black sediment.
Magic Potion [Cat], granting the Demon Hunter glow sight.
The Demon Hunter had cat-like eyes, but normally they only increase observation ability. Only by consuming a potion can one temporarily gain heightened vision.
"Phew - who would’ve thought the first potion after the Trial of Grass to enter my body would be this one."
Lann lightly exhaled, brought the bottle to his lips, and drank it all.
The strange feeling of the potion entering the body was both foreign and familiar, Lann’s lips curled slightly, embracing the pain from the toxicity.
From beneath the armor’s collar, black toxin—or rather, potion power—spread from the veins to his face.
Finally concentrating near the eye sockets, where the veins were dense.
Now Lann’s complexion was ashen, eye sockets deep black, appearing more like the monster he should hunt.
This was still under the potion’s mild toxicity; further and even the eyeballs would turn purely black.
This appearance post-potion is also a primary cause for the Demon Hunter’s discrimination.
He drew the hunting knife from the back waist and scooped up a handful of dirt from the ground, smearing it on the blade and his steel bracers.
These were among the few exposed reflective points on his body.
"Let’s begin, Mentos!"
Lann crouched toward the secret port, his heavy armor making him like a sneaky black bear.
If anyone really used a torch at night without auxiliary lighting, they’d understand how pathetically weak it was as a light source.
A patroller walked the route to the camp’s outskirts, waving their torch in a sweep before preparing to move along.
Lann was less than ten meters ahead, watching quietly as the person turned away.
He could even see the oily shine on that guy’s hair.
The Demon Hunter’s above-average physicality allowed Lann to walk faster than ordinary people even while crouched.
In darkness, hands reached out, forcefully covering the patroller’s mouth and nose from behind, pulling them backward, and with a "rip," slashing the throat.
Just like a killer in the movies.
That’s what Lann thought.
But it’s a little "different"...
The vigorously struggling person seemed to exhibit greater strength in their last few seconds.
Their body instinctively resisted, clutched, and convulsed.
Lann even had to tangle hand with hand, leg with leg to prevent excessive movement.
The torch-wielding hand was even directly grabbed by the Demon Hunter, stopping it from swaying.
Slitting a throat doesn’t cause instant death; Lann hadn’t considered this issue before.
Because he was more proficient in direct sword fighting, if a throat slit didn’t kill, stab the chest, decapitate, it was only a matter of half a second.
However, in assassination, the prolonged struggle period after slitting the throat moistened much of Lann’s Cotton Armor Outer Cover with blood.
He had previously cleared four camps, where no enemy had touched him during battle.