Bear School Astartes
Chapter 51. Clues of Marinated Meat

Chapter 51: 51. Clues of Marinated Meat

The sight of these three rotten soldiers gave the young Demon Hunter a deeper understanding of the world.

What kind of soldiers had he encountered before?

Law enforcement squads, elite assassins’ teams.

Philip’s fully equipped horse squad, the Baron’s castle guard, and direct power.

These people were perhaps rude, perhaps savage, maybe carried ignorant prejudices.

But undoubtedly, these people were skilled, superior to the ordinary people and soldiers of this era.

They were proficient in killing, tracking, riding horses, operating military equipment...

These skills granted them status, and also imposed rules upon them.

As a Baron’s guard, they had no time or space to act tyrannically in the countryside.

As elite soldiers, they had no energy or opportunity to moonlight as highway robbers.

But for ordinary soldiers, like the three that Lann had beaten to death with his fists today, they might just be the norm of this era’s soldiers.

Lazy, undisciplined, believing that holding a sword gave them power in remote areas.

Then they acted recklessly, robbing and killing, only following tax officers to do legitimate work during tax collection every year.

In most people’s eyes, they were robbers bearing national insignia.

Lann felt no regret for his furious actions.

The young man intended to walk away after beating these scum to death, continuing with his business.

But during the fight, a toppled storage box beneath a large tarpaulin caught his attention.

Lann crouched beside the box, reaching out to pick up a black, hard strip of salted meat.

His cat eyes shifted; there was still half a box of such meat strips inside, which was a considerable amount compared to Velen’s average living standard.

According to the traces, this bag of salted meat had been placed there less than two days ago.

The Demon Hunter’s fingers rubbed the surface of the meat strip, the tips of his gloves soon showing a sheen of oil.

"Is this what they called ’sick of salted meat’?"

Lann’s eyes narrowed slightly.

"In all of Velen, there are at least hundreds of these supply stations, and if each one received supplies of this level... Can Viserad afford it?"

Mentos in the blink of an eye grasped Lann’s thought process, calculated the total provisions, and gauged the general range of Viserad’s assets based on their one-time visit to the Crow’s Nest.

"Sir, according to calculations, I believe that Sir Viserad cannot sustain the troops at this standard. In fact, supporting seven to eight hundred people is his limit."

"So, this isn’t the standard configuration a supply station should have."

Lann stood up from his crouched position, surveying the area.

The corpses and traces of battle rendered the place a mess.

But with the now available [trace detection] paired with extraordinary senses, and Mentos’ image recording ability, he could complete a scene analysis.

"Apart from me, no one has left traces of conflict bleeding here in the past week. Three days ago, a merchant passed by, but he was a flower supplier..."

Lann walked to an almost indistinguishable wheel track, pinching a bit of dirt to sniff.

"The merchant’s cart only carried floral scents; even if extorted by soldiers, he could only offer money."

The answer was clear.

The salted meat didn’t come from official supplies, extortion, nor could it have been village ’donations’...

Is there another possibility in this hilly region?

"We should have realized this earlier, Mentos." Lann’s eyes lowered.

"How could a criminal gang not have an understanding with the local ’officials’?"

Hiding traces of crime is such an arduous task.

But by maintaining a good relationship with these three rotten soldiers representing official power, letting them report to superiors with a simple ’all is normal’.

Doesn’t that save more than half of the effort?

Whether these three soldiers knew that they were being ’respected’ by a group of cannibals... they likely didn’t care.

Looking once again at the already tattered and broken three corpses, Lann didn’t exhibit any extreme behavior.

The men were dead, he wouldn’t vent rage on corpses.

"Sigh-"

He placed the strip of salted meat under his nose and gently sniffed, with Mentos in his mind going to great lengths to filter out the smell of the meat itself.

A scent belonging to the meat jerky’s carrier stood out.

Fortunately, these jerky were transported only two days before, leaving enough scent to use.

The extraordinary senses of the Demon Hunter were not omnipotent; if another day had passed, Lann would likely be unable to trace any clues no matter his efforts.

His slightly glowing cat eyes traced the direction of the scent on the ground, discovering intermittent footprints as road markers.

Lann led Bopai along the footprints.

At least today, the young man’s luck was holding.

~~~~~~

Sergeant Philip Strong wiped his bushy beard, drying the wine off and exhaling deeply.

Still riding a horse, he couldn’t resist pulling out his flask and taking a few swigs.

These days, he felt increasingly dependent on alcohol.

What started as a method to vent family frustrations, now, being without a bottle made him uncomfortable all over.

He was becoming addicted.

He knew this himself.

But a ’habit’ earns its name as ’habit’ because it’s powerless against it.

Luckily, he was still strong and robust, could kill men, and rode horses.

His superiors required this of him.

"How far are we from that place... Cond, Quill—something?"

Philip reeked of alcohol, asking the cavalryman and Long Halberd Soldier, York, beside him.

"The village is called Condell, boss. We’ll be at the station in about... half an hour."

York wasn’t notable among the group of veteran soldiers, but it was his relationship with the capable Demon Hunter that caught Philip’s eye during the last mission.

As they drank, Sergeant toasted him twice more, making the team of seasoned veterans recognize that this lad now held a different position.

So even in cavalry formation, he could ride next to the Sergeant.

"Damn it, those blasted human traffickers are getting bolder, making it hard for me to—gulp—enjoy my drink!"

Philip belched, the strong odor of alcohol permeating his face.

Abducted children were still increasing, affecting more areas.

The issue itself was minor, but the impact was significant.

Farmers lost interest in farming, and the Sir raged in the Crow’s Nest.

It was all his money! His money!

So Philip’s team was left to rush around, investigate.

According to the Sir’s words: "Even if you have to turn over the Swamp Witch’s butt in Velen’s remotest mud and swamp, find those traffickers!"

Now, the untouched remote areas were all that remained.

But nobody wanted to venture into the swamp, so they could only scout near secluded villages like Condell, as a form of reporting.