Fifteen horses, the already poor road conditions trampled to an unsightly state by hooves.
Philip and his soldiers approached the Condell Garrison.
They weren’t planning to get any supplies from the garrison; he knew all too well what was prepared for those lower-ranked soldiers stationed there.
Moldy black bread, potatoes, carrots, onions... not even a sharpening stone!
He was just here to ask about the situation, maybe do a simple investigation based on what’s going on, just enough to get the job done.
One can’t accuse them of neglecting their duties, since every soldier here would draw their swords and rush at traffickers the moment they saw them.
But solving cases and tracking, these trivial and difficult tasks surely sap motivation and breed laziness, which no one can avoid.
But just as the group got closer to the garrison’s marked location on the map, a sharp-nosed soldier warned everyone.
"Hey, something’s off! I smell blood!"
The group’s lazy demeanor instantly transformed, like a taut pulled bowstring.
You could say that battlefield veterans were uncultured, uneducated, but you couldn’t say they didn’t know how to kill or preserve their own lives.
Philip was a bit slow due to the effects of alcohol, but he was still alert, breaking into a sweat, waking up a bit.
"Keep alert! Close reconnaissance!"
The tense cavalry charged towards the garrison, the sound of thundering hooves echoing.
This aggressive riding style was commonly used near the battlefield, ready to enter full-speed charge while remaining vigilant.
Like a bayonet ready to thrust at any moment.
As the situation at the garrison unfolded before them, Philip and his men frowned in unison.
"There’s nobody around, nor any wild beasts or monsters..."
The cavalrymen split off to scout the area, finding nothing.
Only after confirming there was no danger did Philip signal to slow down the horses.
Finally, stopping in front of the garrison.
"York, go check what’s going on."
Philip sat on his horse, his watchful and fierce gaze scanning around.
Except for the named Long Halberd Soldier, everyone else remained mounted, ready to charge at any moment.
York dismounted, carrying his halberd, and took ten steps, essentially traversing the entire garrison.
The traces of battle were obvious, easily seen by standing.
Thus, York couldn’t help but grind his teeth.
"By the plague... Boss, these three heads were smashed!"
"Damn it! Can you say something I can’t see?"
Philip felt uneasy in this scene, it seemed irrational, having witnessed harsher battlefields in Hidaris’ restoration of the Royal Family.
He’d seen village massacres before, so why feel anxious about dying on land with just three bodies?
Underneath him, the horse sensed this anxiety through the reins, restless and pacing, seemingly ready to bolt.
"This is different, Boss..." York grimaced, standing before the corpse of a black-faced soldier, using the tip of his halberd to nudge the smashed head.
The red and white viscous matter slightly trembled.
"These three heads were smashed by someone’s fist with a single blow. You understand, right? A fist, just one punch, and their heads went ’boom’..."
Philip’s face turned grim, realizing the source of his strange feeling.
——Three bodies were abnormal!
The only major concavity was on the faces!
The wounds indeed looked like they were caused by fists...
But how was it possible?
Though the power of a fist is momentary impact, unlike lifting or pushing heavy objects continuously.
But to cause such a wound, it must’ve been hundreds of kilograms at the least!
"Could it be a monster, York? We’re not demon hunters, never seen many monsters, hard to recognize their inflicted wounds."
Philip frowned and retorted, but York again pointed at the corpse’s head with his halberd tip.
"You can’t see from up there, Boss. But from here, I can see the gloves left marks in their face wounds from the three-pronged spikes."
"The killer wore fine gloves, which is why the wounds are so horrifying... They might as well have been hit with a hammer on their faces."
Faced with solid evidence, Philip couldn’t continue with wishful thinking.
No monster so far had ever worn human armor properly.
But someone’s fist... capable of punching out hundreds, close to a thousand kilograms!?
Where in hell does such a person exist!
"Meretelli... a punch like that in my gut would make me crap myself!"
Philip muttered with twitching lips.
Though softly spoken, his comrades around him nodded in agreement.
The sergeant raised an eyebrow.
Someone who could punch with hundreds of kilograms... might not be impossible in Velen?
Philip and York exchanged a glance.
At that moment, they both recalled the guy with spiked gloves and cat eyes.
York’s face twisted as he approached Philip, who leaned towards the saddle with an unreadable expression.
"Boss, this matter... Lann’s already committed murder against soldiers."
"Whether they’re soldiers or not is beside the point." Philip glanced at the three bodies.
These low-ranking soldiers, calling them soldiers would be true, saying they’re not would also be true, nobody cared either way.
Though wearing armor with the Temerian White Lily insignia, he’d definitely freelanced as a bandit, which was a known, accepted fact.
Such judgments rested solely on the nobleman’s perspectives.
Philip didn’t concern himself with higher-up deliberations; instinctively covering his stomach as he spoke.
"Key is... never seen Lann lose his temper !"
The sergeant spoke with conflicted and slight trepidation.
Who would’ve thought, the polite and amiable demon hunter, turns around and punches!
With damn fists! Flattened three heads!
...This is too brutal!
I’ve never seen this effect even using a warhammer!
"I also feel something’s off." York replied to his superior.
"Back in the enforcement squad days, we were terrified, pointing arrows at him, but he still calmly explained to us to dissolve hostility, avoiding bloodshed... That character and demeanor weren’t an act!"
Their gaze fell again on the three heads resembling smashed watermelons, silent.
The demon hunter was seriously pissed!
They both realized this fact.
Then Philip noticed something crucial.
"What could have angered him to this extent?"
The sergeant’s eyes flashed.
"Or rather, what in Velen could provoke him this much?"
York was bewildered, yet in his mind, he faintly recalled that night, Lann holding the Fire Sword without blinking as he severed the cannibal’s legs.
"Cannibal... Faction?"
"Idiot! If Lann had been foolish, wouldn’t he have reported the Cannibal Faction to us?"
A palm smacked the Long Halberd Soldier’s helmet, causing York to hear a humming.
"Kids were abducted; is he too anxious?"
Currently, those two cases were the most troublesome and provocative in Velen.
"That’s odd, demon hunters can’t father children, right?"
Another smack landed on the Long Halberd Soldier’s helmet.
"Whether he can have children or not, it has to be a major case! Track the trail, let’s follow! And stay close, but don’t rush."
"W-Why shouldn’t we hurry?"
"You definitely don’t want to meet Lann before assessing his state. Look at these three ’smashed pumpkins’, tsk tsk."
York shivered, nodding.
Facing the bewildered Long Halberd Soldier, Philip smiled kindly.
"I don’t want it either!"