Head Eater, Ubank. He brought along his two loyal hunting dogs and the small bundle on his back.
Traveling light, he walked out of his tent.
The way he was all packed up made people wonder if this guy had prepared in advance.
Outside the tent, just earlier he had promised a hefty bounty on the high platform, inciting cheers from a group of bloodthirsty thugs.
But now, no one cared about the high platform that symbolized leadership.
This group of thugs was scared out of their wits.
They started yelling and running around like headless chickens, even getting so nervous as to think about attacking one another.
This is what is called "camp chaos."
In the ancient world of Lann’s homeland, it was termed as "camp panic."
Ubank clicked his tongue, watching regretfully as his camp descended into chaos.
He had no intention of stepping out to re-establish command.
That ghost-like Demon Hunter was still slaughtering indiscriminately.
Damn it, like a specter!
To step out and take command now would surely result in him charging over and slashing with a sword.
Who present could withstand it?
Moreover, expecting the camp to calm down internally in such chaos was as reliable as worshiping a deity on the spot.
Unless an armed force from outside intervened forcefully, hoping for a chaotic camp to calm down was futile, unless everyone was dead or had fled.
But what’s rather strange is that Ubank, as the camp leader, showed only extremely limited... regret for his soon-to-be-destroyed power?
Not even grief, just "regret."
As if what was about to crumble to pieces wasn’t his painstaking effort, but just a handy piece of gear.
"Hey! Old Hansen! Stop, stop!"
Head Eater first tucked his valuable small bundle under his clothes, then after a quick look around, called out to stop someone.
A white-haired, bearded man, running around like a headless chicken, halted.
His bewildered, panicked eyes regained some sanity when he saw Ubank.
"Boss!" Hope surged in his eyes suddenly.
Having a leader, regardless of their capability or character, was what a lost crowd most desperately craved.
But before he could continue speaking, Ubank interrupted him.
"Looks like you’ve calmed down, good. Come on, let’s quickly find a few more good lads, we have to hurry and move the goods to the ocean rendezvous point."
The two hunting dogs at his feet followed closely, and Ubank kept giving orders without stopping.
This fast-paced exchange left Old Hansen, who was bewildered and frightened moments ago, a bit dazed.
"What? Boss, we’re just leaving the camp behind?"
"The camp?" Ubank paused in his steps, surprisingly turning back to look at Old Hansen, like he was watching a child throwing a tantrum.
"Have you gone stupid, Old Hansen? We all gathered just to make a living, who knows who, anyway? Is there any saving this situation now? Just look out for yourself."
"The camp is gone, the manpower is gone. But shouldn’t we consider the future? People have to eat, and eating costs money. Listen to me. Let’s round up a few awake guys, while that Demon Hunter is far away killing, quickly head to the detention area to pick up a batch of goods to trade."
"Although we can’t take all the goods, we also won’t have to split it among so many people now, right? It’s still a profitable deal. Then have the buyer take us a distance away, with money, can’t we live anywhere?"
The logic was clear and concise, contrasting sharply with the rough and wild appearance of the Head Eater.
Even Old Hansen, who could hardly recognize a few words, regained his calm through these words.
"Makes sense, makes sense..."
The old man murmured in a low voice.
"My two sons should still be alive, I’ll bring them along, you give me an extra share."
Ubank looked at Old Hansen with unexpected respect.
Well done, you old codger.
Made sure you’re safe, then think of your two sons when money is needed... you’re tough enough!
No wonder you’ve survived this long.
"Alright, we each go find people, then drag the goods to the port boats, whatever goods you bring count as your money, that’s fair enough. But there’s a piece of advice I have to give you..."
"Go ahead, I’m listening!"
The old man eagerly looked at Ubank, now fully trusting in his leader’s wisdom.
"See those two wooden cages, got it?"
Ubank put a hand on Old Hansen’s shoulder, pointing out the two cages in the detainment area.
One was a small separate wooden cage holding Margaret, and the other a large wooden cage that White had been kicked into.
"We don’t touch the people in those two cages. You saw that Demon Hunter earlier, didn’t you? Damn, killing people like chickens, how terrifying, eh? I’ve seen it, he’s here for the people in those two wooden cages, neither of us should touch them. We’re both here to make money, why put a life on the line?"
"That’s right! Absolutely right! I’ll definitely steer clear of them!"
Old Hansen nodded repeatedly and turned away, diving back into the chaos to find his two sons.
Ubank also gathered his two hunting dogs, collecting the manpower he needed.
At this time, Lann could clearly feel his body being damaged by the excess toxins of the Magic Potion.
He wanted to inflict as much damage on the enemy as possible before the potion’s effects wore off.
Once the potion wore off, he would definitely collapse, at best temporarily exhausted, so he needed to create a safe environment during this time.
So even when far from the detainment area, he had to go after the remaining armed thugs in the camp.
This provided Ubank with an opportunity.
This short and stout man pulled three more helpers, ready to haul the children from the large wooden cage onto a small boat.
When passing Margaret’s small wooden cage, he even nodded courteously towards the Female Warlock, who was dizzy from forcibly casting a spell.
On the small boat at the harbor, the two groups had brought nearly twenty children in total.
Old Hansen wanted his sons to make another trip, urging them to bring more.
But being at the harbor, Ubank noticed the increasingly bright flames at the edge of the camp.
That fire wasn’t normal.
The Head Eater’s first reaction was this.
The Demon Hunter had used his magic to set a fire, but only on the beach near the detainment area, not reaching the camp.
And though he had now reached the camp, killing with a sword was more efficient than using fire.
The outline of the flames didn’t look like the chaotic spread of a fire, but more like... a formation?!
The Demon Hunter had companions!
Ubank shuddered, grabbing Old Hansen by the collar, pulling him towards the small boat.
"No time to grab the goods! They’ve got reinforcements! Either live and get paid, or go for more loot and risk your life, it’s your choice!"
The armed thugs on the boat exchanged glances, hesitating as they began to pick up the oars.
Just then, at the edge of the camp, a powerful and deep voice shouted loudly.
"Damn human traffickers! Cursed cannibals! In the name of Viserad, crush them!"
Hoof beats shattered the night sky.
The armed thugs, already terrified by Lann, moved swiftly from their hesitation.
Everyone poured all their strength into rowing, pushing the boat against the harbor, desperately paddling in the sea, wishing they had more than two hands.
Greedy Old Hansen had nothing to say anymore, muttering "My money, my money..." with his head down on the boat.
Cavalry from the shore stormed the camp; tents were no match for the hoofs.
The armed thugs, having lost their command, crumbled like cream on a cake under the cavalry charge.
The small boat rowed a distance on the dark sea, its occupants looking back at the shore in relief.
Had they been two minutes later, they’d likely have had their heads cut off by that spectral Demon Hunter, or been trampled to pulp by the cavalry.
Everyone was filled with lingering fear.
But just then, a brown-haired child beside Old Hansen suddenly drew a small rapier from his waistband and stabbed Old Hansen’s arm amidst the rocking waves, then rushed towards the side of the boat to jump into the sea.
The old man screamed in shock, but the response abilities of an old warrior were still present.
His bloodied hand grabbed the brown-haired child.
"Where did this little bastard get a sword? Who frisked him... ah!"
The child grew anxious, his eyes rolling back white in his urgency, then one of Ubank’s two hunting dogs, initially coiled at his feet.
Suddenly lost control and lunged at Old Hansen, biting him fiercely.
In pain, Old Hansen let go, and the child splashed into the sea.
"My goods! Your dog! This... damn! My money!"
On the boat, Old Hansen wailed, unsure whether to mourn his money or his hand.
And Ubank finally came to his senses, incredulously crouching down, looking at his out-of-control hunting dog from left to right.
Faced with its master, the dog’s eyes were clear, besides the blood at the corner of its mouth, seeming completely unaware of what it had just done.
"Damn... saw ghosts twice today?"