Chapter 132

Chapter 132

The squad was battling a second-tier aberrant beast, having lured it far away from the intense frontline to fight in a more open area at the rear.

This gave them more room to maneuver, but even so, the five of them seemed to be struggling to keep up.

Lorant looked at them with some confusion, feeling that the figure of the youth facing the aberrant beast seemed familiar to him.

However, the person was completely wrapped in thick burlap, seemingly unable to afford real armor and thus using this material for protection. He was so thoroughly equipped that Lorant could not really see his face.

Noticing Lorant's gaze, Lancelot also looked over and explained upon seeing the scene, "That's a meat pigeon."

"Among these five, only two have reached the level of a first-tier professional; the other three might be apprentices or ordinary people," Lancelot's steady voice reached Lorant's ears, unaffected by the loud roars of the surrounding aberrant beasts. "This isn't uncommon in the Lopulo Mountains; there are always some people who choose to risk their lives to pay off debts."

"What is a meat pigeon?" Lorant asked Lancelot, puzzled.

"Well, a meat pigeon refers to someone like that guy—non-professionals who are willing to come to the Lopulo Mountains for money."

"Most of these people are hired by low-tier professionals to distract the aberrant beasts."

Lorant frowned and asked, "Hired?"

"Yes, ordinary people trying to enter the gates of the Lopulo Mountains alone would be stopped by the guards. After all, letting ordinary people enter such a place alone is no different from suicide."

"But if they team up with professionals, it's a different story."

"A first-tier professional has two options to kill a second-tier aberrant beast and claim its ownership."

"First, hire a stronger professional, paying a high price to get them to carry the burden while killing the aberrant beast without taking any share."

"Second, find a meat pigeon. If there is one or two meat pigeons in the team to attract the aberrant beast's attention, the chances of a first-tier professional successfully ambushing or killing a second-tier aberrant beast increase significantly."

"But..." Lorant looked at Lancelot, who spoke calmly, with surprise: "Isn't this just sending these people to their deaths?"

"Sending them to their deaths? Perhaps, but most of those willing to be meat pigeons are desperate people. Maybe, for them, risking their lives to see if they can survive in the mouth of an aberrant beast is more attractive than doing nothing and starving to death."

"At least facing the aberrant beasts, they might have a slim chance of survival, but if they don't face the beasts, they probably won't even have that slim chance."

Lorant's eyes darkened; he understood that there were indeed people as desperate as Lancelot described, who had no choice but to use their lives to pay off debts.

He wasn't born with a silver spoon in his mouth; he had experienced poverty himself.

Lorant naturally understood that what he once found very difficult was already a dream life for most ordinary people in this world.

There were many who lived in even worse conditions than he did.

Lorant wasn't a saint; he understood 'self-preservation' better than anyone.

Sometimes, he even felt that he was a very selfish person.

He didn't mind lending a hand when climbing to the top, but he wouldn't put himself in any danger for it.

But he was also extremely calm and indifferent, rarely getting involved in matters unrelated to him.

Perhaps after living a good life for a long time, his heart had softened.

Now, when he saw such things, Lorant found himself with an impulse to do something.

Especially when the figure in the team, clearly a 'meat pigeon,' became increasingly familiar, Lorant couldn't help but prepare to take action.

'Baby, should I handle it?'

Lorant's agitation made the baby in his pocket speak up.

Lorant tried to calm down and shook his head; this situation was far from requiring the little one to intervene.

Just a second-tier aberrant beast!

"Lantern," Lorant pinched the dog's head in his arms and turned it to face the direction, "aim at that guy, use a fireball!"

Mao Mao, who had been sulking because Lorant had stopped it from attacking the aberrant beast, immediately perked up and wagged its tail happily, "Woof!"

A white fireball flew out, striking the aberrant beast's head directly.

Almost instantly, the aberrant beast's head was engulfed in flames, and its movement to pounce on the 'meat pigeon' halted. Its massive claws twitched in the air before it finally fell, unwillingly.

Even as a pup, Mao Mao's casual fireball was more than enough to deal with a second-tier aberrant beast.

The squad looked in surprise at the direction the fireball came from.

Outside the Lopulo Mountains, there were no imperial laws to constrain people, and the number of battles between humans was almost equal to the number of battles between humans and aberrant beasts.

Seeing that the newcomers were mounted and had killed the aberrant beast that their team had fought for a long time with a single strike, the squad leader quickly held back his team members, and all five retreated quietly from the dead aberrant beast.

"We mean no harm," Lorant said as he rode forward. Seeing the five relax slightly at his words, he and Lancelot walked directly to them.

The leader of the five-person squad was a first-tier warrior. When Lancelot approached, he keenly sensed the pressure from the higher-tier knight, making him even more respectful.

"Sir Knights, may I ask what you need from us?" he raised his head, a hint of flattery in his tone, looking at the two.

Two powerful beings with no ill intent would not have acted just to claim a mere second-tier aberrant beast; there must be another reason.

The Lopulo Mountains were a place where danger and opportunity coexisted.

If you encountered someone willing to acknowledge you and not crush you into a pulp right away, then congratulations, your opportunity had arrived.

This was a common saying among the professionals who made a living here, and the warrior was no exception.

He looked at Lancelot with anticipation, secretly fantasizing that perhaps the other had observed his battle just now and, impressed by his extraordinary talent, had come specifically to take him on as an apprentice.

Although he had only barely advanced to the rank of a first-class warrior in his mid-twenties, this did not stop him from having lofty aspirations.

Lorant paid no attention to the other's strange fantasies; he walked straight to the ‘pigeon meat’ who was clutching his deformed arm, trembling in pain, and ignored by everyone else.

"Look up."

At the sound of Lorant’s voice, the ‘pigeon meat,’ who was trembling in pain, suddenly paused. He lifted his head in surprise, revealing a face that Lorant found somewhat familiar.

"Mo'er? How can it be you!" Lorant couldn’t help but exclaim upon seeing the familiar youthful face.

Mo'er was his long-lost cousin.

A few years ago, Mo'er had left Holland with Lorant’s aunt Martha, his mother, for the Lopulo Mountains, and they had lost contact since then.

In this world, a commoner’s long journey often meant a permanent farewell.

Lorant had long resigned himself to never seeing them again.

So he never dreamed that he would meet this child under such circumstances.

During the battle, Mo'er’s arm had been struck hard, causing a dislocation, but he had gritted his teeth and continued fighting despite the intense pain.

Even when his employer had pulled him back by his injured arm, he had only let out a brief cry.

He feared that if the others thought he could no longer serve as a qualified ‘pigeon meat,’ they would abandon him.

Here, being abandoned by the team was equivalent to a death sentence.

So, no matter how much pain he was in, he had to endure it, keeping his head down so no one would notice his condition.

It wasn’t until he heard that familiar voice that Mo'er, unable to believe it, looked up at the powerful professional.

When he realized that the towering, formidable figure was indeed his cousin, tears uncontrollably streamed down his face.

Seeing his cousin’s pitiful, tearful state, Lorant could no longer contain his anger and turned sharply to look at the others in the team, who had already taken a couple of steps back.

The leader of the group had already had a bad feeling when he saw this powerful adult seemingly recognize the ‘pigeon meat’ in their team.

He tried to make himself as inconspicuous as possible, hoping the other wouldn’t target him.

While hiring ‘pigeon meat’ was a common practice, and he believed he treated them well—after all, those under his command were never deliberately sent to the mouths of beasts to save on payment—it was still a dog-eat-dog world. If this powerful person found fault with his actions, the wisest choice was to admit his mistakes.

Otherwise, he might lose his life here due to bad luck.

Lorant’s gaze grew colder as he looked at the few men.

He was a very protective person, extremely so.

While Mo'er didn’t hold the same place in his heart as Silem, he was still his younger brother. Seeing him in such a pitiful state, Lorant’s killing intent could no longer be contained.

Just as he was about to act, Mo'er finally sensed something was wrong.

He was quite familiar with his cousin, and even though they hadn’t seen each other in over three years, he knew from his expression that he was angry on his behalf.

Mo'er took two steps forward and grabbed Lorant’s leg, a movement that clearly caused more pain to his injured arm: "Brother Lorant, I... I don’t blame them. I came here voluntarily."

Lorant glared angrily at his long-lost younger brother: "Voluntarily? Just because you came here voluntarily, they can hire a twelve-year-old who knows nothing and send him to his death?"

He looked at the other coldly, not willing to reason.

"Since you like sending people to their deaths so much, I think..." Lorant lowered his eyes, looking coldly at the few men who were already trembling.

Mo'er quickly interrupted: "Brother, it’s really not their fault. I... I lied about my age... I’m sorry, Brother..."

The young man was shaking all over from the pain but still tried to defend them, his animal-like instincts telling him that if he didn’t step in, these people might suffer.

While they hadn’t really cared about him, they hadn’t intended to harm him either. If anything happened to them because of him, Mo'er would feel guilty.

Moreover, without this income, he...

Lorant looked at his trembling brother at his feet and then at his severely deformed arm. He finally suppressed his anger, huffed, and turned to leave.

"Let’s go, Lance, we need to hurry."

Lancelot cooperatively used Mage Hand to lift the boy, who appeared to be Lorant’s relative, and hung him behind him before quickly following on horseback.

As the two turned away, Maomao, who was in Lorant’s arms, suddenly launched several fireballs at the beast.

Within seconds, the beast was reduced to a pile of ashes.

Even if he didn’t attack them, Lorant felt he couldn’t let them get away scot-free.

Hmph! The shop owner is quite petty!

The remaining four members of the team exchanged glances and, not daring to linger, quickly returned after waiting for Lorant and Lancelot to move far enough away.

Only a patch of black ash remained, which the wind of the Lopulo Pass blew away completely.

After finding a small priest in the dilapidated camp to treat Mo'er’s arm, Lorant finally had the chance to understand what had happened.

"So, you mean," Lorant frowned deeply, carefully piecing together what the young man had said: "After you came to the Lopulo Mountains three years ago, you opened an inn in a nearby village, and your village was affected when the beast tide broke through the defenses last year?"

Mo'er nodded gloomily, his head hanging low: "Yes, Mother was out with me and my sister buying ingredients at the time, and Father was alone in the inn..."

There's no need to elaborate on what would happen to an ordinary person, powerless against the beasts that ravaged the village; Lorant understood without being told.

"Then you and Auntie have been living in the slums nearby all this time, until Doris fell ill recently, and you came out to sell your life for medicine, is that right?"

Mo'er lowered his head in shame, nodding silently.

"Does Aunt Martha know about this?"

Mo'er paused, shaking his head without a word.

"Do you know that following them into the Lopulo Mountains means you're preparing to die?"

Mo'er's body stiffened as he glanced at Lorant cautiously. Seeing the serious look on his face, he nodded slightly.

Lorant stood up and walked to the boy with his head hung low. "Look up, Mo'er, look at me."

Mo'er lifted his head. The twelve-year-old still had a childish face, blackened from dirt, with two clear tear tracks where his tears had run down.

Lorant looked at the seated boy coldly. "Do you remember what I told you before you left?"

"I... I remember. Take care of Mom and my sister, don't be reckless, there's nothing you can't get through, and never make decisions behind your family's back." Mo'er broke down again, sobbing as he spoke.

"Oh, oh, don't move! If you move, your bones might not heal properly! You..." The young priest, who was healing him, quickly said, looking up to scold the patient's family member for disturbing the process, but he heard a sharp slap.

"Slap!"

"This is for making your mother worry. Did you think about what would happen to your mother and sister if you died? Leaving them in such a place, is that your responsibility, Mo'er?"

"Dying is the easiest choice, but living is the braver one!"

The little priest, watching Lorant give the patient a hard slap without any expression, shrank back, swallowing his words.

"You, you can cry, but don't move..." He bowed his head and continued his healing spell, whispering softly in Mo'er's ear.

After the slap, Mo'er cried less. He looked at Lorant with a pitiful expression.

This older cousin had always been his role model, the person he admired most in his childhood.

His mother, Martha, would often laugh with Aunt Ruth, saying that Mo'er listened more to Lorant than to her or her husband, so she asked Lorant to keep an eye on the mischievous child.

Now, after being slapped by Lorant, Mo'er felt less wronged. The panic and tension he had felt since his father's death suddenly subsided.

His wet eyes looked at Lorant like a kicked puppy on the street, gazing helplessly.

"Brother, I'm sorry."

Hearing the familiar apology from the boy, Lorant was momentarily transported back to the days in Holland when he always had a few little tails trailing behind him.

He sighed, unable to bear to blame the boy too harshly.

After all, this was just a twelve-year-old child. Even though people in this world matured early and had short lifespans, with fourteen being considered an adult, Lorant still found it hard to be too strict.

"Alright, stop crying. Once you're healed, take us to Auntie, then come back with me." Lorant looked at Mo'er's dirty hair and couldn't bring himself to pat it, so he patted his shoulder instead.

Mo'er nodded obediently. "Okay!"

The slum where Mo'er's family lived wasn't far away. With the help of the wind-breaking horses, it would only take about twenty minutes to get there.

Three people and two horses made for a difficult arrangement.

Seeing Lorant's hesitant expression, the knight, who had ulterior motives, decided to push a bit. "Or, I could use Mage's Hand to hold him and dangle him behind, but it might be bumpy, and his arms..."

The knight's hesitation successfully convinced Lorant.

The best solution would be for Lorant to ride with Mo'er on one horse.

But Lorant lacked confidence in his riding skills and didn't dare to risk it.

"Then, Lancelot, can I ride Little Qing with you?" Lorant asked somewhat awkwardly, thinking the knight might be reluctant to share.

To his surprise, the white-haired knight was delighted and quickly agreed. "Of course, no problem!"

He happily helped Lorant onto the horse, using the excuse of needing to control Little Qing from behind to wrap his arms around the young man.

Fortunately, Lancelot retained some sense of propriety, knowing he needed to take things slowly, and made an effort to keep some distance between them.

As for Mo'er, who couldn't ride, Lorant simply had Baby tie him securely to Little Black's back. As long as he didn't fall off, comfort could be considered later.