Chapter 133: The Human Pen
Lucian walked through blood-soaked earth toward the thick wooden fence.
The sticky sensation came through the soles of his boots. The iron smell in the air was heavy, mixed with an indescribable sour-rot odor — as though something had been fermenting in the sunlight for a very long time.
Behind him, part of the soldiers had already dispersed efficiently throughout the village.
Two younger soldiers kicked in the nearest yard. From inside came the screams of beastman women and the cries of young ones. A moment later they emerged dragging a sack of grain and two sheep, with several beastman children huddled and stumbling after them.
"Move it!" An older soldier waved. "Food only. Leave the rest."
A beastman woman lunged forward trying to reclaim the food and was pushed back with a casual shove of a shield, stumbling to the ground.
Her eyes were full of fear and fury, but her lips were trembling and she couldn't get out a word.
Several beastman young ones clustered around her — some crying, some staring fixedly at the soldiers' silver-white armor with wide, unblinking eyes.
Very quickly, these beastmen were herded away by another group of soldiers.
Lucian had seen this enough times that it no longer required a second thought.
He had already given the order: take only a few days' worth of provisions. There was no order to wipe out the beastmen who had lost the ability to fight. Deep in enemy territory, supply lines were too long — resupply had to come from the land. Apart from humans, the beastmen kept ordinary livestock, and ordinary food was all the soldiers were taking. The grain stored in the village would replenish what the unit had spent.
He continued toward the human pen.
Germann and the adjutant followed, one on each side.
The old soldier's gait was still that lazy, unhurried amble — but his hand rested on the sword hilt, and his eyes swept the surrounding stone houses and alley mouths with careful vigilance.
The pen's outline drew closer.
The thick wooden posts cast parallel shadows in the sunlight, like the ribs of a cage. Through the gaps between the posts, huddled shapes were faintly visible — barely distinguishable from the ground.
Then.
The sound of rapid footsteps came from the side.
"Halt!" The adjutant's voice came sharp as a blade.
A small figure came charging out of the alley between two stone houses, running straight at Lucian.
It was Dasha — light brown skin covered in fine short fur, the tiger stripes on his forehead still carrying the soft, unformed quality of the young.
His fist was clenched around a stone, arm raised high.
"You murdering thieves!"
The boy's voice was hoarse and thick with the edge of tears, the last syllable cracking.
"You killed my father and you're stealing everything we have! Go to hell!"
He threw the stone at Lucian with all his strength.
It arced through the air. The adjutant drew his sword in almost the same instant, blade horizontal. A sharp crack, and the stone was deflected, shattering into pieces on the mud beside them.
Germann's expression changed instantly.
The trace of casual ease on that scarred face vanished without a remnant, replaced by the cold fury of someone who had been affronted.
He drew his long sword in a sharp pull, the blade gleaming cold.
"You want to die!"
He strode toward the boy, sword tip aimed directly at that young face.
The boy's body was shaking, but he didn't retreat. He stared at Germann, tears sliding from the corners of his eyes, cutting two pale trails down his face.
"My child! My child——!"
A woman's voice came chasing out from the alley.
A beastman woman came stumbling forward, fear nearly spilling from her face.
She threw herself in front of the boy, using her own body to block Germann's blade.
"Please! My lord! The child doesn't know better — it wasn't intentional! Please let him go!"
Her hands moved in frantic, helpless gestures. Those tiger-slit eyes were full of pleading. Her tail was pressed tight between her legs. Her whole body was contracted with terror — but she held the boy firmly behind her.
Germann looked down at the mother and son before him. The corner of his mouth pulled into a cruel arc.
"Doesn't know better?" He gave a low, unpleasant laugh, entirely unmoved. "If he doesn't know better — be sure to teach him properly in the next life."
As he said this, the sword tip tilted upward slightly, leveled at the woman's body.
Generous soul that he was, he intended to deal with both of them in one stroke and send them off to be reunited with the father.
The boy let out a muffled sound behind his mother.
The woman's body trembled violently, but she didn't move aside. She only closed her eyes — her lashes trembling without stopping.
"Germann."
Lucian's hand came down lightly on his shoulder — a touch so slight it barely registered, yet Germann's motion stopped mid-air.
The old soldier turned his head. That scarred face was written over with reluctance.
"My lord..."
Lucian's gaze rested on the mother and son for a moment.
"Their punishment isn't this."
Germann paused. The confusion on his face slowly shifted into something like understanding.
The line of his mouth curved into something with an unpleasant quality.
"Yes, my lord."
He sheathed his sword, raised his foot, and drove it into the woman's shoulder, sending her and the boy tumbling to the ground.
"Take them." Germann waved to the soldiers behind him.
Two soldiers stepped forward and hauled the mother and child roughly to their feet. The woman struggled once and went still immediately when a soldier pressed the flat of a scabbard against her throat. The boy twisted frantically in her arms, letting out muffled cries.
Germann stepped forward, bent down, and brought his face close to the boy's.
In those eyes, a near-pathological satisfaction gleamed.
"Evil little beastman wretch." His tone held something complicated. "Hell is waiting for you."
Then he turned away without another look at the two of them and quickened his pace to catch up with Lucian, who had already walked on ahead.
When Germann fell back into step beside Lucian, his expression had settled back into that lazy, unhurried look.
The pen's fence was right in front of them.
The thick wooden posts were driven deep into the earth, their tops sharpened, their surfaces rough. Coarse hemp rope bound the gaps between them — wide enough to see clearly through to the interior.
Lucian stopped, drew his sword, and swept it through the air in a single motion. The lock on the gate shattered.
The interior of the pen was laid open entirely.
Lucian stood where he was, his gaze settling on what lay inside.
Thirteen people.
More precisely — thirteen bodies that were still alive.
They were huddled on filthy ground, naked, their skin covered in dried mud and filth.
Several had slumped against the fence posts, heads tilted to one side, mouths slightly open, cloudy liquid at the corners of their mouths.
Most were simply curled up — like unformed fetuses in a womb, their bodies drawn into the smallest possible shape.
Not one of them raised their head.
Lucian's gaze moved across them, one by one.