19

Looking at these beauties was nice.

Each had a different type, from large to small, and that’s always a pleasure.

But all of their eyes were filled completely with fear.

Even the woman who managed to step forward had a strained face and trembling legs.

(And… this one’s got a mark on her cheek, like she was struck.)

It was probably from when she resisted, but the way she tried to protect the four younger ones suggested she was either a caring older sister type or the one in charge of them.

Still, this was a problem.

I thought I was attacking bandits, but it turned out they were actually kidnappers — it felt less like my guess was wrong and more like I was tricked.

If that’s the case, then the one man here dressed completely out of place must be a slaver of some sort.

For such people to be roaming around, the Kingdom of Canaan hadn’t progressed at all.

And speaking of slavery, the question was — where exactly were they planning to sell these women?

If they had a route to smuggle into Seizeria, that would suggest a fairly organized group.

“Well, what should I do?” I muttered, focusing my gaze on the two whose clothes were the most disheveled.

I’d bet that fat man was about to “sample” them when I happened to show up.

The older woman in front of me was the same, but perhaps because underwear like in the Empire wasn’t widespread here, the bustiest one was wearing something sheer that left little to the imagination.

The outfits were revealing, and they all had gorgeous legs — a feast for the eyes.

Also, one of them wasn’t wearing any underwear, and with a slit like that… weren’t you ladies pushing the limits just a bit?

Perhaps wondering why I wasn’t making a move, the woman with her arms spread to shield the other four spoke to me.

I could feel how much courage it took, but the only word I could pick out was “we.” I truly felt sorry about that.

(Yeah… really, I regret not studying more seriously.)

I had no intention of doing anything to them, but doing nothing would also feel strange.

I thought about taking something from the wagon’s contents as planned, but judging from the scattered belongings of the women, there was nothing I needed.

Besides, I was not so heartless as to rob people who’d just been attacked by kidnappers.

Especially if they were beautiful women.

(If I took their clothes or underwear just for the fabric… no telling what kind of rumors that would start. No, that’s out.)

It might be more productive to chase the ones who fled and raid their base.

Then an idea struck me.

(That’s right — if they’re organized enough to smuggle into a neighboring country, they must have multiple hideouts. The ones who ran at the start could very well be heading to one. If I hit it, I could get all sorts of loot.)

Reluctantly, it was time to part ways with them.

The nearest town wasn’t far, and there’d been no dangerous creatures when I’d passed, so if they armed themselves with dropped weapons, they should be fine.

Also, if I left their cargo untouched, they’d have no problems with water or food, and since the wagon was intact, they’d arrive before dark.

(…Ah, actually, I’ll take a little water.)

I wasn’t entirely comfortable with my current supply, so I stuck just my arm into the wagon and reached into the cargo crates for some water.

The women stepped aside on their own, so I rummaged around until I found a crate of bottles, taking one.

I popped the cork off with my thumb and drank it down in big gulps — and realized:

“This is alcohol,” I said aloud.

My growl startled them, and they all huddled together in the corner.

Even if it wasn’t very strong, alcohol was still alcohol.

Imperial law said “no drinking before twenty,” but at over 200 years old, I was well past that.

Still… it didn’t taste great.

I suppose it’s rude to complain about free booze, but Canaanese alcohol didn’t suit my palate.

Lingering here looking for water wouldn’t be good for their peace of mind, so I gave up and decided to chase the bandits.

With humans as smelly as bandits, following their scent shouldn’t be a problem.

I felt their wary gazes on my back as I left, but before chasing, I hurried back for my own gear.

I’d nearly forgotten it — my return made the women cry out in fright again.

I felt bad, but since I didn’t know how far the hideout was, I had to take it.

I hoisted my pack and set off.

Another small scream as I passed the wagon made my chest ache just a little.

(I don’t think my face is that scary…)

If this were a horror game, I’d have played maybe ten entries, but my looks were more like a proper, decent monster — nothing grotesque, maybe even on the cool side.

“Kind of a shock,” I muttered, shoulders drooping, as I sped up to catch the bandits.

In less than ten minutes, I caught their scent.

I thought about using my camouflage, but I couldn’t hide my gear.

Even here you were getting in my way, blue tarp.

I had no choice but to keep a steady distance while tracking by scent.

Well, I could count it as training — and after about an hour, I saw what looked like a cave entrance ahead.

The scent continued inside, so there was no doubt this was their hideout.

(But using a hole in the ground like a cave for a base… maybe it’s actually reinforced inside?)

The only way to know how deep it went was to enter.

I set down my pack, covered it with leaves and branches for camouflage, and hung my sledgehammer from a tree as a marker.

I still hadn’t used it in real combat, but maybe that day would come.

Then I activated my camouflage and entered the unguarded hole… though honestly, the entrance was a bit tight.

I could fit, but there wasn’t much room, so I was careful not to bump anything as I went in.

Advancing into the pitch-dark cave, I found it was wider than expected.

Though it was a passage, it was tall enough for me to stand and wide enough to move freely, with wooden supports for the walls and ceiling.

After the first corner, the walls and ceiling became stone, and magically powered lights were installed — clearly an artificial facility.

(Feels pretty old… so, a long-running kidnapper gang… no, a human trafficking ring’s hideout.)

That meant the loot here could be promising.

Then I heard shouting — faint, from far ahead — which suggested the hideout was quite large.

Checking my camouflage and staying alert, I moved on.

Sure enough, I found cells.

Behind the iron bars were chained skeletons.

From their condition, they weren’t that old.

And from the smell… there were plenty more corpses.

It turned my stomach, but that’s how criminal groups were.

At least, it confirmed I had no intention of letting anyone here live.

“Gyaaaaaaah!”

With that resolve, I found another corpse — and heard a scream.

It was a man’s voice, so I ignored it.

Most likely one of the earlier escapees getting punished, so nothing worth caring about.

(I remember seeing on TV that in cases like this, criminal groups or mafias “settle accounts” by cutting off fingers.)

That was childhood knowledge, so I wasn’t sure — but even I could tell that scream wasn’t from losing a finger.

It was the kind of fear that sounded like your life was on the line.

Whoever was in charge here was clearly strict with their subordinates.

As I got closer, I could make out voices more clearly — but still barely understood them.

From what I could gather, the escapees were being scolded for failing to capture the prostitutes from earlier.

The boss’s voice wasn’t very fluent in the Canaanese language, though.

That actually made it easier to understand — and easier to guess.

It meant the boss was a foreigner, sent from another country.

Which in turn meant this group was a large, multi-national operation.

“That means the loot could be worth looking forward to,” I thought with a quiet grin.

Following the corridor, I turned left at a T-junction toward the voices and found a room at the end.

The door was shut, with voices and screams coming from beyond.

Sounded like someone else had just “settled accounts.”

And then I hit a problem.

The door was small.

Big for a human, but narrow enough for me to just barely squeeze through.

(I can fit… but no, better to break it.)

I could easily smash the surrounding wall, and it’d make for a more dramatic entrance.

So, dynamic entry it was.

I dropped my camouflage, planted both hands on the floor, and drew back my right leg.

Target: the door.

I kicked off with full force — my all-out charge smashed into the door, breaking it and the surrounding wall, and I burst into the room.

Inside were the corpses of the three bandits who’d fled from me — and a giant spider.

Instead of a spider’s head, a human upper body — from the chest up — grew from it, a monster that was part spider, part human.

Atop the bare torso was a bald, mean-looking face.

When it looked at me, it tossed aside the corpse of a bandit impaled on its spider legs.

“Ah? The hell are you?”

Clear as day — words I knew better than any other.

The monster before me was speaking in the Fullretos Imperial tongue.