Inquiry

Roy intended to calm himself and investigate the whole matter thoroughly, so his morning work would have to be postponed.

Before returning to the Mill, he first asked Old Rul at the poultry stall and Tross at the herb shop for leave.

"Taking tomorrow morning off? Of course, no problem. You've done excellent work these past two weeks, so you'll still be paid for the day off." Tross readily agreed. "But I'm a little curious. What could you possibly need to do? Don't tell me you found yourself a little girlfriend in Edersberg and need to hurry off to meet her?"

"Young man, let me give you some advice as someone with experience: spending money on women is a bottomless pit! A woman's vanity will never be satisfied."

"Uncle Tross, stop teasing me." Roy did not hide it either. "A girlfriend is still far beyond me. Tomorrow morning, I'm going to the Lower City to find someone. As for who exactly, don't ask."

"Oh, then be sure to stay safe." Tross's wrinkled face turned grave as he earnestly warned him.

After spending the night at the Mill, Roy arrived in Edersberg's Lower City early the next morning beneath a gloomy sky. According to his plan, if he wanted to verify Faywen's words, he should first find that old drunkard who had gone to the school demanding money yesterday—Faywen's father.

No matter how drunk a man was, he could not possibly forget whether he had a younger son.

Over the past two weeks, Roy had already figured out Faywen's home address. It was an old wooden house at the easternmost edge of the Lower City, easy enough to find. He had chosen to act early in the morning because he was worried about running into the Sparrow Gang thugs again.

But sometimes, the more you feared something, the more likely it was to happen.

The moment Roy stepped onto the street in that district, the prickling sensation on his back surged up again.

Glancing behind him from the corner of his eye, he saw a bald, burly man following him. The man wore a thick yellow padded coat, black trousers, and tall boots, with a tattoo on his neck.

At first glance, that face resembled Letho's, but the man's features and expression were completely unlike Letho's. Letho was cold and indifferent, while this man's face was full of savage hostility, as if rage filled his chest and could explode at any moment.

He was over six feet four inches tall, with a thick, short neck. His padded coat bulged around his body, and he was built like a Grizzly Bear standing on its hind legs.

It was a little after six in the morning. The frigid wind cut across the face like steel blades. There were few pedestrians on the Lower City streets at this hour; most were still asleep, while the rest had already gone to the market to do hard labor.

Roy pretended not to notice. Rather than shout or call for help to draw attention, he quickened his pace, left the broad, level street, and slipped into the nearby narrow alleys, secluded and dark, with filthy water running everywhere.

The bald brute accelerated and followed him.

Gradually, both men broke into a jog, chasing through the maze of alleys for five minutes and heading farther and farther from the main streets. At last, Roy entered a dead end, where a mottled high wall covered in moss and dirty water mercilessly blocked his path.

The stalker behind him pulled a drugged handkerchief from his clothes and rushed toward Roy's back with a vicious grin.

"Sir... I haven't offended you, have I?" Roy turned around with a timid, forced smile and showed the burly man, thirty feet away, his empty hands. "I'm no threat to you at all. Could you spare my life? Any amount of money is fine!"

The brute, already less than twenty feet away, slowed at his words. A greedy gleam appeared in his narrow eyes as he rasped in a voice like a file, "Once I've subdued you, everything on you will naturally belong to me. But go ahead and try calling for help. See if there's any kind soul around to save you."

Compared with the brute, Roy looked like a child standing before an adult. He had no visible weapon anywhere on him, and in the man's eyes, he posed no threat whatsoever. He was no different from a slab of fat meat on a chopping block. What harm was there in saying a few more words before sending him on his way?

"Clink... clink..." A clear, pleasant sound rang out as Roy suddenly tossed a handful of gleaming Crowns onto the filthy ground at the bald man's feet. The man seemed never to have suffered such an unusual attack before. He froze for a moment, then instinctively crouched down to pick up the Crowns.

"You're from the Sparrow Gang, right?" Taking the opportunity, Roy fired off several more questions. "Are street thugs this dedicated now? It's not even seven yet, and you're already waiting at the entrance to the Lower City. Aren't you cold?"

"Kid, blame yourself for being stupid! You trusted the wrong person." The bald brute hurriedly stuffed two handfuls of Crowns into his clothes, then abruptly came to his senses. He rose and charged at Roy again.

"Once you get to the mine, you'll—"

Whoosh—

The brute's voice and movements came to an abrupt halt. His final sensation was a fierce, brief pain in his right eye, followed by nothingness.

His huge body, which had been lunging forward so aggressively, was still carried onward by inertia. He staggered two more steps before crashing down heavily, dropping to his knees, then slamming his face into the ground as though he were kneeling and kowtowing before the boy standing close by.

Only then did blood and gore spill from the two bloody holes that had pierced his skull, staining the ground around him.

"Killed Fossa

Gained 20 experience."

A wonderful notification flashed across the template. Roy blew out a breath, and the hand crossbow vanished. He walked over and patted the corpse, causing it to disappear. Human corpses now felt no different to him than dead animals.

He took a few more steps forward and picked up the remaining Crowns from the ground, along with the arrowhead stained with blood, flesh, and bone fragments. Both were stored away in his space.

The space was nearly full.

Roy was very satisfied. In the past, when a Crossbow Bolt entered a human eye socket, it would surely lodge in the brain. But this time, at a distance of less than ten feet, the actively triggered Crossbow Mastery combined with the additional damage from Slaughter had sent the arrowhead straight through the brute's skull. The skill bonuses seemed even more powerful than he had imagined.

As for why he had wasted so many words on the man, it was mainly because he wanted to figure out one thing.

The first time the Sparrow Gang followed him, it might have been a coincidence. But the second time, at this particular hour, Roy understood that it was absolutely no coincidence. Someone had... sold him out.

Only a few people knew he would come to the Lower City this morning. Combined with the reason for his previous trip here, the suspect was obvious.

It seemed that person had contacted the Sparrow Gang and intended to sell him to a private mine in Mahakam?

Roy sighed, suddenly feeling dispirited. Being betrayed did not feel good. After more than two weeks together, he had come to trust that person quite a bit. He had even thought they could be considered friends.

Was I too naive?

A few seconds later, Roy left the alley.

Only that pool of filthy blood spoke of a Slaughter no one would ever know about.

After passing through one narrow alley after another, all filled with filthy water, Roy came upon a low house sitting quietly in the depths of the Lower City, enclosed by a fence woven from branches.

Faywen's home was even more rundown than Roy had imagined. The plaster on the outer walls was cracked and covered in stains and fissures, the roof leaked in places, and it was draped with tattered black cloth.

At that moment, a bloated man with a face full of flesh sat blankly on a tree stump in the yard. His cheeks were flushed an unhealthy red, and his cloudy eyes carried the hazy look of drunkenness.

"Hey, kid, who are you looking for? Why'd you come to this godforsaken place?" Bob glanced at the boy outside the fence and asked impatiently. He had the vague feeling that he had seen the boy somewhere before, but alcohol had eroded his brain for years, and his memory had grown poor.

"You're Teacher Faywen's father, right?" Roy stepped through the fence with a shy smile. "I'm a student from the House of Cadell. My name is Roy, and there are a few things I'd like to ask you about."

"This is ridiculous. What could a brat like you possibly want to ask me about?" Bob snapped out of his dazed state, his eyes full of surprise. "If you want to ask which tavern in town has the best reputation or waters down its liquor the least, I can give you an answer. Don't bother me with anything else. Even if you ask, I won't know!"

Bob paused. "It's early in the morning. Shouldn't you be attending class at the House of Cadell? Hm?"

Suddenly, he twitched his nose, licked his lips, and swallowed. A greedy expression appeared on his face. At some point, a green bottle had appeared in Roy's hand, and he deliberately waved it before Bob's eyes.

Drunkard Bob had been drinking for decades, and he recognized at a glance that it was his favorite Dwarven spirit. Having had no money, he had not touched a drop of alcohol for two days. The moment he smelled that familiar, pungent scent, all resistance vanished from him.

"Ask whatever you want, little brother! I'll answer any question, as long as... as long as you give me that bottle!" Like an addict in the grip of withdrawal, Bob stared straight at the bottle, his face wearing an exaggerated look of intoxication.

Roy nodded in satisfaction. To get answers from a drunkard, naturally, one had to give him what he wanted.

"Uncle Bob, go get a cup... For every question you answer later, I'll let you have a drink..."

"Okay, okay! Wait for me. Don't leave!"

"How many people are in your family?" Roy waved a cup of clear liquor before Bob's eyes. The man immediately began fidgeting restlessly on the stump, his hands clawing strangely at the bottle like chicken talons, utterly impatient.

"Three," he answered at once. "Old Bob, my crazy old wife, and my daughter who doesn't know how to respect her elders."

"Think carefully!" Roy brought the cup close to him, then swiftly pulled it away the instant Bob reached for it.

"Give it to me! I said three people! You little shi—no," Old Bob clasped his hands together, the loose muscles on his face trembling as he pleaded with Roy. "I guarantee it, Roy. I swear there are only three people in this family. If I'm lying, may I never drink another drop for the rest of my life!"

"Here."

After Bob sipped the liquor, he let out a long breath, looking so blissful that he seemed ready to ascend to heaven.

Watching his ugly display, Roy silently reminded himself to take it as a warning.

He composed himself and continued questioning.

"Five years ago... ten years ago... did anyone else live in your house for an extended period?"

"No..." Anger appeared on Bob's face. "They were all afraid I'd latch onto them."

"Does Teacher Faywen have any brothers or sisters?"

"That brat Faywen is an only child," Bob said firmly. "She has no brothers or sisters. Even if Old Bob gets muddleheaded from drinking, I'm not an idiot. I can't possibly forget how many children I have."

"Then did you and your wife have any children who died young? Did Faywen have any brothers or sisters who died in an accident?"

"Little brother, Roy, why are you asking such strange questions?" Bob resisted the temptation of the liquor and asked in return, "What are you trying to accomplish by investigating my family so thoroughly?"

"Just answer," Roy said, waving the liquor in front of him. "Don't worry about anything else."

"Fine, then I'll tell you. My old wife only ever gave birth to Faywen..." Bob suddenly sighed. "Actually, I wanted more children too, but I drank too much and something went wrong with my body... Do you understand? Want me to explain it to you in detail?"

A quarter of an hour later, Bob had finished the whole bottle of Dwarven spirit and was dozing against the tree stump.

Even in his half-drunk, half-awake state, he had stubbornly denied having another son. Roy felt that in such a state, he probably could not lie.

Leaving the drunkard in the yard, Roy entered the shabby little house.

A woman with disheveled hair, a sallow face, and a body as thin as a bamboo pole sat at a round table by the door, talking strangely to the air.

Roy stood in the doorway and quietly observed her for a while before walking over and sitting in the chair across from her.

"Ma'am, I..."

The woman did not react at all. Even when her gaze swept past Roy, it was as though she neither saw him nor heard his words.

She seemed immersed in her own mental world.

Fine lines covered her loose-skinned face. At times, she grinned foolishly with delight; at times, she opened her eyes wide and scowled in furious rage; at times, her brows and eyes drooped as sorrow filled her expression.

Roy found it dizzying to watch.

"Little Louri... my precious daughter, I haven't seen you for a week. How did you get thin again? Is your work at the school too tiring? I cooked your favorite dishes. Eat more." The woman stared fixedly to her left for a while, then bared a mouthful of small teeth in an extremely gentle smile and lovingly instructed the empty air. She scooped several large ladles of steaming vegetable soup from the iron pot in the center of the round table and poured them into the plate on her left. "A lady must chew slowly, or how will she ever get married?"

Little Louri? Roy thought that was probably Faywen's childhood nickname.

The woman suddenly put her hands on her hips and glared at the empty air to her right. "Old Bob, what's wrong with you? Why do you look like such an idiot with that bruised and battered face? Were you drinking again yesterday, running around and getting into fights? You stink like a pile of shit. Don't even think about climbing into my bed tonight. If there's a next time, get out of this house!"

"Hmph!" She ladled another spoonful of thick soup into the plate on her right, then began eating by herself. Across from her sat another empty plate with a spoon.

Roy silently watched several performances. After the woman finished her soup, he tried calling out to her several times, but received no response.

Unable to communicate with her at all, Roy had no choice but to leave the house. He wandered around several nearby homes and found two or three old men leisurely smoking tobacco in their yards. He asked them about Faywen's family. As expected, they all believed that Faywen's household had only three people.

Roy wondered whether it was possible that everyone was lying.

Thanks to reader "Strive Forward, Take Responsibility" for the tip! Thank you all for your support!