This time I chose Paladin.

Chapter 282 "Sacrifice?"

Rothar Albert's hunched back made his otherwise tall figure appear shorter and less imposing. He mingled among his men as he stepped into the slums on the outskirts of Life Manor, a place reeking of stench and despair.

The team he led was well-trained. Although they wore patched and stained tattered clothes, trying to blend into the bleak background, their sharp eyes, which subconsciously scanned their surroundings, still stood out somewhat from the numb crowd around them.

Fortunately, most of the people here had long been worn down by life and disease, and they just huddled listlessly in their own corners. Few people bothered to carefully observe a group of newly arrived refugees.

A kind of oppressive clamor permeated the shantytown.

Occasionally, someone would light a small campfire, and a circle of silent figures would immediately gather around it. Many more were preparing dinner… if it could even be called dinner. After all, the pots made of rolled-up leaves were almost entirely filled with a paste-like substance whose original form was unrecognizable.

Scattered conversations, arguments over trivial matters, and a few vulgar jokes mingled together, forming the background noise of the area.

Suddenly, a commotion broke out.

A skinny boy ducked and darted through the gaps in the crowd, like a startled rabbit, but with unusual agility.

Several angry men and women, cursing and yelling "Thief!", were chasing after him. The boy, using his familiarity with the terrain, weaved through narrow passages and piles of debris, managing to shake them off several times.

But after only a few bends, he was still surrounded and punched and kicked. He curled up, enduring the rain of blows without uttering a sound.

In a shady corner he had just passed, several equally thin figures crawled past like groundhogs and quietly slipped into an extremely narrow crevice filled with clutter.

This is a cramped space between several shacks, covered with dry grass and containing a few personal belongings, barely enough to accommodate these dirty children.

One of the older children looked outside warily, then carefully pulled something out of his pocket—the very thing the boy had risked throwing at him before he was hit.

They were several glutinous rice balls covered in mud. The rice balls had been deformed, and you could vaguely see fine shreds of insect flesh and unknown grass roots inside.

It had no container, only dragged along by coarse, fibrous leaves, clearly having been snatched directly from the steamer. It was obviously dirty, yet it emitted an irresistible aroma for children.

Outside, there was a noisy and chaotic sound of fighting and cursing. Through the gaps, the children huddled together, wolfing down the few hard-won glutinous rice balls, as if they were having a silent communion.

After a while, the sounds of beating and cursing outside seemed to stop.

The footsteps of an adult male approached, and shadows fell over the entrance to the crevice. The children looked up in terror and saw a pair of iron-gray eyes.

Rotal Albert, holding the boy who had just been beaten.

The boy had a bruised and swollen face, with blood trickling from the corner of his mouth, but there was a stubborn look in his eyes.

Albert sighed, bent down, and carefully tucked the boy into the crevice, letting him return to his companions. Then he pulled a bottle, about the size of a thumb, from his pocket and tossed it in—it was a bottle of the lowest-grade healing potion, its red liquid shimmering faintly in the dim light.

“Give him some,” Albert said in a low voice.

He didn't say anything more and turned to leave.

But no sooner had he left than something changed in the crevice. A boy nearby glanced at him for a moment, then suddenly grabbed the red healing potion and turned to run out of the crevice!

"Stop Na Lin!" The child who had been distributing the rice balls reacted quickly, shouting and rushing forward with the other children, pinning down the boy named Na Lin. He pulled out a dagger made of a piece of iron and plunged it into Na Lin's hand, which was trying to grasp the medicine, pinning his hand to the ground!
"Ah—! Marai... Marai! I was wrong! I was wrong!" Nalin screamed in pain, trying to suppress his emotions.

He dared not shout, lest the adults outside attract attention and all the children would suffer the consequences.

Marley, who was on top of him, picked up the potion. She held a blood-stained dagger in her hand, her dark eyes staring at Lin's pained profile.

“Brother Mao has been very good to you, and we have been very good to you too. When you first arrived, Brother Mao even brought you your food, Lin.” Her voice was soft, but it was like a cold piece of metal scraping across the room. “But you’re going to betray us.”

"I was wrong! I was wrong!" Lin cried, tears streaming down his face, pleading softly, "Please forgive me! I'll never do it again!"

Marley leaned down, her lips almost touching his ear, her breath carrying her voice softly: "I'll sever your tendons before you dare to do it, Nalin."

"I don't believe a single word you say now."

……

The cruel episode in the children's world had nothing to do with Albert.

They moved quickly through the mud, shacks, and piles of debris, seemingly quite familiar with the complex terrain.

Soon, they found themselves in a darker corner. The people there clearly recognized them. They didn't talk, but exchanged a few knowing glances. Albert then led the two men into a narrow alleyway that could only accommodate one person at a time, and finally into a dilapidated shack that looked extremely inconspicuous from the outside and seemed like it could collapse at any moment.

The shack was slightly larger inside than it appeared from the outside, and was divided and covered by several layers of tattered straw mats, with only a faint ray of sunlight filtering through the gaps at the bottom.

The darkness in the room was dispelled by a steady fireball—a small fireball hovering at the fingertips of a young man, burning quietly.

The young man held half a tattered book in his other hand and was reading it intently by the firelight.

"Miao Lun, you're reading again." Albert smiled and dusted himself off. "What is it this time?"

The young man named Miao Lun looked up and held up the book for him to see—it was half a middle school chemistry textbook.

"It was brought by a middle school student, but unfortunately the second half was torn out and used as a pretext to start a fire." Miao Lun's voice was filled with regret.

"Knowledge is priceless, but the medium on which it is carried has a price. And here, that price is always pitifully low."

Albert sighed softly, walked over and sat down next to Miao Lun, his smile fading and his expression turning serious: "Let's not talk about this anymore."

"Miao Lun, when will your men be ready? We don't have much time. The false god statue is right there; we must destroy it as soon as possible!"

“It will take some time… a few days, perhaps. Don’t worry,” Miao Lun said, his expression also becoming serious, with a hint of tension. “Speaking of which, Mr. Albert, do you know? They are performing a ritual for that idol…”

"Sacrifice?"

"Yes, we need people."

(End of this chapter)