Upon seeing Old Cat desperately tugging at him, Glen was aware that the latter had his best interests at heart. Reluctant to push him away, he had no choice but to abandon his immediate intentions.

Nevertheless, he was not one to give up easily. Once he managed to send Old Cat away, he intended to teach that mercenary a lesson regardless.

"Consider yourself fortunate, lad. Don't let me lay eyes on you again!" The mercenary known as Fang coiled up his long whip, declared haughtily, and then trailed behind the convoy as it moved on.

Perhaps it would be better to eliminate him... Glen's resolve shifted in an instant. Glancing to the other side, he added silently in his mind: And those three mages...

Moments ago, he had sensed an aura similar to that of dark mages emanating from the trio, and he was certain they were no good.

"Oh, Mr. Glen, you nearly gave me a heart attack just now! Those are mercenaries! They're incredibly powerful and menacing! How could you have contemplated engaging them in a fight?! That's utterly reckless!"

Old Cat wore a look of palpable trepidation."We common folk should refrain from acting on impulse. It's all too easy to lose our lives. Several of my former colleagues met a tragic end after clashing with powerful individuals like these."

"Ah... I see," Glen responded. Although he was tempted to assert that he didn't fear these people, he surmised that Old Cat wouldn't believe him, so he merely concurred.

Old Cat nodded, recognizing Glen's perfunctory agreement, and chose not to press the matter further.

The two of them resumed their observation of the convoy.

Apart from Glen, several other unfortunate townspeople who were standing nearby were whipped by Fang and let out cries of pain, yet they dared not utter a word of protest.

Glen turned his head towards Old Cat and inquired,"Who exactly are these mercenaries?"

Old Cat looked at him in surprise and, in turn, tilted his head and retorted,"You're not aware?"

Glen spread his hands in a gesture of helplessness.

"Very well. I recall you mentioning that you haven't been here for long," Old Cat said, giving his head a light tap before elaborating:

"This is the convoy of the Earl of Punk's household. They frequently assist in hunting magical beasts along the kingdom's borders, but that is not their primary objective. The sons of the Earl of Punk have a penchant for keeping slaves of other races. These convoys are tasked with capturing and transporting slaves, and they pass through our town on each occasion."

As he spoke, Old Cat cast a profound glance at the elven maiden imprisoned in the cage and continued:

"I've heard that the earl's sons once offered a substantial reward for a live elven slave. After all, elves are widely regarded as the most beautiful race on the continent, so it's no wonder they are coveted. It seems that one of the earl's sons couldn't resist the temptation and, despite the potential risks, ventured deep into the heart of a forest elf tribe to capture one. And lo and behold, he succeeded."

Indeed, the base nature of humanity was laid bare against the backdrop of this era... Glen drew a deep breath and asked, his voice laced with confusion:

"Surely such blatant capture of elves will incur the wrath of the Saihi Kingdom?"

The Saihi Kingdom, a realm governed by high elves, encompasses within its domain not only high elves but also dark elves, frost elves, and forest elves.

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It ostensibly assumes the role of the overlord of all elves. As one of the preeminent countries in this world, its standing is beyond question.

"Undoubtedly," Old Cat affirmed with a nod."Perhaps the mastermind grew impatient with the protracted process of covert transportation and thus opted for a more brazen approach, disregarding the potential consequences.

"They likely believe that the Saihi Kingdom won't go out of its way to cause trouble over a seemingly insignificant forest elf. Make no mistake, those arrogant noble scions are quite capable of such actions."

While comprehending the situation, Glen was also taken aback by the depth of Old Cat's insights, considering he was an ordinary laborer.

The noble circles his predecessor had associated with invariably held disdain for those of lower status, using terms such as "filthy,""ignorant," and "lacking in ambition."

This had also led his predecessor to adopt similar viewpoints, even forgetting that he himself was part of that very group.

However, Glen was not swayed by such notions. He understood that these were merely the delusions born from the perceived superiority of the upper echelons over the lower classes.

The reason for his surprise was that it was remarkable for Old Cat to possess such knowledge in an era when information dissemination was relatively limited.

"So, what fate awaits this elf?"

Glen had his own speculations, but he was eager to hear his seasoned friend's perspective.

"Alas..." Old Cat wore an expression of reluctance."You wouldn't want to know."

"Yes, I do," Glen responded without hesitation.

"Er..." Old Cat was taken aback, then let out a wry smile."You certainly know how to respond."

His expression grew serious as he continued,"Slaves, a group devoid of human rights. If they are fortunate enough to be purchased by a benevolent master, they might fare better. But the members of the Punk family are clearly not of that ilk.

"Their notoriety spreads far and wide. I've traveled to many places in the Battersea region and have, to some extent, heard of their deeds.

"The best outcome for this poor elven maiden would likely be to become something akin to a pet.

"As long as the master doesn't grow tired of her, she might live a bit longer. Generally, though, she'll either be so thoroughly mistreated that she ends up as food for the Punk family's large dogs, or she'll be used to make wine."

These words made Glen's eyebrows twitch. As a former upright soldier, such inhumane acts had ignited his anger.

"Used to make wine? What's the meaning of that?"

Despite his discomfort, he continued to ask.

"As is well known, elves are a race with extremely long lifespans. I don't know when or where it started, but there's a saying that soaking elves in wine can extend one's life. So..."

Old Cat shrugged at the end, leaving Glen to draw his own conclusions.

Hmph... There's work to be done... Glen looked again at the convoy that had already moved far away, his hands itching with the urge to act.

"Let's go. Try to avoid any contact with these people," Old Cat suggested.

Glen nodded and said, "It's about time. I need to go back and check on the pigs I'm raising. I'll be leaving now."

With that, without waiting for Old Cat's response, he quickly walked away.

...

Night fell.

The mercenaries who had rented out the entire tavern were indulging in their first moment of relaxation in several days.

The air was thick with the smell of strong alcohol, body odor, and a faint hint of blood.

"Fang, you were way too impulsive during this mission. You got several of our brothers killed," a mercenary with a broad forehead and a long nose slapped the table and pointed at Fang, who was drinking beside him, mockingly. There was no real accusation in his tone; it was more like teasing.

"Don't slander me!" Fang slammed his wine cup down and shouted, spitting as he spoke. "It was clearly those idiots who weren't skilled enough! They charged in recklessly and got shot by those elves!"

As the two argued, several drunken mercenaries joined in, making the already noisy tavern even more chaotic.

Only a few of them didn't participate; they were all considered the leaders of the group.

One of them was the person who had stopped Fang during the day, and he was also the leader of everyone.

He had dull, rough skin, wore a set of leather armor with a rather savage style, and his exposed face and arm skin were covered with dense scars.

"Boss, are we really not going to get into trouble by being so blatant?" the mage standing beside him said in a low voice, voicing his concerns.

The scarred man took a small sip of wine and turned his eyes to look at the cage outside the tavern door.

This tavern had a special courtyard for these mercenaries to store their "goods," and the surroundings were arranged for easy surveillance and patrol.

The elven maiden in the cage seemed to sense the gaze. She turned her face, which had been buried in her knees, and revealed one eye filled with hatred and anger.

"The main family should worry about the potential troubles. All we need to do is do our jobs, Altan," the scarred man said with a faint smile, curling his lips.