Under the threat of violence, the coachman quickly divulged his destination: a high-end tavern or, more accurately, a clubhouse in the affluent district.
The coachman was not a Heretic but merely a driver, tasked by his boss with taking the girl to a banquet.
"How can you even say that with a straight face?" William angrily pulled him over and, pointing at the unconscious girl, demanded, "Look at her—does she look like she's going to a banquet?"
The coachman looked embarrassed but could only offer a helpless defense.
"It's not something I can decide. She was sold into a brothel by her parents, not by me. I'm just responsible for taking her there."
"How many people have you taken to that place?"
"Countless. The demand there is huge. As long as there's a good newcomer, they'll be sent over—about four or five times a month."
Lance's brow furrowed. Damn it, with such a high demand for Sacrifices, just how many followers have they recruited?
