70: Chapter 70 The person has been found!

"Understood." Lei Lie replied immediately.

He was just about to make arrangements—

Just at that moment.

A figure stumbled in.

It was one of the three hundred refugees—a young man in his early twenties, covered in dust, running until he was out of breath.

He rushed in front of Zhou Yun, his legs gave way, and he knelt down directly.

"City Lord!"

His voice was urgent and hoarse, laced with tears.

"I can't find my sister! The families of the others were all escorted out of the city, but my sister is likely not among them!"

He turned his head abruptly and stared fixedly at the direction of the detained City Guards not far away.

"The City Guard captain of Han City! That one surnamed Zhao! He has always... always had his eyes on my sister! Before I left, he said to my face that my sister was pretty, and that after I left, he would come to 'take care' of her!"

The young man's eyes were bloodshot.

"If my sister isn't among those taken out of the city—she must have been detained by that animal!"

Zhou Yun looked at him.

"What is your sister's name?"

"Chen Xiaoyu. She's only fifteen this year."

The young man's voice was trembling.

Zhou Yun nodded and said to Lei Lie, "Bring that City Guard captain over."

Lei Lie turned and left.

Two minutes later, Captain Zhao was dragged into the courtyard of the City Lord's mansion by two soldiers.

He had been relatively calm when surrendering at the city gate just now, but now his face was ashen.

The moment he was thrown to the ground, he met the young man's burning gaze.

"Where is Chen Xiaoyu?"

Zhou Yun asked.

Captain Zhao shivered all over and waved his hands repeatedly, "I don't know! Those people were all escorted away under City Lord Zhang Hao's orders; it has nothing to do with me—"

"You're lying!"

The young man rushed up, grabbed his collar, and hauled him up from the ground.

"Do you think I don't know? You said to my face that my sister was 'pretty'! You said 'who will take care of her after you leave'! Do you think I don't understand?!"

Captain Zhao struggled desperately, his face flushed red, "I was just... just saying it! I didn't touch her! I really didn't!"

"Just saying it?!"

The young man punched him.

Nosebleed splattered.

Captain Zhao let out a miserable scream.

"Enough."

Zhou Yun spoke.

Two words, not heavy.

But everyone in the courtyard went silent.

The young man let go, panting, and took a step back, his fists still trembling.

Zhou Yun stepped forward, looking down at Captain Zhao, who was slumped on the ground holding his nose.

"Where is she?"

Captain Zhao's lips moved, his face covered in blood, his eyes darting around.

"I... really..."

"Speak." Zhou Yun's tone was calm but carried an unquestionable majesty.

Captain Zhao met Zhou Yun's gaze.

There was no anger, no Killing Intent in those eyes.

They were as calm as a stagnant pool of water.

Yet it was precisely this calmness that was more terrifying than any threat.

Captain Zhao opened his mouth to speak several times but stopped, his gaze shifting between Chen Xiaoyu's brother and Zhou Yun, and finally, he clamped his mouth shut.

Zhou Yun saw that he had made up his mind and did not continue to press him, simply waiting for news at the City Lord's mansion.

If they were outside the city, he had already sent people out, and there would be a result sooner or later.

If they were inside the city...

Han City was not large, and there would be news soon.

In comparison, the bigger problem was outside the city—two or three thousand refugee families who had been escorted out; it had been three days, and their fate was unknown.

In less than half an hour...

A soldier came running back and knelt on one knee.

"Report—City Lord!"

"Found! Those people... have been found!"

Zhou Yun was overjoyed.

"It's good that they've been found! How are they? Are they still safe?"

He grabbed the messenger's arm and asked urgently.

The messenger opened his mouth.

But no sound came out.

His lips were trembling, and his Adam's apple bobbed up and down a few times, as if a piece of burning coal was stuck in his throat, unable to be spat out.

In the end, he just lowered his head.

Zhou Yun's smile froze on his face.

"...What's wrong?"

The messenger didn't speak.

His shoulders were trembling slightly.

Zhou Yun stared at him, his heart sinking.

But he quickly steadied himself—the worst case was nothing more than injuries, illness, or shock.

After all, two or three thousand old, weak, women, and children had been driven into the wilderness for several days; it was normal for their bodies not to hold up.

He had spiritual rice, black jade connection paste, and five hundred priests.

As long as they were still there.

As long as they were still alive.

Any injury could be healed.

He did not continue to ask.

"Let's go." He released the messenger's arm, his voice steady, "Take me there."

The messenger nodded silently and turned to lead the way.

Zhou Yun followed with large strides.

Lei Lie and Strategist Zhu Ge followed closely behind.

The group left the west gate of Han City and proceeded quickly along a dry dirt road.

On both sides were vast stretches of withered yellow weeds, shivering in the cold wind.

The further they went, the slower the messenger's pace became.

He walked more and more sluggishly, more and more hesitantly.

As if he didn't want to reach the destination.

Or as if he were afraid of something.

Zhou Yun frowned but did not urge him.

After walking about less than a kilometer.

From afar, they saw the search party ahead.

A large crowd of people gathered there.

But it was very quiet.

Not right.

Not quiet—

It was that kind of... silence, suppressed to the extreme, on the verge of collapsing at any moment.

Zhou Yun quickened his pace.

Getting closer and closer.

Getting closer and closer.

Then—

His footsteps halted abruptly, his pupils contracting sharply.

At this moment, Lei Lie and a few soldiers had just separated the gathered crowd.

Appearing before him were, shockingly, corpse after corpse.

Not one.

Not two.

But—

A field.

Dense and numerous.

Scattered everywhere.

Covering the entire field of withered yellow weeds.

Some were lying face up, their bodies covered in shocking wounds, their clothes soaked through with blood, now dried into a dark brown.

Some were lying face down, with a long sword mark on their backs, slashing from the shoulder blade all the way to the waist, flesh flipped outwards, white bone faintly visible.

Some were curled into a ball, hands covering their abdomens, black blood clots congealed between their fingers.

Some...

Were two people hugging each other.

An old person holding a child.

There were three sword wounds on the old person's back, overlapping, each one deep to the bone.

They seemed to be trying to protect the child with their own body.

But failed to protect them.

The child also had wounds on their body and had already lost their breath.

...

The air was filled with a heavy smell of blood.

That smell—mixed with soil, withered grass, and the rust-like scent of blood—was as thick as a substance, blocking the chest, blocking the throat, making it almost impossible to breathe.

Zhou Yun stood there, motionless.

His mind was blank.

He had prepared himself for many things.

Injuries, illness, weakness, fear—

But he was not prepared to face this.

They hadn't starved to death.

They hadn't frozen to death.

They hadn't died of illness.

They were—killed.

Hacked to death, one by one, by people with knives and swords.