"What is this, asking me to save people?"
Behind a group of artisans who were discussing, Ken also frowned silently.
"What disease did Wachler's apprentice have?"
Ken's question attracted everyone.
The blacksmiths looked at each other, and no one knew the specific situation.
Wachler was introverted and paranoid. He was an extremely difficult old man to get along with on weekdays. Don't expect him to take the initiative to chat with you about family matters.
"I heard it from the apprentice."
"He seems to be deliberately covering it up."
Malungu looked down at Ken and asked loudly: "Do you have connections or resources in this regard? The workshop will bear the remuneration, just name your price."
The craftsmen still sympathized with each other, but Wachler didn't know how to express it or seek help.
Ken shook his head regretfully and said: "Do your best."
He couldn't get any information, said goodbye to everyone, picked up the trembling chanter and left.
Passing through the narrow mountain range again.
There were holes flashing yellow light on the cliffs on both sides.
Now he knew: these were all independent workshops, and the craftsmen inside were much better than the apprentices, but inferior to the four blacksmiths under Malungu.
Ken walked silently, thinking:
Duwa Village has a sound industry.
As a tribe with thousands of permanent residents, various facilities are also quite complete, including places that can treat injuries and illnesses.
All kinds of people gathered here, including witches who can remove curses, mystics who can contribute potions, elves who are close to nature, and travelers who master healing magic...
The more Ken thought about it, the more strange it became.
He could use experience points, which was just a little more efficient. If the above group of people were helpless, he would not have a better way.
Could it be that the task was to seize the initiative and act earlier than others?
Ken walked through the doorway, walked past the crowded but orderly workbench, greeted the administrator, and finally walked out of the side door of the workshop.
The rider stood by the shop across the street.
He spread his hands in the air and shook his head. Beside him was the brother and sister, who were still eating diligently, as if the food was safe only after it went into their stomachs.
"What's wrong?"
Ken approached and asked.
The boy stood up, panting. He ate very awkwardly. He spread his palm with two gold coins and said in a hoarse voice: "Good sir, there is no need. We can't keep it."
Ken half squatted down and cast an approving look.
"Were you harassed just now?"
"No," the boy shook his head and protected his sister behind him. "But it will happen sooner or later."
Ken looked around. Although he didn't see any slave traders, there were also many mercenaries, robbers, and scammers.
This open village will not break out in war, but it is seriously lacking in regulation. It is not suitable for orphans to grow up, or in other words, it is difficult for them to survive to grow up.
"Would you like to come with me?"
"To southern Xinjiang, like my friend?"
Ken shook his head, feeling that he was being accused of being a human trafficker, and explained: "Not outside the high wall, my village is at the end of Kuilang Mountain Road, called Sandon Kaya..."
Some tribes and ports would come to Ke'e Village to recruit people.
But their main targets are labor or warriors, and children are an unnecessary burden. Under the pressure of survival, the moral requirements of the North are not high.
He felt that the brother and sister were shaken, so he continued to add:
"A safe and warm house, full meals, and food can be eaten slowly."
The elder brother was suddenly stunned. After all, the child was naive. He asked in confusion: "But those adults in southern Xinjiang also said so!"
The rider turned his back, and the chanter pretended to cough.
Ken closed his eyes and pinched his nose, wondering why he was talking too much. This line is indeed no different from that of a human trafficker.
"Don't worry, think about it slowly."
He calmed down and said, "Leave the money. My base is in the camp at the back door of the village. If you have nowhere to live, go there. If you are bullied, you can come and report the name of Ken Bouvier."
The boy hesitated.
At a young age, he already knew the danger of money, but when he thought of his sister's clothes and shoes, his dirty palms clenched unconsciously.
"By the way, do you know Mr. Wachter? He should have just left."
"I know, he has an apprentice named Arthur, and Mr. Wachter goes to the Hundred Items Rack to find someone every day."
The boy took his sister by the hand and ran to the front to lead the way. The little guy was very serious about his work.
Quima returned to the team. Except for Ken, no one found out where he came from. He only heard him whisper the news he got from the slave trader:
The Hundred Items Rack is the underground black market in Duva Village, and informal transactions can be found here.
Several people walked directly to the altar square in Duwa Village. The forging sound basically disappeared here. Craftsmen who finished their work and travelers who were in transit would come here to have fun.
There were all kinds of people around.
Ken let the two children get close to him.
From just now, there were continuous waves of magic power. There were already three thieves who passed by, but he just avoided them and did not have any conflicts.
Led by the children, the crowd turned their backs on the bustling street and came to an alley.
There were many people standing by the walls on both sides, most of them were talking in low voices, and someone would look at them from time to time.
Ken wore a dark [velvet cloak], a simple black battle armor, and his boots buckled on the stone brick floor, making a steady and crisp sound.
A glimmer flashed in his eyes, and he pushed out the steel sword half a finger and glanced at the corner.
The guy who was performing the secret technique of spying lowered his head immediately. He explained to his companions softly: "The kids are the guides. Four people, six weapons, you can let them go, but don't mess with them casually."
Ken walked to the front and turned the corner of the alley. The noise came towards him.
[Someone used secret techniques to isolate the noise here. The black market is quite chaotic. Most of the capable guys are actually scammers. ]
The venue is very open, and batches of display racks are placed against the wall.
At the end of the long street, there is a left and right, and there is actually a larger space. Charming and moving songs came from the building, and cheers were higher and higher.
The vendor came up to Ken.
He wore a [sticky feather mask], and there were bottles of mysterious liquid in the wooden box on his chest. The labels were written in Uma language with words such as "happy", "gentle", "fearless", and "powerful".
The prices and introductions were unbearable.
The bustling streets were filled with laughter and roars. People concealed their identities and twisted and swayed like wandering souls, with a debauched and weird aura floating around them.
"How do we find this? Should we ask?"
Kuima turned around, and the rider and the chanter were also at a loss.
Ken thought for a moment: Since the notes can give tasks, there must be guidance. Now there is no hint, so we can only try the old method.
The gray horizon unfolded, the hustle and bustle was gone, and the pedestrians who had lost their color looked more like ghosts in the abyss.