I, the prince in distress, send money

Chapter 249 Let's whitewash it, old Jack.

The morning mist, carrying a rusty, metallic stench, drifted through the streets of Waterladnoy. Old Jack quietly opened his window, but before he could even peek out, a pungent smell of blood assaulted his nostrils, instantly making him cough. He instinctively took a half-step back, but his eyes couldn't help but gazing out the window.

Corpses lay scattered across the streets, some having been disturbed, clearly abandoned after players had looted their belongings. Blood seeping from the bodies, frozen overnight in the frost, congealed into dark red ice crystals on the stone slabs, resembling winding venomous snakes that snaked their way from the casinos in the east of the city to the slums in the west.

Last night, because the Second Street in Xicheng District is a key passage connecting other districts, more than one battle broke out outside Old Jack's house, resulting in such a bloodbath outside.

Now, the "spoils" left by the players are laid bare in the morning light... The headless corpse of the gang leader is hanging upside down on a street lamp, the human traffickers' limbs are piled up like garbage next to the drainage ditch, and several fraudsters are nailed to a notice board with contracts they forged themselves pasted on their chests.

Old Jack was dumbfounded. He knew people had died outside, but he never imagined so many would die, and in such a gruesome manner.

Just then, a rapid knocking sounded at the door, and old Jack turned around abruptly, his heart skipping a beat.

He composed himself, but before he could respond, the knocking sounded again, accompanied by a gruff male voice.

"Is this the home of the head of the second street?"

Upon hearing this, Old Jack exclaimed, "Oh dear, this voice sounds familiar! It's my boss, the district head in charge of the West District, calling me!"

Old Jack didn't have time to think. He shouted as he hurriedly ran towards the gate.

"Here he comes, here he comes, Old Jack is here!"

Old Jack reached out and pulled back the latch. Standing outside was a man in leather armor, a sword at his waist, and an impatient expression on his face.

"Slow down, what are you trying to do?"

"Excuse me……"

"Alright, enough talk. Hurry up and come out. Go and gather your men to drag all the corpses out of the city. Wash the blood with water and scrub the ground to make sure there are no bloodstains. Once you've done this, you'll receive an extra half-standard supply tomorrow. I'll come over to check then. That's all."

Old Jack nodded obsequiously, and before the former could respond, the district chief turned and left in a flurry.

Cleaning up corpses—it's a disgusting, nauseating job. Old Jack stood at the doorway, staring at the carcasses strewn across the street, his stomach churning. He took a deep breath, turned, and went back inside to retrieve the village head's brass whistle.

A piercing whistle broke through the morning mist, and soon, two militia leaders arrived with twenty stumbling men. Their faces were as pale as Old Jack's.

"You all saw it, right?"

Old Jack, trying to appear calm, pointed to the street.

"The district chief ordered us... uh... to clean up the scene."

A young militiaman suddenly bent over and vomited, and the others also looked distressed. These civilians, who usually only caught petty thieves, had never seen such a bloody scene before.
"If you clean the streets, everyone will get an extra three kilograms of flour tomorrow."

Old Jack gritted his teeth and unleashed his trump card.

"Those who do a good job will even get half a pound of meat as a reward."

A generous reward will surely attract brave men, and Old Jack very generously took out most of the supplies from the extra half of the standard rations that the district chief would distribute tomorrow to compensate his subordinates, taking only a small portion for himself. This was clearly a very generous act.

Therefore, the head of the village quickly led the militia to form a cleanup team with brooms, carts, and wooden buckets. When they wrapped the bodies in burlap, they found that many of the dead were still clutching money bags in their hands... clearly, they had tried to buy their lives with money before they died but failed.

"Don't touch that money!"

Old Jack sternly stopped a young man who was trying to steal gold coins. "Don't just take anything you want if you're not afraid of death!"

Old Jack called out.

"Don't forget Prince Chris's rules: murder is punishable by death, strong alkali is used to cut chickens, theft/robbery is punishable by hand-chopping. I don't want to see any of you have your hands chopped off."

Old Jack's reminder immediately put everyone off that idea. Anyone who was able to go out this morning was either lucky or honest, because the dishonest people would definitely have gone out and wandered around last night and then been killed by the players.

Halfway through the cleanup, old Jack saw Martha's Bakery with its doors wide open, a trail of blood on the steps, and he felt a pang of sadness.

Old Jack knew Aunt Martha, the owner of the bakery. She was an old woman who loved to gossip about other people's lives, was talkative, but had a kind heart.

Old Jack sighed softly, recalling that always smiling face and her past ways, and his heart was instantly filled with deep sorrow.

He strode toward the bakery, stepping through the open door. The shop was a mess, with tables and chairs overturned and in disarray. Old Jack's gaze fell behind the counter, where Martha was lying... wait, not Aunt Martha, who is this bearded man?
"Wow..."

A bucket of water was poured at old Jack's feet, startling him from his astonishment. He looked up and saw the lame old woman standing on the other side of the bakery, carrying a bucket of water with trembling hands.

"Damn old Jack!"

When the old woman saw old Jack, she instinctively started cursing.

"Why are you only arriving now? Last night, that damned guy broke into my bakery and was killed by someone else. His blood was splattered all over my bread shelves... Are you the village head now? Why didn't you come to protect my bakery!"

This is bread meant to be sold to everyone on the street...

Old Jack was about to offer some words of comfort when he was silenced by the old woman's insults. The former was in his fifties, while the latter was nearly seventy, considered quite old in the city. Faced with the abuse, Old Jack could only awkwardly scratch his head and try to explain.

“Aunt Martha, let me help you with this.”

"deal with?"

The old woman snorted disdainfully, her eyes filled with anger, and she kept rambling on and on.

"You're too late! My bakery is a complete mess, even the bread-making ingredients are stained with blood, how do you expect me to continue operating it..."

Old Jack knew this was not the time to argue; he had to calm the old woman down and find a solution as soon as possible.

“Aunt Martha, I know this is terrible.”

Old Jack spoke softly, trying to ease the tension.

“But we will clean this place up and restore it to its original state, and I guarantee that people will continue to come to you to buy bread.”

Old Jack tried his best to comfort the woman, even though she held onto him and complained for a long time. Only after she squeezed a bag of flour out of his hand as compensation did she finally let him go, satisfied.

Old Jack suffered a great loss, so much so that he walked out with a pained expression on his face. However, he was neither sad nor regretful. At this moment, he realized that the purge that happened yesterday might not have been such a bad thing after all.

The bad guys were killed, but the good guys survived. That's a good thing.

(End of this chapter)