British hegemon

Chapter 69: Acquired Two Talented Individuals

After some persuasion at the hotel, the dry-faced old man agreed to go with Roger, and so he checked into the black dog's small guest room.

In fact, the old man with dry skin saw at first glance that Roger was not an alchemist at all. Roger's face was not the face an alchemist should have, and Roger's hands were not the hands an alchemist should have.

But the withered old man still chatted with Roger for a long time, because Roger really had some insights into his Black Magic Powder, and more importantly, he couldn't bear to give up those tempting good wine and meat.

As for why he agreed to go with Roger after being misled, it was because Roger revealed his true identity and promised to find him a quiet place to focus on alchemy.

More importantly, Roger, in the name of a saint, promised the old man that there would be wine every day and meat every other day.

The next morning, the old man, who had been completely drunk the night before, was still fast asleep in his room, clutching his tattered wooden box. Luo had already gotten up and gone downstairs to the hotel entrance to breathe in some "fresh air."

Stalls have already been set up on the streets of the town, and a new day of bustling activity is about to begin.

I stretched and saw the black dog walking back from the market, carrying several things in its arms.

"Sir, you're awake?" The black dog trotted over to greet him.

"What did you buy this time?"

Black Dog quickly opened a small bag containing candied biscuits and raisins wrapped in some kind of unidentified broad leaf.

Roger picked up a plump raisin and popped it into his mouth. It tasted pretty good. "Did you buy this for your woman and son?"

Blackie smiled, while Roger was speechless. Fortunately, there was no genetic testing technology in this era, so at least Blackie could become a father.

"Why does it smell like horse manure?" Roger smelled the odor emanating from the black dog.

"Sleeping in the stable last night was a bit smelly."

"Didn't I tell you to squeeze in with the old sorcerer for one night?" Last night, there were no vacant rooms at the hotel, so Roger had to make the two of them squeeze into a run-down little guest room for the night.

Black Dog's silly grin immediately turned somber as he complained bitterly, "That old geezer was really strange. In the middle of the night, he cursed at me in some gibberish, then got up and started rummaging around. His tattered box was full of dead fish and rotten toads, and he even had a hand soaking in it. It was disgusting."

"I'd rather sleep with livestock."

That's really disgusting.

"What's all that commotion over there?" A panicked commotion erupted from the town square.

The black dog glanced back and said, "Execution. A few poor bastards who can't afford to pay for their lives. They're going to be beheaded and have their hands chopped off."

Roger had never witnessed an execution before coming into this world. "Put the things down and go watch the excitement." He didn't think it was unlucky to be here so early in the morning.

In this era of extreme spiritual deprivation, witnessing executions is an absolutely irresistible pleasure. It can stimulate a numb mind with horrific sensory experiences, prove one's own bravery by seeing the heads of others, and provide the freshest material for afternoon idle chatter.

So early in the morning, the area under the execution platform in the corner of the square was already crowded with onlookers.

This time, Roger didn't push his way through the crowd to the front; instead, he found a beat-up oxcar and got on.

Four English magistrates, armed with spears and wearing cotton armor with the three lion emblems, stood before the execution platform. An English sheriff, with a long sword at his waist, was loudly announcing the prisoner's crimes on the platform. A hideous head with its eyes open and mouth agape had rolled off the wooden stake, while the body of the head was thrown aside like mud.

After the sheriff read out the criminal's crime—murder—the court sentenced him to beheading.

The executioner, wearing a black hood and carrying a large, massive beheading axe, walked to the side of the prisoner whose neck was bound to a wooden stake with iron hoops.

The murderer was so frightened that tears streamed down his face. He closed his eyes, opened his mouth, and cried loudly. His bound hands and feet struggled desperately, but his head could not break free of the iron hoops.

The executioner kicked the prisoner hard to quiet him down, then turned his hooded face and grinned menacingly at the audience.

He slowly raised the axe, then swung it down with a vengeance.

After the crisp crack of the neck bone breaking, the head fell to the ground instantly, and bright red blood continued to gush from the broken neck in rhythm with the last heartbeat.

The black dog instinctively turned its head the instant the head hit the ground, and Roger couldn't help but close his eyes for a moment.

This isn't a life-or-death battle; you really can't watch this scene without a surge of adrenaline.

The executioner didn't forget to kick the headless, limp corpse aside to make room for the next one.

The sheriff then pulled out a tall, thin, middle-aged man who looked like a stick. Judging from his emaciated appearance, he had obviously suffered a lot of torture in prison.

"Toran Pritchar, a Welsh sailor, is sentenced to have his hand chopped off for intentionally injuring an English employer," the sheriff announced loudly to the crowd.

This was the law under English rule. If an Englishman killed a Welsh or Irish civilian, he only needed to pay one pound or ten sheep in compensation. However, if an Irishman or a Welshman killed an Englishman, he would be executed.

The Welsh sailor on stage might have only scratched the skin of an English employer, yet he ended up having his hands chopped off.

After reading out the punishment, he called out loudly to the audience, "Is there anyone willing to pay a one-pound fine to save his filthy hands?"

The sheriff scanned the crowd watching the execution, hoping that someone in the crowd might need to do hard labor and be willing to pay some money to save his hand.

Most of the fine will, of course, end up in the hands of the sheriff.

That's just how the world is.

"Buy his hands, and you can do many things with them: mining, fishing, or farming. I can guarantee he won't be guilty and will be obedient and won't dare to run away." This is blatant slave trading.

The sheriff kicked the sailor with the dry branches, saying, "Take him back and feed him pig feed for two days; I guarantee he'll be more useful than livestock." The sheriff made a final attempt: "Fifteen shillings."

There was still no response from the crowd.

"Chop him up." The sheriff sighed; he wouldn't be earning any extra money today.

"Ten shillings!" a voice came from the back of the crowd.

Roger stood on the broken oxcart and raised his hand.

Those watching the execution all turned their heads away.

"I'll pay ten shillings to buy him," Roger added.

"Thirteen shillings," the sheriff said, raising the price.

"Ten shillings!" Roger said firmly.

"Twelve shillings, that's a serious offender." The sheriff wanted to extort even more.

"Ten shillings!" Roger still wouldn't budge.

"Deal!" the sheriff laughed heartily.

A chorus of boos immediately erupted from the crowd; they were all waiting to hear the prisoner's screams after his hand was chopped off.

"Come on, folks, God said that everyone can be saved," the sheriff shouted to the crowd.

"Sir, hurry up and pay the money to take him away. I still have to continue to uphold justice." The sheriff was worried that Roger might change his mind, so he urged him to pay the money and take the man away.

Roger took the money pouch from his waist and handed it to the black dog beside him, signaling him to pay the money and retrieve the person.

The black dog looked reluctant. "Sir, it's a loss. That dry stick isn't worth ten shillings."

"Take him back to the inn. I'll go rent a carriage; we should head back to Strys." Roger jumped off the rickety oxcart...

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