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墨書 Inktalez
Dozens of bandits were currently surrounded by a dense mass of soldiers, forming an impenetrable encirclement. The Bandit Leader's face turned pale, his eyes wide with terror as he scanned the fierce soldiers around him, filled with despair and confusion: Who have I angered?
Since becoming a bandit, he had been cautious and discreet, never daring to provoke large forces. He had avoided intercepting merchant caravans and only bullied simple farmers or occasionally robbed solitary travelers. Being besieged like this should not have happened to him!
Moreover, it was clear that the soldiers before him were no ordinary troops; they were elite forces trained and well-equipped under the command of nobles, far superior to the Serf Soldiers who could only serve as cannon fodder.
Could it be that a Baron or Viscount personally led their men to hunt him down? The thought sent a shiver down the Bandit Leader's spine.
Standing outside the encirclement, John surveyed the disheveled bandits with a hint of surprise on his face. He never expected these bandits to be in such dire straits.
Looking around, he noticed only a few wore studded armor; most were clad in simple Leather Armor, and some were even dressed in tattered cloth. Their weapons were a hodgepodge of mismatched items, with one particularly unfortunate fellow wielding nothing more than a rusted kitchen knife as a weapon.
In stark contrast, John's own troops were impeccably organized, each soldier donned in uniform studded armor and gripping sharp spears tightly.
The experienced veterans who had yet to enter the encirclement held shields in their left hands and One-Handed Swords in their right, exuding an imposing presence.
Such lavish equipment was not something one would find in an ordinary knight's territory; it was likely unique even within the entire Barony.
John rode his warhorse to the front of his troops, looking down arrogantly at the Bandit Leader across from him. "So you are the leader of this rabble?"
The Bandit Leader swallowed hard and cautiously raised his head to meet John's steely gaze. Looking at John's imposing figure compared to his own One-Handed Sword, he felt utterly lost on how to respond. Carefully, he replied, "Greetings, dear Noble Lord. I am just a passing Mercenary; I don't know these people."
John burst into laughter at this statement. "What kind of Mercenary wanders into a den of thieves?" He clapped his hands and called out for Number One.
At John's command, Number One stepped forward from the back of the ranks to stand beside him.
"I truly am—" the Bandit Leader shouted hoarsely, desperation and reluctance evident in his voice. His eyes widened as veins bulged on his forehead; it seemed he wanted to make one last defense.
John interrupted him sharply. "Stop! I have no interest in who you are. Right now, I can offer you a chance to live. If you can defeat my subordinate here, you may leave alive; if you lose, then death is your only option."
As he spoke, John crossed his arms with an amused smile on his face, his gaze fixed intently on the Bandit Leader as if observing a trapped beast struggling for survival.
The Bandit Leader found himself in a dilemma; he was filled with extreme fear yet unwilling to give up hope.
After much hesitation, instead of rising up against John as he expected, he unexpectedly threw aside his weapon and knelt down on both knees, slowly crawling forward.
"Master, please believe me, I am truly just an ordinary Mercenary. This is all a misunderstanding," the Bandit Leader pleaded, struggling to move his body. His tone was filled with panic and fear, sounding as if it came straight from the heart.
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