"Boss, you can't fight that guy."
"What?"
Doneor looked puzzled at the remark from his subordinate, who had worked alongside him as an agent of Count Lantarik. Seeing Doneor about to test Azadin's skills, the subordinate immediately spoke up.
"If the rumors are true, then Margrave Salasma transformed into a naga the size of a house and died fighting something. And yet, here comes a herald from the Herald Clan to buy that naga woman. Do you get what that means?"
"That bastard is the one who killed Count Salasma?"
"Most likely. If that's the case, then he's incredibly strong. I heard that the Herald Clan is made up of mysterious mages, and with that power, they've been killing kings and nobles… We're not even aristocrats. We can't afford to go up against him."
As he spoke, the bandits dragged in by Azadin all nodded in agreement, their gazes silently warning against picking a fight.
"I've heard that the Herald Clan is impressive… This is surprising. Alright."
Doneor chose to negotiate rather than fight.
"A wise choice. Would ten silver coins be enough for her ransom?"
"That's not enough. Seems like he's killed a lot of my men. I need blood money too, or I'll lose face."
"What?!"
Midiam, who had been listening, seethed in anger, but Azadin stopped her and smiled.
"So, how much is your blood worth?"
"...!"
The bandits were momentarily flustered.
'What the hell is with this guy? How… How are we supposed to answer that?'
Doneor felt a chill run down his spine at Azadin's composed demeanor.
'If I say too little, I'll lose face with my men. If I say too much, he might refuse to negotiate and just attack instead. No, damn it. Am I seriously getting scared of some kid?'
Just then, they noticed smoke rising in the distance.
"Huh?!"
"What, what's that?"
"That's the direction of our base!"
The bandits began murmuring anxiously. Their hideout had caught fire.
'A stranger shows up, and suddenly our hideout is in flames? Is that a coincidence?'
In truth, it was a coincidence, but the bandits didn't see it that way.
Suddenly, an arrow shot out from the forest. Azadin started to catch it but, sensing the force behind it, decided to dodge instead.
Azadin usually only caught arrows and returned fire when they came from a shortbow or a light hunting bow. But the one hidden among the bandits was wielding a full-fledged Ashwood longbow.
This was a weapon that only truly trained archers could use. In a mercenary group like the Cell Sword Guild, someone wielding this bow would be considered a "Doppelsöldner," a seasoned archer earning twice the pay of a regular soldier.
'As expected, there are Count Lantarik's warriors among these bandits.'
Seeing a professional archer in their ranks, Azadin immediately deduced that they were Lantarik's men.
Not all of them, of course, but the ones leading and organizing the bandits were Count Lantarik's agents. The count had always eyed Salasma and had sent these bandits to destabilize the region's security. That was the only logical conclusion.
"Damn it! Attack! Attack him!"
Doneor realized that things had taken a bad turn when Azadin easily evaded the first strike, but now that the battle had begun, there was no turning back.
"I had hoped to avoid conflict… But it can't be helped."
Azadin sighed, drawing his sword.
"You bastard!"
The bandits rushed in, but Azadin activated Dusk Light and instantly closed in on Doneor's chest.
"Ugh?!"
Doneor tried to counter, but Azadin easily grabbed his wrist and twisted it.
— Crack!
His elbow was wrenched out of its socket.
"Kaagh!"
That wasn't the end. Azadin grabbed Doneor's helmet, twisted his body, and used him as a shield against the incoming arrows.
— Thud!
The arrow fired from the Ashwood longbow pierced straight through Doneor's armor and buried itself deep in his thigh. As Doneor groaned in agony, the archer who had shot him hesitated. Azadin took that moment to draw the dagger from Doneor's belt and threw it at the archer.
"Argh!"
The dagger severed the archer's fingers.
"Uuuaaagh! My hand! My hand!"
The archer, who had spent his whole life drawing a bow, despaired at his ruined hand. With fingers like these, he would never be able to shoot properly again.
'This man, he really doesn't hold back in situations like this.'
Midiam clicked her tongue, watching how Azadin deliberately inflicted permanent injuries. With the skilled archer neutralized, the rest of the bandits were completely terrified.
"Told you we shouldn't have messed with him…."
The bandits who had already tasted Azadin's strength glared at their reckless comrades in frustration. Meanwhile, Azadin effortlessly grabbed Doneor and secured their escape route.
"If you follow us, you die."
Azadin shoved Doneor back toward the bandits. While they scrambled to catch and support their leader, Azadin, Midiam, and Ishmael quickly disappeared.
Though the bandits had numbers on their side, they were too intimidated by Azadin's combat prowess and tactical control to even consider chasing after him.
***
"Kraaaagh! Those bastards!"
Doneor writhed on the ground.
"The Herald Clan! Those sons of bitches… Agh!"
He clutched the wound from the Ashwood longbow, groaning in pain. The arrow was lodged deep, and every movement made the shaft dig further into his flesh.
He had broken the shaft to shorten it, but extracting it entirely would take more than just human hands—it would require a set of tongs.
The real problem, however, was the attitude of the other bandits.
"...."
Doneor, the so-called Bandit King, had once been a non-commissioned officer under Count Lantarik. He was far superior to others in both skill and cruelty, known for his brutal swordsmanship and for feeding human flesh to his subordinates, inspiring terror.
In other words, he ruled over his men through fear.
But that fear was also his greatest weakness. Since he had dominated his men not through loyalty but sheer terror, and since he had hoarded all the spoils of their banditry, resentment had been festering for some time.
Maybe they hadn't resented him before, but now, with Doneor wounded and his most dangerous right-hand man—the Ashwood longbow archer—rendered useless, even those without prior grievances now had second thoughts.
Wouldn't this be the perfect time to take him down? The bandits' eyes began to dart back and forth.
"You bastards, why aren't you looking down?! I can see exactly what you're thinking! Who was it that gave you a hideout when you were nothing but starving roadside thugs?! Who set up trade routes with the slave merchants and made you worth something? Have you already forgotten?!"
Doneor tried to intimidate them, but the bandits now looked at him like hungry wolves eyeing wounded prey.
They no longer feared him. In fact, his threats only proved that he had lost his strength.
'Before, he used to threaten to kill us…'
'Now he's just saying we'll lose our trading connections without him?'
'So he really can't fight anymore, huh?'
They were like wild beasts circling a bleeding animal.
Logically speaking, Doneor was right. He had organized them into a real bandit group, set up fences to sell their stolen goods, and established trade routes for slaves, ensuring they made far greater profits from each raid. Without him, they'd eventually scatter and go back to being common highwaymen.
But just as Doneor had felt liberated after leaving Count Lantarik's army, these bandits, too, longed for freedom from his control.
— Shing.
One of them drew a sword. That was all it took for the others to do the same.
"You bastards…."
Doneor and the bandits who supported him, former soldiers of Lantarik's army, also drew their weapons. It was then.
"Hm…."
A man in golden armor had suddenly appeared behind them.
"Huh?"
"Oh, am I interrupting? Please, continue what you were doing. Don't mind me."
The man in golden armor spoke with a smile, absentmindedly stroking his helmet.
"I just happened to be in need of human flesh and blood. I was planning to use whatever you spilled while fighting amongst yourselves."
"What the hell are you?"
"A passing Holy Knight. By any chance, have you seen a young man traveling with a boy and a girl in these parts? He belongs to the Herald Clan."
"..."
"Oh? It seems that struck a chord with you. Everyone…."
"Damn it, as if things weren't already bad enough, now this?"
"A Holy Knight, you say?"
Doneor's bandits had faced the Holy Knights of the King's Church before.
Ordinary bandits, no matter how many in number, stood no chance against the ironclad monsters. But Doneor's crew was different. They had mastered group combat techniques and had even managed to kill Holy Knights before.
So instead of seeing the golden-armored knight as a threat, they saw him as prey to be plundered.
"Oh?"
The golden knight looked at the bandits openly displaying hostility toward him, seemingly surprised.
"I would suggest you stand down."
"Heh, stand down? Are you serious?"
"Why the hell should we listen to you?"
"Because…."
At that moment, a tremendous boom echoed through the air. A massive shadow dropped from the sky and crushed one of the bandits who had been wary of the knight.
A grotesque creature, its body vaguely human but with unnaturally long limbs and torso, trampled the bandit, then began tearing his flesh apart while he was still alive. The bandit struggled desperately, like a man being mauled by a bear, but it was futile.
"U-Aaaahhh!"
The beast lifted its head in savage delight, still gnawing on the bandit's writhing body. As it raised him up, gravity caused his blood to spray outward.
A predator feasting on a living human. The grotesque spectacle of raw, brutal violence burned itself into the eyes and minds of all who watched.
It was the kind of horror that made one instinctively want to turn away. But they couldn't. If they looked away, they might be next. They had no choice but to witness a man being devoured alive.
"This is why," the golden knight said, smiling.
***
"Sir Zekt, leaving us behind like that…."
A pair of male and female Holy Knights emerged from the thicket, hesitating at the scene before them. These were Holy Knight Zebeck, once Zekt's squire, and Meiya, formerly the executive knight of Salasma.
"Wh-what is happening…?"
Meiya recoiled in horror at the monstrous transformation unfolding before her. What had initially been nothing more than a reanimated corpse had, over time, begun to change, mutating into something beyond description—a grotesque, nightmarish abomination.
"Sir Zekt, are you sure this is alright? My father—no, Sir Gazrek—he's still growing…."
"This is all because of the curse left by an unjust death. The forces that murdered and buried your father in secrecy failed to provide him a proper funeral. That failure has caused the curse of black mana to continue warping him."
"..."
Meiya, as a Holy Knight, understood at least the basics of what was happening.
Not all undead underwent such transformations. For an undead creature to continuously mutate and sustain itself, it required human blood and flesh.
Judge Zekt had been ensuring that Gazrek could persist as a wraith knight—by letting him feed on the living. Whether it was done out of her sight or right in front of her, he had been providing victims for Gazrek to consume.
Can a Holy Knight really do something like this?
Meiya had that thought, but she was in no position to question Zekt directly.
Just then, one of the bandits, having overheard their conversation, lifted his head.
"W-wait a moment. Zekt? You're Judge Zekt?"
A wounded man, clad in fine armor, likely the leader of the bandits, interjected into the conversation between the Holy Knights.