The bandit leader, standing a few steps away, briefly let a flash of disgust cross his features at the sight of Varos's twisted excitement. But the expression vanished quickly, replaced by the cold neutrality of someone who had long stopped being surprised by human ugliness.
He simply continued observing, waiting for the guards' morale to reach rock bottom before offering one final chance to surrender.
Then, a subtle movement broke the rhythm.
At that moment, a figure stirred at the edge of the guards' formation. Until now, he had been silent and unremarkable, blending into the background like any other soldier. He stepped forward, slow and measured, eyes locked on the bandits as if ready to make a move.
But before he could break from the formation or draw too much attention, he suddenly stopped mid-step. His gaze shifted, not to the enemy, but toward the second leading carriage.
Creeeak.
The sound of the wooden carriage door opening rang across the tense clearing, immediately drawing every eye toward it.
A young woman stepped down, delicate fingers clutching a small knife. She had auburn hair and striking blue eyes, her clothes noble yet practical. In another context, her beauty might have been disarming. But not here.
Her skin was pale, almost ghostly, and her legs trembled as she walked. She tried to appear composed, but fear bled through every movement. Her blue eyes, though striving for calm, couldn't hide the storm behind them.
An older guard turned ashen and shouted in alarm, "Young Lady Valerie! Please, stay inside the carriage—it's not safe out here!"
Valerie Vale shook her head, her voice quivering but her tone resolute. "Hiding is pointless. I have to face this… head-on," she declared.
She looked fragile, barely holding herself together—but that only made her resolve stand out more.
'If the young lady can show such courage… even without any strength…' one guard thought, his grip tightening on his weapon, 'then what am I doing as a cultivator at the Body Forging Realm even considering surrender?'
Similar thoughts echoed in the minds of the others. In that moment, the mood shifted. The morale that had been nearly crushed began to rise. Guards who were moments away from dropping their weapons steadied themselves, eyes hardening as they returned to a resolute defensive stance.
"Tsk," The bandit leader clicked his tongue in annoyance as he watched the shift in morale unfold.
He was already reevaluating his approach when a nearby bandit whistled and called out, "Boss, any chance we get a taste of the noble flower before we hand her off?"
'This idiot.' The bandit leader's jaw clenched as he caught the caravan's reaction from the corner of his eye. Valerie Vale had gone paller than before if it was possible and the guards—already regaining their resolve—now looked ready to fight to the death.
Each of them owed their strength and current cultivation to the Noble House of Vale. Their armor, their weapons, their very progress in the path of cultivation—it was all made possible through that support.
Surrendering had felt almost justifiable. 'It would save lives.' 'It wasn't worth dying for.' 'Even the Young Lady would be saved.' They convinced themself with thoughts like these.
But leaving their young lady to be defiled by bandits? That wasn't something they could accept. If they allowed that to happen, they'd never be able to look at themselves in the mirror again. Even dying wouldn't be enough to offset this sin!
The bandit leader understood this perfectly. His eyes narrowed as his cold gaze, laced with irritation, settled on the man who had spoken. A suffocating pressure spread through the air.
"Touch her, and I'll gut you alive," he said calmly, though the sheer weight of his tone made the threat feel even more real. "She's worth more than your sorry ass could ever hope to make in your life."
The bandit immediately folded. "Sorry, boss. I misspoke," he said, bowing deeply.
'You think that's enough, bastard?' the leader cursed inwardly, before turning his head back toward the caravan. As he did, he muttered one last warning.
"I'll take care of you later…"
His gaze shifted back to the young noblewoman.
"Lady Valerie Vale," he said, his tone measured, "my subordinate spoke out of line. Let me make this perfectly clear—we won't lay a single finger on you. We're here for the goods and the ransom you'll provide. That's it. I give you my words—nothing will happen to you."
But neither Valerie nor the guards relaxed. Their weapons remained raised, expressions tense and unyielding.
A heavy silence fell over the scene. The standoff lingered for several seconds—tight, brittle, and ready to snap.
Finally, the bandit leader let out a tired sigh before shouting, "It's your choice. Men, charge! Make sure Valerie Vale is unarmed!"
Battle cries erupted as the bandits surged forward, their weapons raised, ready to overwhelm the battered but resolute guards—until a voice pierced the chaos.
"DON'T APPROACH OR I WILL KILL MYSELF!"
Valerie's scream rang out, freezing the entire field.
IT wasn't just her words. It was what she did.
The knife in her trembling hand—originally assumed to be for a desperate self-defense—was now pressed against her own throat. The tip had already drawn a thin line of blood, a single crimson drop sliding down her neck and hitting the dirt.
"This?"
The bandits halted, momentarily stunned. The woman they were ordered to capture for a high ransom was threatening to end her own life. Not exactly part of the plan.
As she saw their hesitation, a flicker of hope lit up in Valerie's eyes. Her trembling lessened slightly, the haze of fear and despair clearing just enough to allow her voice to rise again, stronger than before.
"STAY WHERE YOU ARE! DON'T COME ANY CLOSER OR I SWEAR I'LL SLIT MY THROAT! IF I DIE, YOU WON'T GET A SINGLE COIN OF THE RANSOM!"
"Ahh, just my luck," muttered the bandit leader as he took a slow step forward.
His men instinctively parted, clearing a path for him. Towering close to two meters, the man loomed like a walking wall. The pressure from his cultivation realm and the stench of old blood clinging to his aura made him feel even larger than he looked.
Even the hardened guards struggled not to falter beneath that pressure—needless to say, for a pampered noblewoman like Valerie, it was far worse.
Still, despite the trembling in her limbs, she didn't back down. Her grip on the blade tightened. She threw him a defiant glare.
"Don't come closer!" she hissed, slowly retreating behind the guards, ready to act the moment he tried anything.
The bandit leader halted, stopping level with his men. He raised both hands slowly in a placating gesture.
"Miss Valerie, your actions are bold… but ultimately meaningless. You can't hold that knife to your throat forever, can you?"
He spoke calmly, like a man who'd seen countless similar scenes before.
"In truth, surrender would be the wisest option. I'll say it again—I'm offering a peaceful resolution. No one else has to die today. You wouldn't want the blood of your guards or the support staff on your hands, would you?"
Valerie flinched.
Each of his words struck precisely where her hidden doubts lay. She knew the truth—this wasn't a real solution. Her gamble had only bought time, and time alone wasn't enough to change their fate.
It was only a desperate plan she mustered to protect herself and, maybe, buy a slim chance at survival.
Her gaze swept over the guards stationed around her and the others who had joined the caravan: coachmen, servants, and a handful of unrelated personnel. People who had nothing to do with this confrontation.
'Can I really let them all die for me? If surrender could save them… Should I just give in?' she thought grimly, her eyes scanning the sea of bandits as the fragile flame of hope that once flickered in her expression slowly dimmed.
Then, slicing clean through the tension, a voice rang out—casual, almost disinterested.
"That was a nice little drama… but I've got work to do. Now that the fish took the bait, it's time to reel in the net."
The speaker was a young man—strikingly handsome, with messy black hair and sharp emerald eyes. He wore the same guard uniform as the others, but unlike them, he had positioned himself more toward the rear, blending into the background until now.
In his right hand, he held a black longsword. Its bloodred edge pulsed with a quiet, ominous energy, a faint aura of carnage that sent shivers down the spine of anyone who dared to meet its presence too long.
Step.
He moved forward with a calm, measured pace. Each step felt deliberate—unhurried, but purposeful.
Step.
Step.
By the third, he had already passed the defensive line and walked directly toward the nearest bandits-completely unafraid.
Gasps spread among the guards. One of them reflexively reached out, hand half-raised in alarm. "What the hell is he doing…?"
Valerie's breath caught. Her fingers gripped her dagger tighter, though they trembled against the hilt. Her eyes followed the young man's every movement, noting how the very air around him seemed to ripple with his stride.
'Who is he…?'
Confusion crept in—until memory surfaced. Two of her household's most loyal guards had been unable to join the caravan this time, forcing her to replace them with temporary hires.
'He was one of them… if I recall correctly, his name was Mikael?'
The older guard's face went pale. "Get back in formation!" he shouted, his voice cracking from a mix of panic and disbelief. "That's suicide!"
Mikael didn't even glance back. He kept walking like none of it mattered—like this wasn't a standoff on the edge of bloodshed, but something as mundane as a stroll through a quiet hall.
"Reeling the net? What the fuck is this bastard talking about?" snarled one of the bandits, already irritated by the guard's nonchalant attitude—and especially by how handsome he looked in comparison to his below average visage, which only added fuel to the fire of the bandits' hostility.
The bandit leader narrowed his eyes. That kind of confidence didn't sit right with him.
'Is this a trap?' the bandit leader thought, unease coiling in his gut as his instincts kicked in. His eyes scanned the dense tree line and the rocky slope beyond, searching for any hint of hidden reinforcements.
But even after careful observation, he found nothing. No figures waiting in the shadows, no signs of an ambush. Nothing but the wind rustling leaves and the lone figure striding toward them.
'That doesn't make sense. From his aura alone, he's only at the mid-stage of the Body Forging Realm…'
His brow furrowed. That level of strength was hardly worth noting among seasoned fighters.
'At most, he might have reached the 10th Layer. But that's nothing compared to the combined power we have here. So then… what the hell is this? A bluff?'
His eyes narrowed, returning to the approaching guard. Unlike the others who watched with disdain or aggression, the leader's gaze held caution. There was something off about him—too calm, too collected.
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