"Kill them. Leave one alive." Felix whispered in Orum's ear.
Orum's heart tightened, his pupils contracting slightly.
That direct?
However, Orum wasn't a soft-hearted person to begin with. Killing a few bandits wouldn't weigh heavily on his conscience.
When he looked up again, these bandits were no different from weeds in Orum's eyes.
Orum glanced back at the carriage interior. Ronald was snoring away, while Raygore looked up briefly, then calmly lowered his head again, as if he'd just spotted a few pebbles by the roadside.
"Sure enough, none of them are even slightly nervous."
Felix gently pulled on the reins. Sensing the tension, the two fine horses obediently lowered their heads, gradually slowing to a stop.
When the carriage came to a complete halt, less than twenty meters separated them from the four bandits ahead.
Orum jumped down from the driver's seat. In the flickering firelight, he slowly walked toward the bandits.
His right hand reached back, five fingers gradually grasping the cold sword hilt.
The four bandits sensed something was wrong. Why wasn't the merchant in front of them fleeing, but instead walking straight toward them!
Moreover, in the weak firelight, they suddenly noticed that Orum had a longsword strapped diagonally across his back!
This was clearly no ordinary merchant!
"Screw you!" A bald bandit with a vicious face and triangular eyes roared, raising the light crossbow in his hands and shooting at Orum!
"Whoosh!"
A bolt gleaming with cold light shot toward Orum's cheek, only to be precisely intercepted mid-air by a flash of silver sword light!
The snow-patterned steel sword had barely left its sheath before sweeping out a dizzying array of sword shadows, flowing like moonlight as it arced toward the nearest bandit's throat!
The dark-skinned bandit with dreadlocks felt his pupils dilate suddenly.
No time to parry. He only felt a chill at his neck, and suddenly, his field of vision began to tumble.
Under the utterly horrified gazes of all the bandits, that head spun upward like a ball. The headless corpse collapsed to its knees, blood spraying from the neck cavity like a fountain!
"It's an adventurer! Run!"
This brutal scene instantly shattered the bandits' fighting spirit. Their previous ferocious expressions vanished in an instant.
Like frightened animals, they turned and fled crying for their mothers, wishing they had two more legs.
How ridiculous. Just moments ago, they'd been overjoyed, thinking about how to creatively slaughter the fat sheep before them.
The next moment, Orum's single sword stroke made them piss themselves in fear.
These bandits had only ordinary human physiques. Escaping from Orum's hands was simply impossible.
The bald bandit with triangular eyes fled frantically. He watched helplessly as his companion Lyon took a sword through the back, his entire chest pierced through!
"Splurt!"
Lyon collapsed to the ground, and that crazed swordsman actually stepped down with one foot and crushed Lyon's head!
The bald bandit's scalp went numb!
What terrifying brute strength?! Just like a human-shaped T-Rex!
"Must run faster!"
"If I don't run now, I'm dead!"
Lethal killing intent had already closed in behind him. The bald bandit's lips trembled.
His pupils, with more white than black, suddenly fixed on his cousin Thomas beside him!
He shoved hard. Thomas stumbled, his body immediately falling behind.
Taking this opportunity, the bald bandit clenched his teeth and bolted forward! He only hoped Thomas could buy him a few more seconds of escape time!
As long as he could get into the dense forest, he'd have a chance to survive!
"No!"
Behind the bald bandit came Thomas's desperate scream. Thomas's throat seemed to fill with blood, and his scream cut off abruptly halfway through.
The bald bandit knew Thomas was dead!
"I must survive! I'll live for both Thomas and myself!"
Plunging into the dense forest, the bald bandit's eyes immediately filled with hot tears.
However, the next second, his right leg felt cold, followed by piercing pain!
Looking at the bald bandit before him, clutching his wounded leg and crying for his mother, Orum was speechless.
"A bunch of bandits acting all dramatic!"
...
Orum grabbed the bald bandit by the back of his collar and dragged him out of the dense forest like a dead dog.
Looking at Orum covered in blood, Felix was silent for a moment before commenting:
"Your movements were efficient, just too messy. You need to watch that in the future."
"Sorry, I'll improve."
Orum breathed deeply, calming the two wildly pounding hearts in his chest.
The moment he drew his sword, Orum's heart rate had spiked to nearly two hundred.
His entire being entered a state of excitement, putting full force into every strike.
Orum knew this was due to his lack of combat experience. Even though his enemies were weak, he couldn't maintain a calm heart.
With a casual toss, the bald bandit fell like a rag sack at Felix's feet.
Orum stepped on the bald bandit's back, grinding down with his boot. Immediately, the sound of ribs cracking in agony rang out beneath his foot.
The cold edge of the snow-patterned steel sword pressed against the bald bandit's carotid artery. Orum spoke coldly:
"Our captain has questions. Answer honestly, or I'll chop your hands and feet into mincemeat."
"I'll answer, I'll answer!" The bald bandit was scared out of his wits. His face, covered in scrapes, was smeared with snot and tears. He nodded like a pecking chicken.
Felix walked up to the bald bandit and asked coolly, "What's your name? How many years have you been a bandit?"
"Erik, my name is Erik. I only became a bandit the year before last. I really was a law-abiding citizen before.
It was because of the famine..." Erik spoke frantically, trying to make himself seem more innocent with these explanations.
"Shut up." Felix's gaze suddenly turned cold, like a knife quenched in ice water, instantly making Erik swallow the rest of his words.
"Have you seen the 'Broken Blade Brotherhood'? Or heard of their whereabouts?"
"Broken Blade Brotherhood?" Orum's mind stirred. He'd heard the name of this bandit gang.
This was an extremely audacious gang that had burned a village to the ground half a year ago.
Although they were subsequently hunted, and the Broken Blade Brotherhood's lair was destroyed, all the core members had fled underground. They took the gang's treasure and disappeared without a trace.
Though there were occasional rumors about where the Broken Blade Brotherhood was hiding, no one could produce solid evidence of where these vicious criminals had actually gone.
"I... I've seen them! Definitely seen them! I saw them in the Black Pine Forest a month ago and even greeted them!"
In his desperate situation, Erik thought quickly and hurriedly claimed he knew the Broken Blade Brotherhood's whereabouts.
Felix's gaze showed no ripple. He continued asking, "You've seen the Broken Blade Brotherhood? Do they all wear black masks over their faces?"
"Yes, every single one of them had a black mask! I saw them from a distance, and I even saw where they went!"
Erik's heart surged with delight. He eagerly added, "Sir, don't kill me! I can lead you there!"
However, Felix shook his head, and his next words sent Erik plummeting into an icy abyss:
"You lied. The Broken Blade Brotherhood doesn't wear black masks at all."
"I..." Erik's face instantly turned deathly pale. His lips moved, but even though he was usually quite the smooth talker, at this moment he couldn't speak a single word.
"Wait..."
At this moment, Felix seemed to have discovered something. His brows furrowed, his gaze locking tightly onto Erik's head.
In Felix's vision, a faint, almost imperceptible wisp of weak flame flickered above Erik's head.
There was no such flame above Orum's head.
"You're a noble?" Felix stared at Erik and said.
"Eh... That's right, I'm a noble! My ancestors were once a kingdom viscount. My surname is Glann!"
Erik reacted, quickly speaking up as if grasping at a last lifeline, tears and snot streaming as he begged:
"Sir, with your noble bearing, you must also be nobility, right? Please have mercy and pity a fallen noble. By the Saints above..."
However, a scene completely opposite to Erik's imagination occurred.
The noble young man before him not only showed no compassion, but displayed an expression as if he'd seen a ghost, quickly retreating to ten meters away.
This scene reminded Orum of a previous life when a colleague first saw a giant cockroach on a desk.
That expression and movement were virtually identical to Felix's at this moment.
"Kill him." Felix's voice even carried a tremor.
"Wait, I..." Erik still wanted to explain, but the bright sword light swept across his neck. Blood sprayed, and a bald head full of bewilderment rolled to the ground.
...
Afterward, Orum and Felix collected the four bandit corpses together.
They had nothing rare on them. Besides a few silver coins, there were only some worthless rings and earrings, probably loot robbed from passersby.
Felix woke the sleeping Ronald and had him perform last rites for these corpses to prevent the spawning of zombies, specters, or other undead monsters in the vicinity.
Although the probability of this was low, Felix's style had always been meticulous, leaving no loose ends.
A more reliable method of handling corpses in the wild would be complete incineration with a bonfire, but the current Ice Hawk team obviously didn't have spare time to collect that much firewood.
"In the name of my lord Lathander, dispel the resentment of this body. Let the departed not linger. Light the way!"
As Ronald chanted the sacred prayer, Orum carefully wiped his snow-patterned steel sword with a soft sheepskin cloth nearby.
For metal weapons, blood was equivalent to poison, causing extreme damage. It would severely corrode the blade, making the weapon's material brittle.
If blood wasn't cleaned promptly, it would become harder to remove after drying, so it needed to be wiped immediately.
The sheepskin cloth in Orum's hand was specifically for cleaning swords.
On some intense battlefields, swordsmen often wiped blood on their clothes or sleeves to prevent the longsword from sticking inside the sheath due to blood, making it difficult to draw.
After Ronald finished the rites, the carriage continued forward.
This time Raygore drove. His massive frame sitting in the driver's seat nearly touched the carriage roof, and the two fine horses seemed especially docile under his control.
The journey was uneventful until close to midnight, when Raygore chose to stop beside a clear stream to make camp.
The advantages and disadvantages of camping by a stream were both obvious.
The advantages were self-evident. The stream provided abundant water resources, not only for washing bodies and cooking food, but also for replenishing drinking water for people and horses.
After all, medieval carriages weren't cars. Horses needed rest, food, and plenty of water.
To avoid diarrhea caused by horses drinking large amounts of water at once, watering had to be done in three sessions, with each session providing about 10 to 15 liters.
Stream water in the wild needed to be initially filtered through linen cloth, removing sand and rotting leaves from the stream before it could be given to the horses.
As for the drawbacks of camping by a stream, they came from other creatures also coming here to drink, perhaps wild animals.
With worse luck, you'd encounter bandits... and with even worse luck, you'd encounter terrifying monsters.
Raygore set up a ring of fine bells around the camp perimeter. They hung among low shrubs, and any living thing passing through would trigger an alarm.
Late at night, everyone lit a bonfire in the center of camp. The orange-red glow dispelled the damp, cold mist of the mountain forest.
Since it was already too late, the camp didn't cook food. After eating some dry rations by the firelight, washing clothes, and completing preparations, they began laying out sleeping bags, preparing to rest.
In the bonfire's glow, Felix smiled at Orum:
"Orum, after rushing around with us all day, don't you find it pretty boring?
Even elite adventure teams spend most of their ordinary time riding around in carriages, inevitably spending huge amounts of time traveling and making camp."
Orum shook his head.
"I think it's fine, Captain. I view adventuring as a job, and work is always hard and tedious, with only occasional surprises."
Felix sighed. "Even so, drifting in the wilderness year after year creates enormous loneliness in one's heart. It's unavoidable in the adventurer profession."
Nearby, Ronald viciously chewed his jerky, complaining indistinctly, "Chewing on these barely edible things, how could you not be lonely?"
"Orum, we have a ranger in 'Ice Hawk' who's a natural-born hunter! Every time we go on a mission with her, we always catch more game than we can eat.
Wild chickens, wild ducks, wild rabbits, wild sheep... we could eat for three days straight without repeating a single dish!"
"Ronald, they're discussing philosophy, not food." Raygore reminded him in a low voice.
"Food IS philosophy!" Ronald slapped his thigh, his eyes bright, loudly declaring his manifesto.
This statement stunned Raygore. The half-orc's rough fingers rubbed his chin, murmuring, "That... actually makes some sense..."
...
They took turns keeping watch until the first ray of morning sunlight kissed the earth and the world returned to light.
In the morning, Raygore was still in charge of driving. Orum sat beside the half-orc, learning his driving techniques.
Looking at Raygore's massive frame, imposing as a magical beast, Orum couldn't help but marvel inwardly.
Raygore came from the Kala'kak clan of Ice Wind Valley, a tribe famous for producing powerful warriors.
Half-orcs of the Kala'kak clan, from birth, had to endure endless combat.
Half-orcs who won in life-and-death struggles would grow larger and stronger in physique, while conversely, half-orcs who hadn't experienced life-and-death combat for a long time, or who were defeated, would gradually shrink, even becoming shorter than dwarves.
Therefore, to judge a Kala'kak clan half-orc's strength, you only needed to look at their size to draw a conclusion.
Thus, a Kala'kak half-orc's physique was also a symbol of their power and status.
The more massive the build, the more formidable the strength, and the higher their position in the tribe.
Those with large builds could freely humiliate those with smaller builds, but smaller ones could also issue life-and-death challenges.
By slaying a half-orc larger than themselves, they could take their place.
It was in this bloody, violent environment that Raygore grew step by step, gaining his current beast-like physique.
Felix had once mentioned to Orum that Raygore's build had already reached the tribe's "warlord" level.
One step further, and he could compete for war band leader, a rank second only to chieftain.
Growing to warlord-level size meant Raygore had won at least a hundred life-and-death combats, experiencing countless battles.
Without a doubt, Raygore was the person with the most combat experience in the Ice Hawk Guild.
Orum immediately understood why Raygore always displayed such a steady personality.
It was simply because he'd been through too many battles. Ordinary life's trivial matters could no longer stir emotions in his heart.
After Raygore drove for several hours, the sky gradually became overcast.
A boundless sea of iron-gray clouds locked the midday sun tight, not leaking a single ray of light.
Suddenly, Raygore yanked hard on the reins. The two fine horses whinnied uneasily, lowering their heads as their pace abruptly slowed.
Orum sensed a cold aura emanating from beneath Raygore's black iron mask.
"What's wrong?" Orum felt alarm bells ringing in his heart.
"Smell of blood." Raygore said coldly.
"Up ahead... isn't that Locke Village?" Orum froze.
Suddenly, the horses ahead gave frightened whinnies. Orum looked up to see a glaring patch of blood red appearing on the road ahead!
In a pool of blood in the middle of the road lay three corpses: one male, two female.
One of the females had a young face, perhaps no more than sixteen years old, in the bloom of youth.
At this very moment, frantically gnawing on the corpses were twenty small, green-skinned creatures!
Those figures felt bone-chillingly familiar to Orum. Ugly and hideous, in their clouded eyes churned the most primitive madness and desire!
Goblins!
The foul stench of the monsters hit him like a gale. Orum felt the blood throughout his body instantly boil!
Looking at the three corpses before him, an enormous fire ignited in Orum's heart.
This rage had no reason, no name, only the deepest conscience and instinct of humanity roaring in his heart: Immediately cut these goblins down, slice them open, chop them to pieces!
"The Sword Saint was right! Goblins must die!!!"