Wiping Out Bandits

"Heavenly Father above, I hope this cursed weather doesn't change its mind on a whim."

Moder, tracing the livestock tracks and wagon ruts, looked up at the darkening sky and made the sign of the cross.

Don't expect a rabble of bandits to have much in the way of anti-tracking awareness; they hadn't even bothered to cover their tracks.

After all, the knight responsible for this village had either been killed or had fled.

If he had fled, it would be impossible for him to borrow enough strength from his lord in a short period to make a comeback.

If he had been killed, it would be even simpler.

So they weren't worried at all.

As dusk approached.

On a distant hilltop, faint glimmers of fire could finally be seen.

Ryan, acting as scout, gazed for a long time before reporting, "Three bonfires, about thirty people. It must be that group of bandits."

Lothar commanded, "Everyone, prepare to don your armor."

When traveling, Lothar and Hans didn't wear their armor, most of their gear was stored on their packhorses.

This was because both his and Hans's chainmail had very dense rings and a complex weave, making them high-quality pieces that weighed twice as much as the chain shirts worn by soldiers like Ryan and Moder.

If they weren't so short on cash, he and Hans wouldn't even be riding warhorses but packhorses, to conserve their strength.

Warhorses were delicate animals, unlike packhorses that were easy to manage. They couldn't be ridden for long periods, required specialized feed, and sometimes ate better than humans.

Such an investment was worthwhile because on the battlefield, a knight's life was directly tied to the stamina of his mount.

"My lord, should we attach the floating armor plates?"

"No need. We don't need to be so cautious against a bunch of verminous thieves."

Lothar shook his head. It wasn't that he was underestimating them, but in a small-scale conflict, a knight was a level-crushing force against these unarmed, common-clothed bandits.

In this era where commoners generally couldn't get enough to eat.

Even if they turned to banditry, they still went hungry.

Their combat effectiveness was stronger than the conscripted serf soldiers the lords forcibly pulled from the farmland, but only marginally.

Infantry in the Middle Ages, with a few exceptions like mercenaries and longbowmen, was generally not worth mentioning.

The strongest combat units among the infantry were often dismounted knights who had lost their mounts.

The area ahead was hilly terrain, making mounted charges unstable.

So, as they got closer.

Lothar instructed Moder to stay behind and tend to the horses, while he, Banya, Hans, and Ryan, who carried a crossbow, moved to flank them from the woods on both sides.

The chainmail didn't hinder his movements. The full set of armor, including chainmail greaves and vambraces, weighed no more than twenty-five kilograms, which wasn't heavy for him.

The bandits were gathered around the bonfire, the flames illuminating their greasy, excited faces. Their unkempt beards were stained with dirt and showed faint signs of fleas.

The captives tied to the carriage looked on with despair and numbness.

Especially the womenfolk, who had been groped during the escort.

Once these bandits had their fill of food and drink, their fate was predictable.

The bandits were currently raising their cups in high spirits, drinking the inferior liquor they had plundered from the village, which trickled down their beards.

Poultry and livestock roasted over the campfire gave off an enticing aroma, and some people squatted by the stew bubbling in a pot, gazing at it longingly.

"This is truly a great haul this time. That foolish knight Andel actually took his squire to Lienz for a tournament. If I were a knight, I'd stay in my manor every day, eating meat and chasing women."

"Exactly. What kind of damn knight's honor is there compared to beauties and delicacies?"

Someone impatiently tore off a piece of meat, chewed it, and asked indistinctly, "Boss, will each of us get thirty... no, maybe fifty dinars this time?"

The bandit leader's expression turned cold, and he grunted, "That's assuming we sell these slaves at the market to the south first. Otherwise, you'll get fifteen silver coins at most."

The bandits exchanged glances.

Based on the looting they had carried out, they had a rough idea of the value of the spoils they had obtained.

According to their agreed-upon profit-sharing ratio, what they would personally receive shouldn't be as low as fifteen dinars.

If it were fifteen large silver coins of full purity, they might accept it.

But they knew that given the bandit leader's personality, he would likely only give them "black coins" or those pitifully small silver coins!

Some showed their displeasure:

"Boss, this doesn't align with the rules we swore under the Heavenly Father, does it?"

The bandit leader's face flushed with pride as he said, "You broke the rules first. Don't think I don't know you've been hoarding spoils. Don't worry, fifteen silver coins will be enough for you to have a good time for a long while. Besides, there are plenty of girls here for you to enjoy."

"Think about it, in the cities of Veneto, just to sleep with those prostitutes would cost at least three large copper coins!"

"The girls here are all virtuous women, and they're at your disposal. Before we sell them, you can live like lords. What more could you possibly want?"

The bandits subconsciously looked at the women tied to the carriage, their expressions softening slightly.

Being able to drink, eat, and have women – this treatment did seem quite good.

But just then.

A shout, like an earth-shattering roar, rang out.

"Villains, you have committed unforgivable sins. Only the Heavenly Father can forgive you, and I am here to send you to Him!"

"Then, He will decide whether you will languish in the lake of sulfur fire in hell for a hundred years, or a thousand."

Following the sound, they looked.

In the darkness, a towering iron-faced man stood, holding a two-handed sword, looking down at them like a divine messenger.

The horizontal slit, existing only on the upper part of his helmet, seemed like Hell's Doorway, and a sense of dread instantly swept over everyone's hearts.

A tall woman in a black cloak stood beside the iron-faced man. The demon bas-relief on her demon-faced shield seemed to come alive, revealing a cold, greedy smile.

"K-Knight Lord?"

Someone shouted in terror.

Most of these bandits were escaped slaves from under the lords, and their fear of knights was practically etched into their bones.

"Don't panic, there are only two of them. Cut them down. Whoever kills him gets all his armor, and I'll give him an extra hundred small silver coins!"

The bandit leader shouted, trying to stabilize his men.

But just then, another shout came from the woods behind them: "In the name of the Heavenly Father, Teutonic Knight, charge!"

Underneath the terrifying horned helmet, Hans, clad in a white surcoat, was like a white death. He leaped out of the woods, wielding his two-handed sword like a tiger descending the mountain, charging into the unsuspecting bandit horde.

Accompanying his charge was a sharp crossbow bolt, concealed by the night.

The bolt accurately struck the bandit leader's neck. He clutched his neck and fell, blood gushing out.

Ryan, hidden in the dense woods, had already locked onto several conspicuous targets standing by the bonfire.

Those wearing chainmail shirts, leather armor, or cotton armor were undoubtedly the leaders of this gang. Once these people were killed, the already disorganized bandit group would immediately collapse.

And the bandit leader, still unaware of the danger and standing in place giving orders, was of course the first to be dealt with by Ryan.

As one of the best among Count Werner's hundred soldiers, Ryan was not just a male servant who only knew how to feed horses and serve people.

Soon, the battle cries died down.

The bandits were almost wiped out, leaving only three cowards who had surrendered early, kneeling on the ground and begging for mercy repeatedly.

The young men and women tied behind the carriage looked at the tall knight before them with terrified faces, unsure of what fate awaited them.

Don't assume that knights of this era possessed much chivalry.

Those who openly led troops to raid villages, rob passing merchant caravans, set up checkpoints to extort tolls, and even executioners who took pleasure in killing were everywhere.

"You are free."

Lothar raised his sword and cut the ropes binding them. "I am a friend of Count Lienz; you don't need to worry about me selling you into slavery."

"Take back your possessions from those bandits and return to rebuild your homes."