Bandit Suppression

"Heavenly Father above, may this damned weather not change without warning."

Moder, who had followed the livestock tracks and wagon ruts all the way, looked at the darkening sky and made the sign of the cross before him.

There was no point expecting a rabble of bandits to possess any serious counter-tracking awareness. It had never occurred to them to cover their tracks.

After all, the knight who ruled this village had either died in battle or fled.

If he had fled, there was no way he could borrow enough forces from his liege in the short term to make a comeback.

If he had died, that was even simpler.

So in truth, they were not worried at all.

As night drew near,

faint flickers of fire finally became visible on a distant hilltop.

Ryan, serving as scout, watched for a long while before reporting, "Three campfires. About thirty people. It should be those bandits."

Lothar ordered, "Everyone, prepare to armor up."

While traveling normally, neither Lothar nor Hans wore armor. Most of their equipment was stored on the packhorses.

That was because both his and Hans's mail were high-quality pieces, with densely linked rings and intricate weaving, twice as heavy as the chainmail shirts worn by soldiers like Ryan and Moder.

If they had not been short of money, he and Hans should not even have ridden warhorses. They should have ridden packhorses to conserve the horses' strength.

Warhorses were delicate animals. Unlike easy-to-manage packhorses, they could not be ridden for long and had to be fed Fine Feed. Sometimes, they ate better than people did.

Such expense was worthwhile, because on the battlefield, a knight's life was closely tied to whether his mount still had strength left.

"My lord, shall we attach the floating plates?"

"No need. There is no need to be so cautious against a pack of petty thieves."

Lothar shook his head. It was not that he was underestimating them. In small-scale conflicts, knights were simply an overwhelming force against these unarmored bandits in cloth garments.

In an era when commoners generally could not even fill their stomachs,

even becoming outlaws did not mean they would stop going hungry.

They were stronger than the serf levies forcibly dragged from the fields by their lords, but only by a limited amount.

Infantry in the Middle Ages was not worth mentioning in the first place, apart from a few exceptions such as mercenaries and longbowmen.

The strongest infantry combatants were often dismounted knights who had lost their mounts.

The terrain ahead was hilly, making a mounted charge unwise.

So once they drew close,

Lothar told Moder to stay behind and tend to the horses. He and Prajna, along with Hans and the crossbow-wielding Ryan, closed in through the woods from two sides.

The mail did not hinder his agility. Even with the mail leggings and bracers included, the entire suit weighed no more than twenty-five kilograms, which was not heavy for him.

The bandits gathered around the campfires. The flames lit their greasy, excited faces, while their long-neglected beards were covered in grime and visibly crawling fleas.

The captives bound beside the wagons wore expressions of despair and numbness.

The women in particular had already endured plenty of groping during the journey.

Once these bandits had eaten and drunk their fill, it was easy to imagine what fate awaited them.

The bandits were merrily raising cups and drinking. Inferior liquor looted from the village ran down their beards.

Roasting poultry and livestock hung over the flames, giving off an enticing aroma. Some crouched beside earthen pots of boiling meat stew, waiting eagerly.

"This time, we really struck it rich. That stupid knight Andel actually took his retainers to Lienz for a tournament. If I were a knight, I'd hole up in my manor every day, stuffing myself with meat and pounding women."

"Exactly. What the hell is knightly honor compared to beautiful women and fine food?"

Someone impatiently tore off a chunk of meat. Chewing, he asked indistinctly, "Boss, each of us should get thirty... no, maybe fifty Dinars this time, right?"

The bandit leader's face darkened. He snorted. "That is only if we sell these slaves in the southern markets first. Otherwise, you will get fifteen silver coins at most."

The bandits looked at one another.

They had personally carried out the raid and had a rough idea of how much loot they had obtained.

Based on their agreed division, there was no way each person should receive only fifteen Dinars.

Fifteen full-weight large silver coins would have been one thing.

But they knew the bandit leader's character. He would probably only give them "black coins" or those pitifully tiny silver coins!

Someone looked dissatisfied.

"Boss, doesn't this violate the rules we swore by the Heavenly Father to uphold?"

The bandit leader's face was flushed as he said smugly, "You broke the rules first. Do not think I do not know that you hid some of the loot. Relax, fifteen silver coins are enough for you to live well for a long time. Besides, aren't there plenty of girls here for you to enjoy?"

"Think about it. In the cities of Veneto, how could you sleep with those whores without spending at least three coppers?"

"These girls are all respectable women, and they will let you do whatever you want. Before we sell them off, you can all live like lords. What more could you possibly want?"

The bandits instinctively looked toward the women tied beside the wagons, their expressions easing somewhat.

Wine, meat, and women—this treatment really did not seem too bad.

But at that moment,

a shout erupted like a thunderclap.

"Evildoers, you have committed sins beyond forgiveness. Only the Heavenly Father can forgive you, and I am responsible for sending you to meet Him!"

"Then He shall decide whether you sink in Hell's sulfurous lake of fire for a hundred years, or a thousand."

They turned toward the voice.

In the darkness, a towering iron-masked figure stood holding a two-handed sword, looking down upon them like a divine envoy.

The narrow visor slit at the top of his helmet seemed like Hell's Doorway, and terror instantly swept through every heart.

A tall woman in a black cloak stood beside the iron-masked figure. The evil spirit carved upon her Ghost Face Shield seemed to come alive, wearing a cold, greedy smile.

"A... a knight?"

Someone cried out in terror.

Most of these bandits were runaway serfs from under various lords. Their fear of knights was practically carved into their bones.

"Do not panic! There are only two of them! Kill them! Whoever kills him gets all the armor on his body, and I'll give him an extra hundred small silver coins!"

The bandit leader shouted, trying to steady his men.

But at that moment, another shout rang out from the woods behind them. "In the name of the Heavenly Father, Teutonic Knights, charge!"

Beneath a terrifying horned helmet, Hans, clad in a white surcoat, burst from the woods like a white reaper. Wielding a two-handed greatsword, he charged into the unprepared bandit mob like a tiger descending the mountain.

A sharp crossbow bolt, hidden by the night, flew out alongside him.

The bolt struck the bandit leader precisely in the neck. He clutched his throat and collapsed, blood gushing forth.

Ryan hid in the dense woods, having long since picked out several conspicuous targets standing beside the campfires.

Those wearing chainmail shirts, leather armor, or padded armor had to be the leaders of this bandit group. Once they were killed, the bandits—already a disorganized rabble—would immediately collapse.

And the bandit leader had not even thought to take cover. He stood in place issuing orders, so naturally Ryan dealt with him first.

As one of the finest among the hundred soldiers under Count Werner, Ryan was not merely a male servant who fed horses and waited on people.

Very soon, the cries of battle ceased.

The bandits were almost entirely slaughtered. Only three cowards who had surrendered early remained, kneeling on the ground and begging for mercy again and again.

The young men and women bound behind the wagons stared fearfully at the tall knight before them, unsure what fate awaited them.

Do not assume knights of this era possessed much knightly virtue.

There were countless knights who openly led raids on villages, robbed passing merchant caravans, set up checkpoints to extort tolls, or even became executioners who took pleasure in killing.

"You are free."

Lothar raised his sword and cut through the ropes binding them. "I am a friend of the Count of Lienz. You need not worry that I will sell you into slavery."

"Take back what belongs to you from those bandits, then return and rebuild your homes."