Bandits and the Caravan

Lothar had no idea that his two attendants had already imagined Prajna to be a Witch—or rather, even if he had known, he would not have cared.

This world had no witch hunts. Witches could even openly serve as advisors to an emperor.

Besides, their assumption was not entirely wrong.

In truth, he felt that an average Witch would have been no match for Prajna at all.

Of the system's five attributes,

strength was the easiest to understand, encompassing attack power, speed, carrying capacity, and more.

Agility represented speed and reaction time.

Stamina represented combat endurance, recovery ability, and one's health bar.

Endurance likewise represented staying power, but was more focused on defense.

Mental power was equally easy to understand: mana.

Even without counting her skills, Prajna's attributes alone placed her among supernatural beings on the same level as wizards.

She was simply the Gandalf sort of wizard, one who focused on physical training.

Combined with the shield in her hand, which according to its lore had been forged from fragments of the Gate of Hell, she was equipped with a genuine divine artifact. Almost no physical attack or sorcery could penetrate it.

Across the boundless plateau, a caravan bearing red-and-white striped banners slowly advanced.

Knights and squires dressed in all manner of clothing and bearing different heraldry rode leisurely at the front of the procession.

Behind them came plainly dressed servants and retainers, along with more than ten soldiers wearing chainmail.

At the head of the convoy, a knight wearing a blue surcoat and a peacock-feather ornament on his helm barked arrogantly, "Stay alert. This is the most dangerous stretch of the trade road to Tyrol. Those escaped serfs and bandits, so poor they can only gnaw on cabbage and turnips, could come charging down the slopes with pitchforks and axes at any moment to fight us to the death."

"If you frighten the noble Countess, every last one of you will hang from the gallows."

The soldiers answered weakly, "Yes, sir."

The Peacock Knight looked rather grim.

Switzerland was a remote and impoverished land, filled with mountains.

The west at least belonged to Swabia, the core territory ruled by the Hohenstaufen family of the Imperial Emperor, and was comparatively stable.

But the farther east one went, closer to the border governed by the Bishopric of Trent, the poorer and more chaotic it became.

The people lived in hardship, while the lords exploited them ruthlessly. As a result, many serfs fled into the mountains and became bandits. Since this area lay at the border between two territories, neither side's lords could be bothered to invest considerable manpower and resources into suppressing them.

As if confirming the Peacock Knight's foreboding, more than a dozen black dots suddenly appeared atop a hill at the edge of the horizon. The dots grew more numerous and larger until their true forms could finally be seen.

They were more than thirty cavalrymen clad in mail and leather armor.

They were clearly not the mountain folk or bandits the Peacock Knight had been guarding against, but a cavalry unit!

They stood in a line atop the slope, coldly watching the caravan in the distance.

The caravan immediately came to a halt.

The soldiers and servants were seized by panic.

Everyone knew that open ground belonged to cavalry. If they were defeated, they would not even be able to flee.

From inside the carriage came the Countess's seductive voice. "Fred, what is happening?"

"Countess, enemies have arrived."

The Peacock Knight leaned close to the carriage and murmured a warning before shouting, "Everyone, prepare to meet the enemy! Protect the Countess's carriage! Do not allow anyone near it!"

He then led two cavalrymen forward with him and called out to the approaching riders.

"Stop! This is the caravan of the Calf family from Augsburg. The one you have offended is a Countess of noble blood. Withdraw at once. Otherwise, my soldiers and I will slit your throats and leave the packs of wild dogs in these hills to crunch your bones."

The cavalrymen drew ever closer.

There were roughly thirty of them. Some wore tattered padded jackets, while others wore Chainmail. Their equipment looked ordinary, but the fierce air they gave off still made the Peacock Knight feel troubled.

The lead rider wore a mocking smile and raised a hunting bow.

With a thunk, an arrow embedded itself in the Kite Shield held by the Peacock Knight.

His attitude was perfectly clear. They had never intended to negotiate.

The knight flew into a rage and shouted, "Knights, advance with me! Everyone else, use the wagons for defense! No one is to leave the wagon circle without permission!"

On the slope opposite them, Moder frowned and asked, "My lord, should we intervene?"

"We have no choice but to intervene."

Lothar pointed at two scout riders circling nearby without joining the attack. "They have already spotted us."

"Even if we abandon all our supplies, we cannot evade the pursuit of a group of light cavalry that comes and goes like the wind. After all, Prajna, Ryan, and you can only ride packhorses."

Lothar sighed softly, then raised his voice. "Attendants, bring me my lance. Prepare for battle."

He pulled up the hood of his mail coif and surcoat, then lowered the Bucket Helm that left only a narrow slit for his eyes. The world immediately became quiet.

His breathing echoed within the stifling Bucket Helm, growing heavier and rougher.

Ryan handed him his heavy lance. Lothar gripped it in his right hand, strapped a Kite Shield to his left arm, and hung his arming sword from the saddle.

Prajna asked quietly, "Do you want me to come with you?"

Lothar shook his head. "I'm afraid your horse won't do."

The horse Prajna rode was the packhorse Father Soyo from Small Town had given them. The difference between a packhorse and a true warhorse was considerable.

Packhorses placed greater emphasis on endurance and did not require particularly fine breeding.

Warhorses, on the other hand, were not only taller, faster, and more explosive than packhorses, but far bolder as well.

Prajna frowned. "I can keep up with you without a mount."

Lothar paused, but still shook his head. "Forget it. That would be a little too shocking. Get yourselves ready here. I trust Joy's speed."

Joy was his Nisaan warhorse. It ate only premium feed every day, and a considerable portion of the supplies carried by the three packhorses was specifically for it.

Within the count's domain, Joy was one of the finest fast horses.

He was confident that even if he could not win, escaping would not be a problem.

Besides, he had great confidence in his own strength. His knightly training since childhood had made him a veritable war machine, though one that had yet to be tempered by war.

Coupled with his fine armor, the chance of things going wrong was minuscule.

Prajna nodded. "All right. We'll prepare to support you from here."

The two attendants had also prepared for battle. One held a sword and shield, while the other cranked a crossbow, but on such open ground, there was very little either of them could do.

Lothar had chosen them in the first place because he had intended for them to prove useful in mountain combat.

Who would have thought that their first battle would take place on an open plateau?

"Hoo—"

Lothar let out a long breath.

The inside of the stifling Bucket Helm seemed to have fogged over with a layer of moisture.

Through his narrow field of vision, the two scout riders circling nearby had already launched their charge toward him.

Lothar lightly pressed his heels against the horse's flanks.

The sound of hooves immediately thundered in his ears.

Lothar tightly gripped his lance, feeling adrenaline surge through him as his heart beat like a war drum, booming like thunder.

A couched-lance charge was a tactic used when knights rode in formation, advancing shoulder to shoulder. Without the cover of comrades, couching a lance could easily leave a knight exposed.

So he held his lance in the standard position. It would reduce the damage of his charge, but make him more flexible.