Ideal and Reality

The Kobold Shaman could only watch helplessly as the warriors blocking its path dwindled, and that devil-like butcher came closer and closer.

"Don't come any closer! Stay away!"

"Gotcha!" Richard grinned, grabbing its clothes and lifting the small shaman into the air.

Without the spellcaster's support, the Bloodlust Art vanished, and the bandits' rational minds began to take over once more.

The harsh, barren environment had long accustomed the natives to facing the threat of death, and they had once believed they would no longer feel fear. But it turned out that quantitative change leads to qualitative change.

The slaughterhouse-like mountain of corpses and sea of blood before them was like a bucket of ice water poured over their heads. Even the most life-indifferent natives felt an uncontrollable chill.

This chill had nothing to do with courage; it was purely an instinct hidden deep within the consciousness of all intelligent beings.

The Centaurs and Barbarians looked at them with eyes sharp as knives, making them feel as if they were walking naked in an icy, snowy world.

And that knight, covered in blood... not one of the usually arrogant warriors from the different tribes dared to meet his gaze, as if a single look would burn their eyes.

The bandits actually wanted to run. Their courage had long dissipated along with the lives of their dead comrades, but everyone held firm and didn't move. The Bloodlust Art had significant side effects after its blessing; everyone was now in a state of extreme exhaustion and weakness, unable to run even if they wanted to.

In their hearts, they cursed the damned shaman with the most vicious words.

"It seems High Mountain Keep won't have to worry about a shortage of slaves anymore." Richard looked as if he had just swum a lap in a river of blood, leaving a damp, bright red footprint behind him with every step.

He bent down and picked up the piece of hide the Kobold Shaman had torn earlier, examining it carefully front and back. The black leather was very even and fine, with many strange symbols drawn on it in a grayish-white pigment, looking somewhat mysterious at first glance.

If he closed his eyes and sensed carefully, there seemed to be a strong elemental fluctuation lingering around it.

"What is this?" He held the hide and shook it.

The old Kobold pursed its lips, unwilling to speak, attempting to maintain the dignity of an elemental user, but the trembling of its calves betrayed it.

"Hert, give this guy a taste of your methods." Richard couldn't be bothered to waste more words on a captive and directly handed it over to the Centaur who looked the most honest.

"Alright, sir." Hert showed a simple smile and walked away, dragging the Kobold.

Centaurs were all from herding backgrounds, and herders were often very skilled with whips.

"Boss." Gunther took off his horned helmet, revealing a bruised and swollen face. Even through the thick helmet, the bandits' attacks weren't entirely without threat.

His voice was uncharacteristically low, "A few brothers are almost done for."

"Take me to see them." Richard glanced at the system panel, which showed three Barbarians were in a critical, life-threatening state.

Actively assaulting the enemy with an absolute numerical disadvantage sounded heroic, but in reality, it was no different from dancing on the tip of a knife. Almost every Barbarian had more or less injuries, but because their strength and equipment crushed ordinary bandits, most of their injuries were not severe.

Only three were exceptions—they had the best equipment, charged the fiercest, and fought the hardest, so they also fell the fastest.

Without exception, they all had terrible lacerations on their chests and abdomens. The most severe even showed wriggling internal organs in their abdominal cavities, with blood gushing out in streams. Richard guessed it must have been the work of Hobgoblin greatsword shock troopers; no other bandits had such a lethal awareness.

Richard opened the system panel. The experience gain from this battle was more substantial than the sum of all previous ones, and most of the soldiers could already advance.

He had long discovered that system soldiers would gain some recovery every time they advanced, similar to a weak healing spell. At this point, he could only treat a dead horse as if it were alive, raising his hand and choosing a mass advancement.

The effect was immediate. Lightly wounded warriors almost instantly recovered, and the condition of the three critically injured Barbarians also improved. The bleeding temporarily stopped, and the ruptured wounds slightly closed.

But Richard's face quickly darkened—this healing effect was simply not enough for the severity of the injuries. The system showed that their lives were still slowly fading with time.

Finding a priest who could use divine magic in the wilderness was a pipe dream, but in fact, having a reliable doctor at this moment would be enough to save the lives of several Barbarians.

A few faint screams came from afar, followed by the sound of whips raining down on flesh. The brawny Hert was swinging his whips left and right.

Perhaps the best medic in all of High Mountain Keep was the Kobold Shaman, currently screaming from the whipping, but there was no way to rely on it.

"I'll go get him to try." Gunther picked up the old Kobold like a chick.

This tough Icefield Warrior grinned, a rare smile directed at someone other than Richard or his own kind, attempting to show goodwill to the makeshift barefoot doctor, but in reality, it was enough to scare children into tears.

"You're dreaming!"

The old Kobold certainly didn't know the meaning of "a wise man submits to circumstances," or rather, he truly had a certain stubbornness that most wilderness natives lacked.

Richard squatted down and slowly extended his palm. As the Kobold Shaman instinctively flinched, expecting a beating, Richard merely wiped the blood from its face.

"Heal them, and I guarantee your safety in the name of the lord."

"Crawl on the ground and bark like a dog twice, then I'll agree." The Kobold tilted its head, baring its sharp teeth, looking as if it were smiling.

The atmosphere became almost stagnant for a moment, but the Kobold Shaman felt quite smug inside. This was the respect an elemental user deserved.

It was an old, seasoned trickster, not truly intending to be stubborn to the end, but merely planning to put on airs to raise its value. It firmly believed that with its abilities, it should be a respected guest wherever it went, and today would be no exception.

But ideals and reality often differed, and just then...

"Richard." The Half-Elf girl Annie trotted over from the hill like a gust of wind, holding a crystal bottle. "Holy Water."

"Thanks, I must have been out of my mind. I should have asked you earlier." Richard slapped his forehead, reached out to take the crystal bottle, and handed it to a Centaur. "Dilute it with a bucket of water. This concentration of Holy Water will sting people to death if used directly."

He wasn't going to be shy. Since the caravan was protected by High Mountain Keep, paying protection fees was only right.

The Kobold Shaman suddenly felt that the situation seemed a little grim...

"As for this scoundrel." Richard chuckled, revealing two rows of pearly white teeth, and snapped his fingers crisply. "Hert, whip him good for me, and find out where these bandits' lair is!"

"I'm coming too!" Gunther clenched his fists, knuckles cracking.

"Me too."

"Me too."

"..."

About half of the large group of High Mountain Keep warriors surrounding them scattered.