Overcoming the Strong with the Weak, Annihilating the Bandits!

Raven leaned in, and Denise did not flinch.

In the dim room, Raven's nostrils were instantly filled with a faint, lingering fragrance—the scent of powder, a trace of sweat, and the plump, alluring body odor unique to a mature woman.

If Laxus was a green apple, then Denise was a ripe mango, exuding a honeyed, tempting sweetness.

It was the kind of fatal temptation placed in Eden that would have made Adam and Eve eat the forbidden fruit without any need for the serpent's urging.

The moment their lips touched, a flicker of panic crossed Denise's slightly dazed eyes. Her hand pressed against Raven's chest as if to push him away, but when it made contact, all strength left her, turning the motion into a gentle caress.

As if he wanted to devour her whole, Raven took greedily, his tongue skillfully prying open Denise's teeth. She tried to resist, but the overwhelming wave of masculine hormones numbed her, leaving her to let Raven roam freely. Her feeble resistance felt more like a shy, clumsy response.

Two tongues intertwined in the darkness, like snakes dancing in water.

Denise had completely fallen into a trance. A flush of crimson spread across her skin, fine beads of sweat gathered and soaked the last scraps of fabric on her body. Her crystal-clear eyes were veiled with a mist of moisture, her long lashes trembling incessantly. Her legs pressed together, rubbing restlessly, while her ten toenails, like cardamom seeds, dug tightly into the soft carpet.

A faint, sobbing hum leaked from her nose, sounding both like refusal and longing.

Raven was no longer satisfied with this hot, lingering kiss. His hand slid down her silky-smooth leg, advancing inch by inch, aiming to reach the most central territory.

This snapped Denise back to clarity. She shoved hard against Raven's chest, tilting her head back to break free from the sweet, prolonged entanglement, her chest heaving as she gasped for air.

A smile curled at the corner of Raven's mouth. He licked his lips, savoring the sweet sensation just past.

Denise carried both a maiden's shyness and the unique, mature charm of a married woman—it was truly a rare and wonderful experience.

He walked over to the wardrobe, grabbed a heavy piece of clothing, and tossed it beside Denise.

"Thanks." Denise's gaze deliberately avoided Raven. That brief contact had been the most thrilling moment of her life, and her legs still felt weak.

Watching Denise cover herself bit by bit, Raven asked, "Denise, how were you discovered?"

Denise's quarters were on the third floor's edge, very secluded. When Raven set up the scene, he had intentionally lured people toward the warehouse and armory. Most of the rooms here were empty, and with Denise's cleverness and caution, she shouldn't have been found in just over ten minutes.

Denise caught the implication in Raven's words. She shot a hateful glance at the corpse on the floor. "He came straight to my room..."

That statement opened both their minds at once.

Belly had deliberately found Denise's room, meaning someone had immediately tipped him off about her location.

Many people knew where she lived—the maids, Old Gordon, Weston...

"Weston!" Thinking of her son, Denise's heart suddenly pounded faster. "Raven, go save him!"

"Calm down, Aunt Denise." Raven said. "Weston isn't a fool. He won't be caught so easily. He might still be hiding in his room right now."

"Right, he might still be hiding in his room..." Denise muttered, then suddenly lunged to rush out.

Raven grabbed her and pulled her into his arms. "What are you doing?"

"I'm going to save my son!"

"Doing that will only get you caught up too!"

Ignoring Denise's struggle, Raven roughly lifted her by the waist and threw her over his shoulder. He leaped onto the windowsill, checked the hook's stability, grabbed the rope, and landed on the ground.

"A thousand gold coins—I'll pay a thousand gold coins—save Weston!" Denise was set down, and she stood up shouting. "If a thousand isn't enough, I'll pay three thousand—"

Before she could finish, her mouth and nose were flooded with the stench of blood. Caught off guard, she immediately vomited.

Everywhere she looked, there were corpses!

Raven didn't vomit, but his brow twitched wildly as he reloaded his hand crossbow.

His deep gaze swept across the scene. The flames bursting from the castle lit up the battlefield, revealing a hellish, brutal sight.

Bodies lay strewn haphazardly at the hall's entrance—bandits, private soldiers. Some had their heads crushed, others had limbs hacked off. At the severed ends, bright red muscle and pale yellow fat piled together, wrapping around shattered bones.

It reminded Raven of the pork ribs in a supermarket freezer, and of the scene when pigs were slaughtered during the New Year in his past life.

Severed blood vessels hung like torn wires, thick, sticky blood gushing out, merging together to spread a gorgeous yet cruel red carpet.

One, two, three...

Ten bodies in total—four belonged to bandits, six to private soldiers. Besides that, three wounded men with missing arms or legs lay at the back of the formation, wailing.

Raven's nostrils flared, and he clenched his jaw tightly.

In both lives combined, he had never seen so many corpses with his own eyes, nor so much blood!

His biological instinct made him want to look away, but reason told him he had to adapt to all of this.

In this cruel world, if you couldn't adapt, you could only die!

If he felt this way, what about the private soldiers?

They weren't much better off than Denise—pale-faced, hands trembling as they gripped their spears. Some had clearly already vomited, with remnants of sick clinging to their chests and dripping to the ground.

But the results of two months of training showed in that moment. Even if their legs shook violently and fear gripped their hearts, the discipline that had become habit kept them firmly rooted in place, maintaining the formation's order!

Boom—

The originally tightly shut doors burst open. Raven could clearly see his private soldiers go through a brief moment of panic; a few even leaned backward.

But then, Simon, standing in the front row, let out a loud, clear roar: "For Lord Raven! Eagle Army, raise spears—"

That voice seemed to flip a switch, snapping the soldiers' bodies into place in unison: "For Lord Raven!"

They spread their legs, long spears thrust straight forward, twenty-seven spears weaving together into a dazzling steel flower.

Eric was the stamen of that flower, clad in heavy armor, standing like an iron tower.

Heavy footsteps rang out. The bandits brandished their weapons, trampling through blood with heavy strides as they howled and charged: "Kill—!"

The bandit Solar swung his scimitar and strode forward. These private soldiers' tenacity and resilience had far exceeded his expectations, but they also revealed a fatal weakness—their commander.

As long as he took down Simon, he could shatter these men's morale completely!

Simon had long since realized this too. His eyes met Solar's, and each could clearly see the other's face reflected in his own pupils—one was a pale-faced recruit, the other a ferocious bandit!

"Thrust—!" Simon shouted, thrusting his spear forward.

At the same time, five more spears followed Simon's spearpoint, six men moving as one, as synchronized as a single person!

Solar turned slightly, but three spears still struck him between chest and abdomen. The chainmail held against the spearpoints, but couldn't absorb the force behind them. His face went pale, and he staggered backward, crashing into the comrades charging up behind him and tumbling to the ground with a clatter!

"Thrust—!"

Before Solar could get up, under Simon's lead, six spears stabbed out. Two pinned his shoulders to the ground, two lodged in his waist to keep him from struggling, and the last two struck his brow and throat simultaneously!

Pfft—

Blood gushed up like a fountain, splattering across every private soldier's face, painting Simon's once-handsome features like a demon's!

And they truly did become like demons. Their breathing quickened, their arms steadied, and in some eyes, a bloodthirsty craving began to kindle.

From that moment, they understood that bandits were also flesh and blood—stabbed by a spear, they died. As long as you killed the enemy first, you wouldn't die yourself!

"Ah—!"

"Mommy—!"

"My eyes!!!!"

Cries of agony rose one after another.

In that instant of clash, Simon led his men to stab Ansol to death, but two bandits, relying on their superior skill, also broke into the ranks, taking three private soldiers' lives while leaving their own behind forever!

Amidst this chaos, only Eric stood like an iron tower, sword in hand, letting the blood mist spatter across his body without moving an inch. His deep gaze fixed on the hall, his breathing heavy and steady.

Heavy footsteps landed on the ground, tearing the already tattered carpet into shreds. In the torchlight, a man's silhouette emerged—it was Anderson.

Dense Dark Qi wrapped around him, seeming to hide his form in this pitch-black environment. Boom—

Anderson channeled his Qi into his feet, the immense force pushing a wave of blood across the floor. He leaped high into the air, his flail, enhanced with [Primary Giant Strength] and coated in ink-like Qi, swung in a full arc, aimed straight at Eric's helmet!

The latter spread his legs slightly, took the shield from his back, and met the blow. As he channeled his Qi, a layer of dazzling light flared across the shield's surface. The pitted exterior visibly smoothed out, its thickness increasing by at least half an inch!

Steel Qi was born for war—to turn oneself into a steel fortress!

Clang—

The flail and shield collided. Qi intertwined with Qi, exploding into a halo of black and white light!

Eric precisely adjusted the shield's angle, deflecting most of the incoming force.

Even so, when the flail struck the shield's smooth surface, it shook the remaining blood into a fine mist. The hard steel spikes bit into the shield, Dark Qi pouring in, tearing at it until the shield let out a dying groan!

Crack!

The sturdy shield shattered in two, and even Eric's gauntlet showed a hairline crack.

But he still firmly withstood that heavy blow, which could have crushed his skull!

His feet remained steady, his breathing still calm, and the broadsword in his right hand was already thrust toward Anderson's throat!

The latter took a deep breath, and instead of retreating, he thrust out his chest to meet it!

Clang—

The blade slammed into the hard enchanted breastplate. The immense impact forced Anderson back two steps. He suddenly shoved two fingers into his mouth and let out a sharp whistle: "Whee—!"

That was a signal—not for men, but for magic beasts!

Six first-tier Blood-Eyed Warhorses, though riderless, had the physique and armor to trample these leather-armored private soldiers!

He hadn't used them before because he didn't want to waste precious magic beasts here, but now he couldn't afford to care. As long as he could get out alive, he could earn it all back!

"Charge with me!!!"

Anderson roared again. The bandits' morale surged, and they howled as they surged toward the door, planning to attack from both inside and out with the first-tier beasts!

But the expected sound of hooves never came.

Clang.

The broadsword and enchanted flail clashed again. The former was slightly deformed, but still drove back Anderson's assault. The latter's eyes swept anxiously.

Where are my horses? Where are my horses!?

"Whee—!"

Anderson whistled again, but still didn't hear the familiar hoofbeats.

What the hell!

"Retreat—!" Anderson ordered through gritted teeth, because in this very charge, two more bandits had lost their lives forever.

Why?!

Raven knew the answer.

A magic beast was still a magic beast. Since he had led his men back to kill them, how could he leave such a huge hidden danger behind his back?

He hadn't wasted his private soldiers' time fighting the magic beasts; instead, he used another method—his hand crossbow.

This weapon, which had accompanied him for years, had a short range but decent penetration. It couldn't pierce sturdy enchanted armor, but it was more than enough to deal with a few domesticated magic beasts.

Pale-faced Denise endured the discomfort of the bloody smell and walked to Raven's side. "Raven, please save my Weston..."

Raven said, "Weston isn't a foolish man. He..."

"I saw him!" Denise's voice rose slightly, then dropped again. "He's covered in blood, lying in the hall, but he's still alive. I'm sure he's alive. Please, Raven, save him!"

"Five thousand gold coins, and all the shares of Fedro Commerce!" Denise's eyes held the desperation of burning her bridges, offering the highest price she could give.

Raven shook his head slowly but firmly. "I have to be responsible for my soldiers."

"But he's your brother too!" Denise's gaze carried a deep plea. "As long as you save Weston, I can give you anything, including... including..."

As she spoke, a faint blush of shy red crept onto her cheeks.

But Raven had already coldly looked away.

In war, the defender always held the greater advantage.

The terrain he had deliberately arranged was perfect for catching a turtle in a jar, but if he forced an attack, it would be a different story.

The gate was narrow, preventing the bandits from deploying their forces, but the same applied to his private soldiers. If they charged in now, they would likely continue to lose men.

These soldiers, who had seen blood and killed, would become the core and elite of his private forces in the future. Each one was valuable, and he couldn't waste them on a Weston.

"They're just a bunch of lowly serfs!! Why can they beat us like this!?" The bandit named Xinjila roared in grief and anger.

A whoosh cut through the air, followed by a low groan, as a heavy oak mug smashed into his face, sending blood streaming from his nose.

Anderson pulled back his arm and slammed the table hard. "Bullshit! There's no way they're serfs!"

In just half an hour, he had lost ten men.

Ten!

These were hardened bandits who had followed him in raids, elites forged through blade fights—his capital for roaming the Bloody Highlands!

They wielded weapons forged from fine steel and wore steel chainmail worth at least fifty gold coins each!

And now, they had only traded for a little over a dozen of Raven's private soldiers!

The equipment of those thirty-odd private soldiers combined wasn't worth as much as a single bandit's gear!

Sure, Raven's tactics were clever, luring him step by step into the trap and letting his private soldiers hold the most advantageous terrain.

But that still didn't justify an exchange ratio of nearly one-to-one!

Anderson had fought noble private soldiers before. Their equipment was even better than the Eagle Army's leather armor and spears, but in terms of morale and tenacity, they couldn't compare at all. Usually, killing just the bravest few would send the rest scattering like sheep to the slaughter.

"Fight to the death without retreat, formations tight! There's no way those are Raven's private soldiers—he must have borrowed elites from elsewhere! Even Snow Maple Territory's Snow Maple Legion is no better than this!"

These words echoed through the hall, and the bandits' heads hung lower.

If even the serf soldiers were this tough, and the ones outside were elite troops, how could they ever break out?

A thick despair clung to Anderson's heart, filling his mouth with bitterness, before a surge of unwillingness rose within him.

Was I, the infamous "Scarface" Anderson, really going to die worthless in this remote backwater?

"Damn it!"

He kicked a chair on the floor in fury. It flew with a whoosh and landed with a pitiful wail: "Ouch—!"

Anderson glared over and barked, "Who!?"

"Chief, it's me, it's me!" Weston flashed a fawning smile and crawled up like a fat worm.

With a clang, Anderson hooked a scimitar with his toe, stood up, and walked toward Weston with a blank expression.

If it weren't for this damn bastard, Belly wouldn't be missing now, and the situation wouldn't be so dire!

Weston's fat face quivered constantly as he squirmed backward like a maggot. "Don't kill me! I can, I can get you out!"

"I'm the second young master of the Griffith Family, Raven's brother!"

"Oh, so what?" Anderson sneered, the scar on his face looking especially ferocious in the firelight. "Raven left you here as bait. He never planned for you to live. What makes you think you can keep us alive?"

Weston's brain spun faster than ever before. "He left me here to use your blade to kill me—he wants me dead! But he doesn't dare do it himself!"

"That Raven is cunning, treacherous, base, and shameless! But also hypocritical to the core. No matter what he does, he finds a high-sounding excuse!"

"Eagle Fortress being attacked is already humiliating enough. If he could save me but doesn't, he'll become a laughingstock among the nobles!"

"You can take me as a hostage, threaten him, and make Raven come in himself!"

"Then you can swarm him and capture Raven. Those private soldiers were all trained by him—they won't hurt him. You'll definitely get out safely!"

Clap, clap, clap...

Anderson clapped his hands rhythmically. "As expected of a noble. Your skill at undermining your own family is truly masterful."

Weston's face was full of smiles: "You flatter me, you flatter me..."

But Anderson's face turned cold: "However... there's still one problem. How do I know you're not lying to me?"

"And an empty verbal threat never carries much weight, don't you think?"

In the firelight, Anderson walked step by step toward Weston, who stared wide-eyed and scrambled backward: "Don't, don't... don't..."

"Ahh—"

Creak.

The door was pried open a crack.

A scream like a stuck pig rang through Eagle Fortress's courtyard, followed by a fat arm being tossed out.

Anderson's voice rang out: "Raven! Your brother Weston is in our hands right now!"

"Help me, Raven! Save me—save me!!!" Weston's voice sounded, then cut off abruptly.

"I won't give you much time. That was just one arm. If you're not inside within three minutes, I'll take another arm. Three more minutes, and it'll be a leg..."

"Lord Baron! You're a noble, aren't you? Are you really going to watch your own brother get butchered piece by piece? Tsk tsk tsk, so cold-blooded, heartless, and useless!"

Everyone's eyes fixed on Raven. Denise's gaze held hope, but Eric and the private soldiers all shook their heads, unwilling for him to risk himself.

Cursing Weston inwardly, Raven spoke with righteous indignation on the surface: "Don't you dare harm my brother. Whatever terms you have, just name them!"

"Straight to the point! As expected of Lord Baron!" Anderson called out. "Then come in alone. If you bring any of your men, your brother is dead!"

"Shameless bandit, you insult my honor!" Raven slammed his rapier into the ground. "I'll go in right now, but if you so much as touch another hair on my brother's head, don't expect to leave this castle alive!!"

A hint of mist welled up in Simon's eyes.

Lord Raven was far too merciful! Even at this point, when he could have wiped out the bandits completely, he willingly put himself in danger—all for a worthless, unrelated brother.

From now on, he would train even harder and protect Lord Baron with all his might!

Raven stepped toward the hall, but Eric blocked him, slowly shaking his head, clearly unwilling for Raven to take the risk.

Raven patted this retainer's shoulder and quietly dropped the Enchanted Dagger on the ground: "The back of his neck under the armor is his weak point."

As Eric stood stunned, Raven strode calmly into the hall.

Boom.

No sooner had he entered than the door slammed shut. Anderson held Weston in his arms, a scimitar pressed to his throat: "We finally meet, Baron Raven."

Raven's gaze swept over the bandits on either side as he adjusted his collar: "Enough talk. What will it take for you to let my brother go?!"

"Straight to the point!" Anderson shot a glance at the bandits flanking him. "Simple. Just escort us a little way, Lord Baron."

Two bandits closed in from either side. Raven barked: "Get back!"

"I am an Imperial Baron. Even if I'm to be a prisoner, you scum have no right to touch me!"

He fixed his eyes on Anderson, brows fierce: "Now, release Weston immediately. I'll be your hostage instead!"

This unyielding stance made the two bandits hesitate, and even Anderson felt a flicker of respect.

Calm, forceful, proud!

This was exactly the image of the ideal noble in his mind. The thought that he had lost to such a man eased much of his frustration.

"Don't believe him! He's definitely plotting something!" Weston shrieked. "Just grab him—he's a demon, a demon!"

"Shut up!" Anderson tightened the blade, and a thin line of blood appeared on Weston's throat.

Traitors were always more detestable than enemies—even traitors in the enemy camp.

Compared to this beast who would sell out his own mother, Anderson trusted Raven a bit more.

"Baron Raven, I can agree to your terms." Anderson said. "Please raise your hands high and walk slowly toward me. That's best for both of us."

"I hope you keep your word." Raven raised his hands and stepped forward one pace at a time.

Anderson swallowed, his heart racing.

He had lost many men today, but if he could capture Raven alive, he would fulfill Hyde Slate's commission.

With the Slate Family's backing, the blood he had shed would soon be replenished, and he would rise again in the Bloody Highlands!

Just as Raven reached three steps before him, his expression suddenly shifted dramatically, and he shouted behind Anderson: "Little Beard, what are you doing!?"

Anderson's heart jolted. Had Belly returned without a sound? Was he going to kill him and take the leader's place?

He whipped his head around, but saw nothing but an empty corridor!

Anderson spun back, his pupils contracting sharply, because he saw that Raven had already lowered his arms, and in his hand was a dark, cocked Hand Crossbow, its bolt gleaming with a faint blue light!

Raven's face was calm as still water as he pulled the trigger.

Swoosh—

The bowstring went from curved to taut, kicking up a puff of dust as it launched the bolt. The steel-forged three-edged fletching split the air, spinning the entire bolt, which, under the firelight, fell like a dark, rushing star.

Anderson felt his scalp prickle, because the bolt's target was not him, but Weston in his arms!

He hurled Weston aside. The bolt thudded into the wall. Anderson wiped the cold sweat from his brow and roared: "Raven, have you lost your mind!?"

"Tch. A pity." Raven stowed the hand crossbow and, amid the crowd's stunned silence, spun to the door, yanking it open. "The bandits broke faith and want to kill the hostage. Charge!!!"

Eric slammed through the door with unprecedented speed, charging in like a bulldozer.

His hand-and-a-half sword arced through the air, batting aside the bandit rushing from the left, then he bellowed and charged straight at Anderson!

The bandit on the right hadn't even reacted before the private soldiers pouring through the door ran him through with their pikes.

"Raven!!!" Anderson roared in grief and fury. He finally realized he'd been duped by this seemingly upright man.

Honor? Integrity? All just words for show!

And I trusted you so much!

This Raven was nothing but a shameless, despicable scumbag—a genuine sand rat! Even among bandits, such brazen bastards were rare!

He swung his mace and lunged for Raven, but Eric blocked his path. Anderson channeled Dark Qi into the mace and swept it sideways. "Get out of my way!"

"Not a chance!" Eric poured Steel Qi into his hand-and-a-half sword. The slightly warped blade rang out with a sharp clang, turning sharp and gleaming as it met the mace!

Though an enchanted weapon was formidable, Steel Qi could greatly enhance a weapon's toughness and strength.

Clang—

The mace and hand-and-a-half sword collided. Steel Qi and Dark Qi tangled, erupting into a chaotic, mist-like glow. The latter snapped clean in two under the force, and Eric's gauntlet, already cracked, shattered into pieces!

At the same time, Anderson couldn't withstand the vibration rebounding through the mace's haft. He let go. Stone chips flew as the mace, whistling through the air, smashed deep into a pillar!

Eric said in a low voice, "Surrender now!"

"Dream on!" Anderson's right hand swept across his belt, and a dark scimitar suddenly appeared in his grip. From the faint bloodlight glimmering on its edge, this was another enchanted weapon!

He had Spatial Equipment!

"Die!" Anderson swung the scimitar down at Eric's head.

Eric was startled but kept his composure. He channeled Qi into his armor and raised both arms to block.

With Qi reinforcing him, he was confident he could stop this blow!

But just as the blade was about to meet his arms, Anderson's wrist twisted like a snake. The scimitar traced a bizarre arc, slipped past Eric's arms, and slashed into his left shoulder!

This was a technique passed down in the Bloody Highlands, said to originate from the serpentfolk—[Sliding Scale Slash].

Clang—

Sparks flew!

Even the fine steel plate armor couldn't withstand the edge of an enchanted weapon. A spray of vivid red burst into the air, and a flush of color crept onto Anderson's face.

Second-tier enchantment: [Primary Bloodsuck]!

With a heavy thud, Anderson kicked Eric to the ground and strode toward Raven, who had already reloaded his hand crossbow and aimed it dead center at Anderson's brow.

A cold smirk crossed Anderson's lips. A hand crossbow like that couldn't possibly pierce his armor!

But just then, a tremendous force seized him from behind, halting his advance. Eric had gotten back up and locked Anderson tight in his arms!

"Let go!" Anderson drove his elbow into Eric's ribs. The armor there caved in with a crunch. Blood sprayed from Eric's mouth, but his arms only clamped down harder!

"If you want to die, I'll send you to death!" Seeing the Eagle Army closing in around him, Anderson ducked his head low, flipped his wrist, reversed his grip on the scimitar, and stabbed backward!

At this angle, Raven's bolt could only hit his helmet, while the scimitar in his hand was more than enough to take Eric's life!

The scrape of steel gauntlet against armor sounded behind his head. Anderson's lips curled in a sneer—as if your fingers could pry open my plate armor?

Pfft.

A flash of cold light. Blood sprayed.

Clatter.

The bloodstained scimitar fell to the floor. Anderson raised his head in disbelief, thick, salty blood bubbling from his mouth. "Why...?"

His answer was a crossbow bolt growing larger in his pupils.

Thud.

That was the last sound Anderson heard.

The sound of a bolt piercing his skull and driving into his brain.

Eric let go and collapsed backward alongside Anderson, gasping for air. A bloodstained enchanted dagger rolled to the floor.

That was what he'd just used to stab into the back of Anderson's neck.

Enchanted equipment wasn't flawless. Especially full-body armor—there were always certain spots where, for one reason or another, the magical power couldn't hold, making them relative weak points.

Anderson's armor had such a weak point at the back of the neck.

Raven walked over, uncorked a Healing Potion, and poured it into Eric's mouth. "Weren't you afraid I'd given you false intel?"

"Lord Baron, you were fighting so hard. I couldn't just hang back." Eric grinned, showing a mouthful of bloody red teeth. "And hey, it worked out!"

Raven knew that from this moment on, he had truly earned the loyalty of this retainer.

With the leader dead, the battle in the hall quickly wound down. Under the private soldiers' assault, the remaining bandits were either killed or captured—though most ended up dead.

The private soldiers had all suffered greatly from the bandits, and many of their comrades had just fallen. They couldn't help but be a little ruthless.

Raven's gaze swept across the hall, landing on Weston lying on the ground. Though the bastard had passed out, his chest still rose and fell steadily. His eyes fixed on a scimitar lying on the floor, and just as he was about to pick it up, footsteps sounded behind him.

"Weston—"

Lady Denise charged in, stepping through the blood and filth, locking onto her son's position at once and pulling him into her arms.

"Oh! My poor little brother—" Raven gave his own thigh a sharp pinch, then rushed forward with tears in his eyes: "This is all my failure as an older brother, letting those damned bandits hurt you, oh... my poor brother!"

His hand lightly slipped around Lady Denise's slender waist, stroking it repeatedly: "Aunt Denise, please don't grieve too much. I believe, by the might of the Lord of Light, he will surely recover!"

Denise turned her head, shot him a fierce glare, and slapped his wandering hand away from her waist.

That was right—the Church of Light did have divine spells that could regenerate lost limbs, but they required at least the seventh rank!

Seventh rank!

Not to mention where to find a seventh-rank Grand Divine Spellcaster, even if she could find one, Denise didn't have the capital to hire such a person.

For an existence like that to cast a high-tier divine spell once would cost at least several hundred thousand, even up to a million gold coins!

Denise had no mood to tangle with Raven right now. She called out, "Simon! And, and you there—stop messing around! Can't you see Weston has fainted? Come help me, take him to the Church!"

Simon's face was icy, his tone stiff: "Lady Denise, we only take orders from Lord Baron."

"Haha, so you're Denise!" One of the captured bandits burst out laughing: "Lord Baron Raven! I have information to tell you. Please promise to spare my life—I haven't killed anyone from Eagle Territory!"

Raven raised an eyebrow: "That depends on the value of the information."

"I know who snitched and leaked this lady's location!"