Battle

Judging by the Caravan's itinerary, this stretch of road took up a third of the journey, yet it had less than a tenth of the villages and probably even fewer people.

Clearly, the Caravan was not doing ordinary business, or it would definitely be losing money.

If they were dealing in contraband, then Derek could hardly be blamed for demanding... more pay.

Steward Vincent hesitated for only a moment. In truth, it was no secret.

"There are plenty of furs here, excellent materials for making Leather Armor. Thanks to my master's connections, we can trade with several villages, so we have to make the trip."

"So most of the danger on this road comes from that?" Derek understood. Perhaps that was why the Caravan needed to hire guards.

The Bandits might not necessarily be professionals.

Perhaps some Mountain Folk would cover their faces with a scrap of cloth—or not even bother—grab their weapons, turn into Bandits, and then take back what they had just sold you for free.

But he had taken their money, so he would handle their troubles.

This was his job. There was nothing to fear.

Derek had seen blood before, so naturally he was not afraid of Bandits.

When it came down to it, if your blades were sharp enough, Bandits would become hospitable Mountain Folk. Otherwise, they would not hesitate to play dirty.

Still, one could despise the enemy strategically while taking them seriously tactically.

Derek made his arrangements methodically, and the soldiers who had grown somewhat lax became tense again.

The Goat Caravan did not have many regular customers. Clearly, the master behind it did not have much influence.

But they were old business partners, after all, and things went smoothly.

They were about to begin their return journey, with only two places left to visit.

Yet Derek became even more vigilant. He knew the Caravan would not throw money away for nothing. There had to be danger somewhere along the route.

If it had not appeared yet, it might be waiting ahead.

Moreover, the last two mountain villages lay deep within the forest.

The Caravan members who frequently traveled this route also grew quieter.

The Caravan guards tightened their grips on their swords.

In such an atmosphere, the new recruits felt immense psychological pressure.

Derek knew that an appropriate amount of pressure could accelerate growth, but too much would make people collapse.

The men under his command were not battle-hardened veterans. They were merely a bunch of green recruits.

So they needed some relief.

"Relax. Don't be afraid. Back in my day, I don't even know how many Bandits I chopped to death. I've even got a Barbarian's head hanging in my living room."

Derek's language was crude, and his bragging shot straight into the heavens.

He had joined the Knight Order in Bandit Suppression before, but the Robbers and the like he had personally cut down numbered fewer than ten. As for Barbarians, he had not encountered a single one.

But that did not matter. No one else knew he was boasting.

On the contrary, his identity as a knight made his words highly convincing.

Derek had been steeped in web novels in his previous life. He could not write one himself.

But fooling a bunch of recruits who had just left the fields was effortless.

He even made his tales vivid and captivating, making them sound like legends, while the so-called bandits were mere weaklings he had cut down like vegetables.

The group's mood gradually eased. This was the best state to be in.

It would save them from trembling hands and legs the moment something happened, not knowing how to respond.

Whether the Bandits were as weak as Derek had described was hard to say, but they could not have been all that capable.

Especially the part-time Bandits, who had even less organization and discipline.

With a thunderous boom, a boulder rolled down from somewhere.

The entire Caravan did not lose a single hair, and then a disorderly mob of Bandits sprang out.

A few scattered arrows flew over, weak and limp from a lack of force. Aside from one unlucky fellow who was shot in the butt, no one was hurt.

Still, the psychological pressure suddenly surged. Facing long-range weapons with short-range ones was bound to be stressful.

Derek had prepared for this long ago. The moment the Bandits emerged, he ignored their numbers and strength and immediately ordered the Caravan to close ranks.

"Circle the wagons. Everyone get into the middle."

The enemy had only a few archers, all using hunting shortbows with insufficient power.

Under Derek's shouts, the panicked Caravan slowly and sluggishly rearranged itself.

Although Steward Vincent had traveled far and wide and seen much, he had rarely encountered a situation like this.

Now that Derek had stepped forward, he forcefully took over command.

Vincent did not mind. This was not what he was good at in the first place.

Steward Vincent had already spotted roughly a hundred scattered Bandits. In terms of numbers, his side was unquestionably at a disadvantage.

"How did this happen? I knew this trip wasn't safe. I should've hired more people."

In reality, thanks to certain connections with Count Perez's estate, his trading company had gained access to a more profitable trade route.

But leaving aside the fact that this encroached on others' interests, would the other Mountain Folk not be jealous?

Once, twice, even ten times—they should be grateful that the Mountain Folk had been slow to react. Otherwise, someone would have acted long ago.

It was impossible to say he had never anticipated this day.

But wishful thinking, along with their previous safety, had made him overlook the risks.

Besides, hiring more people would reduce profits. Merchants always pursued profit.

Derek did not care about Steward Vincent's regrets. In fact, he did not think the situation was particularly dangerous.

A battle was not decided with absolute certainty just because one side had more people.

He dismounted. Staying on horseback now would make him a living target, and this horse was too poor besides. He was even worried it would refuse to obey during a charge.

Drawing the Fine Iron Longsword from his waist, Derek saw that the Caravan had yet to finish its deployment.

"We need to buy some time."

They were only ordinary people, not a professional army. Their efficiency left much to be desired.

"Form up! Staggered ranks! Prepare to charge!"

His forceful commands, ringing voice, and their usual strict training all paid off at this moment. The Spearmen moved on instinct, advancing at his orders.

Compared to the disorderly Bandits, the Spearmen could utterly crush them in combat ability.

If he had a few more men, Derek was confident that a single charge would settle the matter.

But even now, they launched a countercharge.

Over the short distance of twenty meters or so, the Spearmen's weapons were angled slightly, just enough for them to build speed.

Squelch!

The front-row spears pierced their targets directly. There was no way to dodge them.

Their momentum broken, some Bandits tried to rush forward and hack down the Spearmen.

Then the spears from the rear rank thrust out.

The staggered formation reduced the charge's killing power, but it was faster to stabilize and safer.

Thrust, withdraw, thrust.

Whether they hit anything or not, they attacked mechanically.

The results of their training showed themselves. On the battlefield, they did not need many tricks.

Strength, speed, and a little technique.

The Bandits at the front dodged while waving their weapons, trying to chop apart the spears.

At that moment, the true nature of a rabble was laid bare.

Some wanted to run, while others wanted to charge.

They were a complete mess, with no unified command at all.

Several Bandits who looked like minor leaders shouted commands, but every one of them seemed to have a different idea.