Fake Play Becomes Real

Saving people from dire straits is naturally righteous, but he didn't say he wouldn't accept payment, so the stingy merchant was only released after paying a full twenty silver coins.

Renard gave eighteen of the silver coins to his lackeys, and the remaining two naturally went into his pocket.

Ben held the silver coins and pondered for a long time, always feeling like something was off.

Tommy, however, paid no mind to these things. He wiped the blood from his hands with a rag, casually tossed it to the roadside, and asked, "Young Master, are we heading to our next target?"

"Next target? Do you think we still have a next target?" Renard asked back helplessly.

The goblins who robbed the merchant caravan numbered in the thousands. No local force nearby could muster such numbers. The only explanation was that they had united.

The natives uniting was not good news. Ben sighed and said, "If possible, I hope to inform the Baron as soon as possible about what happened here."

Renard took a deep breath and rubbed his forehead. "Alright! I..."

Before he could finish, an arrow, whistling through the air, shot straight towards his face: "Damn it!"

Renard's hair stood on end. Ben, with quick reflexes, immediately raised his sword to block: Clang.

"Someone's ambushing us!" Tommy shouted, rushing towards the direction the arrow came from. Austin and Ken followed, while the others formed a tight circle around Renard.

It took a long while for Renard to recover from his fear. If Ben hadn't reacted quickly, his head would have been impaled.

He roared in exasperation, "It must have been those people from the merchant caravan!"

"Perhaps not," Ben said, picking up the arrow from the ground, his brow furrowed. "This is a top-quality military-grade arrow, only supplied to the regular army of the Kingdom of Arthur."

Hearing this, Renard slowly calmed down from his anger. "What do you mean? Is someone from the military trying to kill me? I haven't offended them."

"Of course not," Ben said, shaking the arrow in his hand. "I'm just saying it's from the regular army of the Kingdom of Arthur, but these things aren't uncommon on the market."

Smuggling military supplies was a common occurrence. At least in Renard's memory, his cousin, who served in the army, often engaged in such life-threatening business.

Soon, Tommy and the other two returned, their faces full of annoyance. "That guy was fast. We didn't find anything."

Renard gradually calmed down. He carefully recalled the events and felt something was very wrong. "If it was an assassin, they must have been following us for a long time."

"That's right. When we got there, we saw the weeds were already flattened, so they must have been lying in ambush for a long time, and there was only one person," Tommy nodded.

"Then why didn't they act during the most chaotic moment?" Renard's thoughts were a bit jumbled.

A glint flashed in Ben's eyes. "Perhaps their goal wasn't to assassinate you, Young Master, but to convey some message to us."

"Is there a need for that?" Although what he said made some sense, Renard still couldn't accept it. There were many ways to convey a message. If Ben had failed just now, he might have lost his life.

"This is a training arrow with a very crude arrowhead. Firing it from eighty meters away, unless using a powerful crossbow, it has no killing power," Ben explained again.

Then, everyone gathered around the arrow and discussed it, all coming to the same conclusion: the person who shot the arrow didn't intend to kill anyone.

Renard's brow furrowed. "If the other party wanted to convey a message, does it mean someone wants to harm me?"

Everyone stopped their discussion and looked in the direction of Saint Brieuc Fortress. If anyone wanted to harm Renard, the first person to come to mind would be Gilbert, that illegitimate son.

A chilling smile crept onto Renard's lips.

He took the arrow and examined it for a long time, then looked at Ben, who had the highest combat skill, and asked, "If I asked you to shoot me with this arrow, could you wound me without killing me?"

Ben's hair stood on end upon hearing this. The others gasped, feeling a chill run down their spines.

"Young Master, you intend to...?" Ben, being very intelligent, instantly understood his idea.

Renard nodded, holding the arrow against his chest. "Shoot it in like this, not too deep. It would be best if it could be fixed in place. It can bleed, but not too much."

Everyone felt a chill surge through them, and it wasn't over yet.

Renard rubbed the arrowhead. "It would be best if it were also coated with poison, a potent poison that is easily curable."

He looked at everyone. "Do you understand what I mean?"

The lackeys immediately nodded in agreement. If they didn't understand this, they'd be idiots. Their young master clearly intended to set a trap for Gilbert.

If they did this, the other party would be caught red-handed, no matter what.

A murderous intent flashed in Renard's eyes. He didn't feel any goodwill towards this person who had sent the warning. If they truly wanted to help him, they could have just told him directly, not used this method.

The most accurate assumption was that it was an enemy of his enemy, someone who didn't have any good feelings towards him but also didn't want his opponent to succeed. Who could this person be?

However, no matter who it was, they had greatly helped Renard.

Less than a kilometer from Saint Brieuc Fortress, Ben, trembling, raised the poisoned arrow, aiming at Renard, who was fifty meters away.

Even more nervous than him was Renard himself. His legs kept trembling. Although he said it bravely, he was actually quite unsure in his heart. "I say, aim accurately."

Ben swallowed hard, raising and lowering his bow and arrow several times.

Renard was on the verge of tears. "Brother, can you stop scaring me? Just get it over with."

Ben took another deep breath, raised his hand, nocked the arrow, drew the bow, and shot.

"Ah!" Renard cried out in pain, clutching his chest and falling to the ground. If he hadn't been afraid of appearing too dramatic, he would have shouted, "I'm dead!"

The arrow hit its mark perfectly, right near his heart. Because of the leather armor, the arrowhead didn't penetrate deeply, only about half a centimeter.

Just as planned, when Renard fell, the surrounding lackeys began to shout frantically: "Assassin! Catch the assassin! Someone tried to assassinate Young Master Renard!"

Immediately after, they scrambled to apply medicine to Renard: hemostatic agents, wound ointment, and most importantly, painkillers.

Renard grabbed Tommy's collar. His last instruction before passing out was: "Go to the apothecary to detoxify first, then find that old bastard Hamilton. Don't you dare mess it up."

The potent poison acted extremely quickly; if not treated promptly, it would be life-threatening. If they messed it up, he would have nowhere to cry.

Tommy grasped Renard's hand and indicated he understood. Then, nine lackeys carried him and ran at full speed, shouting as they ran, "Young Master Renard has been assassinated!"