Hawk's heart pounded heavily in his chest. He forced himself to remain as calm as possible, trying to keep his voice steady. "Warriors of the Gray Forest Bandits, we are a merchant caravan under the protection of the Layton Family. We carry nothing but worthless local goods. Please grant us passage. We are willing to offer toll money, asking only to pass in peace."
His voice echoed through the narrow mountain pass, carrying obvious humility and concession.
The caravan guards gripped their weapons tightly, holding their breath as they waited for a response from the rocks above.
A burst of coarse laughter and mocking whistles came from overhead.
Then, a tall, burly figure, like a giant bear standing upright, slowly emerged from behind a jutting boulder. He stepped to the edge of the Rock Wall and looked down upon the entire caravan as though inspecting a flock of lambs awaiting slaughter.
That man was Marcus, leader of the Gray Forest Bandits.
He wore a worn chainmail shirt, with a stained leather vest casually thrown over it, smeared with dirt and blood.
A thick brown beard covered nearly half his face. A vicious scar ran from his temple across his left eye, which had become nothing more than a cloudy white orb. His remaining good eye gleamed with cruel greed, like a vulture eyeing carrion.
In his hand, he held a terrifyingly heavy two-handed warhammer. The hammerhead was caked with dark red grime. Even resting casually on the ground, it exuded an invisible pressure, as if the earth itself groaned beneath it.
"The Layton Family?" Marcus's voice rasped like sandpaper scraping over stone, hoarse and filled with undisguised contempt. "On this wasteland, Marcus's hammer is the law! The Layton family crest? It's too hard even to wipe your ass with!"
His