Grey Wolf, a native of Loen, stared impassively at the bandit sentry he had killed.
He had already used his agility as a Clown and his abilities as a Seer.
To clear out every sentry nearby.
Then he prayed silently, following His Highness Don Quixote's instructions.
He prayed to the Weather God and reported that his work was complete.
A moment later.
He saw soldiers emerge one after another on the distant road.
The army began slipping into the Starfall Mountains.
Deep in the mountains.
Beside a river.
Black Fang and Flowing Gold, two of the larger bandit factions, were negotiating over ownership of the stretch where the river flowed most abundantly.
It was still raining.
But the bandits crowded along the riverbank, none willing to leave.
Black Fang's leader was a burly man, a relatively rare build among the people of the Southern Continent.
He had painted a ferocious beast on his brown-skinned back, making him look even more intimidating.
He pointed at Flowing Gold's leader and roared, "Schiller, when you occupied this stretch last year, did Black Fang say a word?"
"No matter what you say, Black Fang is taking it this year!"
"There are plenty of stretches of river in these mountains. Do you have to fight us for this one?"
The man called Schiller had slightly curly black hair, dark brown skin, deep-set eyes, and a yellowish tinge at their corners.
He gave a hollow smile. "Boss Duke, is this your first day as a bandit?"
"Which of the things we wanted didn't we take by force?"
"If you want this stretch, it's simple. Just wipe out Flowing Gold."
"If you haven't got the guts, go home."
Duke roared, "Fine! Since we can't agree, let's settle this with our fists."
Schiller stepped back. "Whoever has the