"Fucking hell, these peasants really aren't afraid to die."
Knife-in-the-Butt swore as he reversed his grip on his greatsword and drove it into the ground, standing amid the scattered corpses and surveying his surroundings.
Around him, dozens of players from the Mountain Tiger Warband looked much the same as Little Knife, all drenched in blood.
For Little Knife and his men, this battle had been rather baffling.
Little Knife knew about Wallace's rebels. They had made such a stir that the entire countryside surrounding Ankandela had been affected. Any player who knew nothing about them would have to be deaf and blind.
It was just that the rebels seemed a little too fragmented. Little Knife had contacted and absorbed several peasant bands operating under Wallace's banner, yet none of them knew one another, let alone had any chain of command connecting them. They could not even say clearly who Wallace was.
So why fly Wallace's banner?
The peasants were no fools. They all knew rebellion could cost them their heads. With Wallace's banner flying overhead, surely the noble lords would go looking for Wallace when it was time to execute someone!
When that happened, they could throw away the banner, bury their weapons, and become ordinary peasants again. As long as no one betrayed them, the lords would surely have no way to work out what had really happened.
So, when Little Knife and his brothers escorted a convoy to the outskirts of Ankandela, planning to find an empty stretch of land to set up camp and charge the players arriving later for lodging, they encountered this group in mismatched clothing, wearing chainmail and carrying swords and spears. They, too, flew Wallace's blue banner.
But were they really Wallace's insurgents, or bandits who had come down from the mountains to