Our Family Has Fallen-Chapter 46: The Beginnings of Bandit Extermination_1

The old road at night was exceptionally eerie, with gravesites everywhere, stone coffins half-dug up, collapsed and desolate abandoned buildings, twisted and bizarre old trees, and wild thorns growing rampantly. Additionally, wild beasts encroached upon human territory due to the scarce human presence on the old road.

When night fell, even ferocious bandits were unwilling to leave their camp, feeling secure only under the protection of their campfire.

Amidst this desolation stood a rundown camp, where a few men gathered around a bonfire.

"Damn it! Haven’t seen a soul in days. If this keeps up, I’ll be eating tree roots."

"Tell me about it! I say we should all head to the city and have some fun."

"You’ve got a bounty on your head. Don’t you know how much it’s worth?"

"Still better than waiting to die out here!"

"Let’s get a few more lads, hit a town for a big score, and then leave this godforsaken place."

"Yeah! I haven’t seen a woman in ages."

"Heh heh! Don’t even get me started. Just thinking about those women makes me..."

The bandit cackled, his face twisting into a lascivious grin. But before he could finish, a Crossbow Arrow shot into his mouth, piercing straight through. He fell backward without a chance to react.

"Who’s there?!"

"It’s a Crossbow Arrow!"

"Quick, take cover!"

The remaining bandits yelled, scrambling to grab their weapons and hide as best they could.

But the Crossbow Arrows showed no signs of stopping. In their panic, another Crossbow Arrow struck a bandit.

This unlucky soul didn’t die instantly, but his piercing screams struck fear into his comrades’ hearts.

"It’s the firelight!"

"Quick! Put out the campfire!"

The bandits finally realized the firelight was exposing their position. One of them tried to rush out and extinguish it, but the Crossbow Arrows from the darkness didn’t stop. The moment he showed his head, he fell.

Yet, the remaining bandits showed no concern for their comrade’s life, instead shouting loudly.

"Hurry! Reloading takes time!"

"Now’s our chance!"

Though they all yelled encouragement, none were willing to actually leave cover and risk extinguishing the fire.

After a few more shouts yielded no action, an eerie silence descended upon the camp.

The oppressive atmosphere weighed heavily on the remaining bandits. Finally, one of them couldn’t bear it any longer and chose a direction to break out, desperate to escape the camp. He believed that if he could just reach the wilderness, no one would be able to catch him.

"If we don’t go now, we’ll lose our chance!" someone yelled.

Following this shout, others also began to break out in different directions. Everyone knew they were gambling with their lives. Betting that the Crossbow Arrows wouldn’t hit them, betting that their chosen path was clear of enemies.

Clearly, two of them lost their gamble. Consecutive Crossbow Arrows took them down. After the other bandits fled into the darkness, the sounds of a fierce struggle erupted, only to quickly die down. No one knew what had transpired.

Only their final, agonizing screams announced their fate.

"I surrender! Don’t kill me!" one bandit finally cried out, his resolve shattering. He stopped and raised his hands.

This time, no Crossbow Arrow came. Just as the knot of terror in his chest began to loosen, a light suddenly flared in the darkness.

Pain instantly seared his mind, but it was quickly overshadowed by overwhelming fear and dread.

What happened? he wondered frantically.

But he soon lost the ability to think as a Longsword flashed, and his head was severed from his body.

Only in that final moment did he glimpse a figure in metal Armor, wielding a Longsword.

Reynard stepped out of the darkness and into the firelight. Blood on his Longsword gathered into droplets along the edge of the blade before sliding off.

From another direction, the others approached. Dismas held a Crossbow; such a weapon was better suited to the current environment than a pistol.

Balistan arrived next, followed by Lance, who looked somewhat odd wearing a helmet.

Lance carried a Crossbow, with a Short Sword and a musket at his waist. He also wore a backpack laden with various items.

Bows and Crossbows were different. A bow could be used for many impressive maneuvers, but it demanded considerable skill. Otherwise, one might as well just swing the bow to club someone for more reliable damage.

A Crossbowman, however, was different. The weapon required little training and provided immediate feedback. Lance had practiced his aim diligently during his few days at the training camp.

Although his skill didn’t match Dismas’s, dealing with such rabble was easy enough. The Crossbow Arrows he had fired moments ago had reaped the bandits’ lives as effortlessly as an old farmer scything wheat.

Dismas was likely the one aiming for the head, seeking one-shot kills, while Lance, prioritizing accuracy, usually aimed for the torso.

Lance was very clear about his role: he was support. He was responsible for healing others and applying buffs, while also serving as a part-time Shooter to provide some covering fire.

Even though he far outclassed the new recruits, Lance had no desire to engage in close combat himself. As the saying goes, a gentleman avoids placing himself in perilous situations. He wasn’t inclined to take risks if his companions could handle matters.

They offered the corpses as a Sacrifice, then gathered the bandits’ belongings and began to sort through them by the bonfire.

It had to be said, these men did have some money on them, likely a considerable amount looted when they pillaged that town.

Most of it, however, consisted of copper coins. One or two hundred would have been manageable. But this was already the third bandit outpost they had cleared. Carrying several hundred—or even up to a thousand—copper coins felt like lugging a block of iron. On top of that, there were various weapons and miscellaneous pieces of equipment. None of it was particularly valuable, yet Lance couldn’t bring himself to discard anything.

It reminded him of video games with their limited inventory space, and the familiar anguish of deciding what loot to keep.

Ugh! Those suppressed memories are attacking me!

These items definitely couldn’t be discarded; they could all be used for the town’s construction. However, carrying everything simply wasn’t realistic.

Fortunately, this area had little else besides an abundance of graves. They could easily find one that had already been dug up, hide their loot inside, cover it perhaps with a salvaged coffin lid or box, and rebury it. They planned to retrieve it after they finished dealing with all the bandits.

Lance unfolded his crudely drawn Map and marked a location. He then rejoined the others, who were resting by the bonfire, to discuss their next target.

"My lord," Dismas reported, "the weakest bandit groups have been eradicated. Those remaining are mid-sized bands, each with ten or more members and established strongholds."

Lance understood Dismas’s implication. The scattered bands they had just annihilated weren’t truly organized groups. They were merely individuals who had congregated without a leader or any real command structure, which was why they had been so easily dispatched.

But the remaining bandits wouldn’t be such pushovers.

To form a bandit group of ten or more members and become its leader, that chieftain would need the strength of at least a Brave, possibly even an Elite, to command the respect of their subordinates. Otherwise, the group would have long since disbanded.

"Considering the Wolf Faction’s perspective, which one should we target?" Lance asked, spreading out the Map. The strongholds of the various bandit groups were marked on it. With three already crossed off, it was time to choose from the remainder.

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