"Heavenly Father above, I hope this damned weather doesn’t change suddenly."
Model, chasing the livestock tracks and wagon ruts, looked at the increasingly overcast sky and drew a cross in front of himself.
Don’t expect a ragtag group of bandits to have strong anti-tracking awareness; they never even thought of concealing their tracks.
After all, the knight belonging to this village is either dead or has fled.
If he fled, it’s impossible for him to gather enough power from the lord he serves to come back anytime soon.
If he’s dead, it’s even simpler.
So they’re not really in a hurry.
In the distance on the mountain top, a faint flickering of firelight could finally be seen.
Laine, acting as a scout, watched for a long time and reported back, "Three clusters of campfires, about thirty people, should be that group of bandits."
Losa ordered, "Everyone, prepare your armor."
During regular travel, Losa and Hans did not wear armor; their equipment was mostly stored on the pack horses.
Because both his and Hans’s chain armor have very dense rings, woven with complicated craftsmanship, weighing twice as much as the chain armor shirt of soldiers like Laine and Model.
If it weren’t for being short of money, he and Hans shouldn’t even ride warhorses but should ride pack horses to save horse power.
Warhorses are delicate animals, unlike pack horses which are easy to handle; they can’t be ridden for long and require fine feed, sometimes eating better than people.
This kind of investment is worth it because, on the battlefield, a knight’s life is closely related to whether his mount has adequate physical strength.
"Sir, should I attach floating armor plates?"
"No need, dealing with a group of riffraff doesn’t require such caution."
Losa shook his head, not because he was overconfident, but because in small-scale conflicts, knights are a dimensional strike against these unarmored, cloth-wearing bandits.
In this era of general famine for common people.
Even becoming a bandit doesn’t change the fact that they are underfed.
Their combat power, though stronger than the peasant slaves forcibly conscripted from farms by lords, is still limited.
The infantry of the Middle Ages, except for a few examples like mercenaries and longbowmen, was generally insignificant.
The strongest combat unit among infantry is often walking knights who lost their mounts.
The area ahead is hilly, making cavalry charges unstable.
So as they got closer.
Losa instructed Model to stay and care for the horses, while he and Prajna, Hans, and the crossbow-wielding Laine flanked from both sides of the woods.
The chain armor did not hinder his agility; this suit of armor, including chain armor leggings and arm guards, altogether weighed no more than twenty-five kilograms, not heavy for him.
The bandits gathered around the campfire, the flames illuminating their oily, excited faces, their long-unkept beards full of dirt and fleas.
The prisoners bound beside the wagon looked utterly desperate and numb.
Especially the women, who inevitably were subjected to groping while being transported.
Once these bandits had drunk and eaten their fill, the fate awaiting them was predictable.
The bandits were currently raising their cups in merriment, the poor-quality wine pilfered from the village flowing down their beards.
The poultry roasting over the fire emitted a tempting aroma, while someone squatted beside a pot of bubbling meat stew, waiting eagerly.
"This time it’s been a big haul; that foolish Knight Andel actually went with his attendant to Lienz for a tournament. If I were the lord knight, I would stay in the manor all day, eating meat and bedding women."
"Agreed, what nonsense is a knight’s honor compared to beauty and fine food?"
Someone, unable to wait, tore off a piece of meat, chewing, and mumbled, "Boss, we should each get thirty... oh no, perhaps fifty dinars, right?"
The bandit leader’s expression turned cold, "That depends on selling these slaves in the southern markets, otherwise you’ll be lucky to get fifteen silver coins."
The bandits looked at each other.
They had a rough idea of the loot they had acquired in this raid.
According to the divided share agreed upon, each person should get more than just fifteen dinars.
Honestly, if it were fifteen solid large silver coins, it’d be acceptable.
But they knew the bandit leader’s nature would more likely offer them "black coins" or those tiny pathetic silver coins!
Someone showed discontent:
"Boss, this doesn’t match the rules we swore by in the name of the Heavenly Father, right?"
The bandit leader, his face flushed, triumphantly said, "You broke the rules first. Don’t think I don’t know you’ve hidden some loot; rest assured, fifteen silver coins are enough for you to enjoy yourselves for a long time. Plus, aren’t there plenty of women here for your pleasure?"
"Consider in Veneto’s cities, it costs at least three big coins to visit those prostitute fireflies."
"The women here are all good family girls, and you can do as you please with them. Before selling them, you can live like lords. What more do you want?"
The bandits instinctively glanced at the women bound by the wagon, their expressions slightly easing.
Drinking, eating meat, and playing with women seem like a pretty good deal.
An earth-shattering shout suddenly rang out.
"Villains, you have committed unforgivable sins. Only the Heavenly Father can forgive you, but I am responsible for sending you to meet the Heavenly Father!"
"Then, He will decide whether you drown in Hell’s sulfur fire lake for a hundred years or a thousand."
In the darkness, an iron-faced figure stood tall, wielding a two-handed sword, gazing down upon them like a divine envoy.
The slots on the upper part of his helmet, like gateways to the Hell, swept fear over each heart.
A tall woman draped in a black cloak stood by the iron-faced man, the malevolent ghost-carved shield appeared to come alive, showing a cold, greedy smile.
Someone shouted in fright.
These bandits, mostly runaway slaves from under the lords, fear knights down to their bones.
"Don’t panic, it’s just two people; kill them for me, whoever slays him gets his armor, and I will also reward him with a hundred small silver coins!"
The bandit leader yelled to stabilize the troops.
But at that moment, another shout emerged from the woods behind: "In the name of the Heavenly Father, Teutonic Knight, charge!"
Underneath the terrifying horned helmet, clad in a white cloak, Hans leapt from the woods, waving a two-handed greatsword, descending upon the bandits like a tiger.
Alongside him charged out a swift crossbow arrow hidden by the night.
The crossbow arrow precisely pierced the bandit leader’s neck; he collapsed clutching his throat, blood gushing out.
Laine, hidden in the dense woods, had already locked on several conspicuous targets beside the campfire.
Those wearing chain armor shirts, leather armor, or cotton armor were surely the leaders of these bandits; killing these people would instantly collapse their ragtag group.
The bandit leader, not aware of the danger, stood there commanding, and was naturally the first to be dealt with by Laine.
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Soon, the fighting cries ceased.
Most of the bandits were cut down, leaving only three who surrendered early, kneeling and pleading for mercy.
The young men and women bound beside the wagons looked up in fear at the towering knights, uncertain of what fate awaited them.
Don’t think knights of this era are all noble spirits.
Publicly leading raids on villages, robbing passing caravans, setting up tolls, even reveling in killing; butchers were commonplace.
Losa raised his sword and cut their binding ropes: "I am a friend of Count of Lienz, you need not worry that I will sell you into slavery."
"Reclaim what was yours from those bandits and return to rebuild your homes."