Chapter 51 Encountering Bandits

"Let us continue on our way. Hopefully, the next village will bring us better fortune." Baron Berian sighed and gently nudged his horse's flanks.

They had spent two days traveling across Tyniec County, yet their harvest was meager. From Wincheston in the north to Lane in the south, from Sapp in the west to Bruh in the east, the attitude of every village and fortress they passed was uniformly identical: upon hearing that their purpose was to purchase grain, the locals offered a warm welcome. The old grain in the lords' granaries was beginning to spoil, after all, and naturally, they were eager to exchange their "surplus" food for gleaming silver coins. But the moment Baron Berian insisted that the grain be delivered to the Provence border, the smiles crinkling their faces vanished instantly.

The reason was simple. In these chaotic times, when even a routine journey required traveling in armed groups of three or five, hauling an eye-catching cargo of grain was no different from a stark-naked beauty walking among a horde of famished men. The roads and mountain passes leading to the southern border of Tyniec traversed countless dense forests, wildernesses, deep valleys, and hills. Behind every tree and every rock, bands of ruthless bandits might be grinding their teeth, waiting for prey to fall into their laps. Those roaming brigands, desperately fretting over food, would never let a single grain of wheat pass safely out of their "territory."

Amidst such troubled times, this was an indisputable reality. Without dozens of sturdy soldiers to escort the caravan, no one dared transport a large quantity of grain through regions infested by bandits. At present, petty lords everywhere could only force sickly peasants to take up wooden pitchforks and hoes to "defend" their sacred domains from the encroachment of greedy, marauding bandits.

After being rejected several times, Baron Berian had doubled the price of grain compared to normal years and promised to pay a substantial additional fee for transportation. Even so, in the end, only a single squire, whose courage was bolstered by silver coins, agreed to Baron Berian's terms. He sold the Baron three wagonloads of old wheat that was already beginning to mildew in his granary at an exorbitant price, and three serfs, their heads turned by the squire's lavish praise, were hired to drive the carts.

"My lord, at this rate, the soldiers in Fort Carc will starve to death before we can gather enough grain," the brown-haired squire muttered despondently as they traveled eastward with two thousand pounds of grain.

"There is still a place called Fort Andermatt at the far east. Let us try our luck there one last time. If we still cannot gather enough grain, we will return to Kitzbühel." Baron Berian was already disheartened. He carried enough coin to purchase tens of thousands of pounds of grain, yet he had managed to buy less than two thousand pounds of moldy old wheat. The dozens of soldiers in Fort Carc were likely spending their last ounce of strength, enduring hunger as they slew the final enemy scaling the ramparts, while he wandered here to no avail...

......

Within a dense forest along the road leading to Fort Andermatt, a newly formed band of outlaws was plotting a major heist.

The bandit leader, shouldering a massive lumberjack's axe, twisted his ugly face and asked the scouting lackey, "One-Eye, did you damn well see clearly? Were there truly only three of them? Are there any main forces following behind them?"

The bandit lackey, whose eye had been gouged out for peeping at the lord's wife while she bathed, licked the corner of his mouth and replied, "Chief, I swear on my remaining eye, there are indeed only three men, three horses, and a mule. And it seems they are the very same riders who passed by two days ago. But this time, there are no dozen soldiers trailing behind them."

"Are those the fellows? Did you see if the leader carried a banner? I hope they are not some passing nobles."

One-Eye continued to egg him on, "Chief, there are no heraldic banners, nor any military flags. Although all three wear black hooded cloaks, there are no army insignia. They should simply be the armed guards of some wealthy merchant caravan. Those horses looked rather fine to me; we should simply rob them and present them to a hero like yourself."

The bandit chief had originally been an ordinary yeoman in a neighboring county west of Tyniec. When he was twenty, his family's plow ox suddenly went mad, injuring the village's knight. The famously robust knight unexpectedly failed to recover from his severe injuries, began coughing up blood after a few days, and soon breathed his last. Having caused such a colossal disaster, he had no choice but to flee to a foreign land, barely making a living by waylaying solitary merchants and travelers. The southern wars and the increasingly severe security along the southern border of the County of Burgundy made him feel that his era had arrived. Thus, more than half a year ago, he began gathering and recruiting a motley crew of scoundrels to join his band. In just a few months, they had already plundered several small settlements, acquiring some food and a small amount of coin. A few minor victories made the leader experience the thrill of pillaging with a gang, so their appetites grew increasingly voracious...

The chief glanced back at the dozen or so subordinates resting under the trees on the grassy slope within the forest. They were newly joined refugees and serfs who had fled their manors. Having lost everything, they had staked their lives as a final gamble for food. Therefore, despite their crude weapons and mismatched armor, relying on a desperate, reckless bravery, they had achieved repeated successes in their robberies and pillaging.

"Bratards, time to go to work! Get yourselves fired up. Once we finish this job, we're going home to drink and eat meat."

The lackeys, sprawled haphazardly across the dense forest, roared as they grabbed their farm tools and clubs, following the chief and a few "old brothers" toward the cart path to the northeast.

......

On the wagon road returning west from Fort Andermatt, Yate and his two companions were galloping on horseback. The return journey had never been peaceful; not long after leaving Fort Andermatt, small groups of roving bandits began to faintly appear within their field of vision. Like famished wild dogs, they dared not rashly attack a majestic lion, yet they continually trailed behind, sniffing the scent of prey and waiting for an opportune moment to strike.

Ron's fear of the unfamiliar dense forest had taken deep root in his heart.

Every time they passed through a patch of woods, he would gallop along the edge of the forest, making sure there were no ambushes before nervously slipping through like a cornered rat.

"My lord, there is movement in the woods ahead. I cannot be certain if there is danger. Should we take a detour?" Ron galloped back from the edge of the forest.

Yate glanced toward the dense forest without any unusual sensations, but since Ron reported movement, it was safer to take a detour. There were only three of them; if they were entangled by a pack of bandits in the woods, it would be difficult to break away smoothly.

Yate unhooked his riding bow from the saddle, gripped it in his hand, and ordered Jason, who was following behind, "Jason, there is a river blocking the north, so we cannot go around that way. Ride south along the edge of the forest, about an arrow's flight away, and scout to see if we can bypass this woodland. Return immediately if there is danger."

Jason acknowledged the order with a shout, wheeled his horse around, and galloped south.

Watching Jason's figure gradually disappear, Yate dismounted and handed the reins to Ron, who had also gotten off his horse. "Ron, let us rest here. You feed the horses some grain and water, and I will keep watch in the surroundings." He then drew a light arrow and climbed onto a protruding boulder by the roadside to look around and secure the perimeter.

After about the time it took to eat a meal, Jason returned to the roadside rock, riding a horse that was breathing heavily, and found Yate. "My lord, it won't work. The terrain to the south is growing increasingly steep. We might be able to climb over on foot, but we have horses and a pack mule; I'm afraid they won't be able to make it up."

Yate called back Ron, who was guarding the perimeter, and asked, "Can you be certain there is something unusual in the forest?"

Ron nodded and replied, "My lord, although I cannot be certain they are lying-in-wait bandits, I am sure there are definitely people in the woods, and more than one."

Yate believed Ron's words. When they came, several tails had followed them near this forest for half a day, only refraining from a rash attack because of their larger numbers. Now that the three of them were returning alone, those tails were likely about to bare their teeth.

Yate looked at the surrounding terrain. To the east lay a wide expanse of open plain; apart from the dense forest, there was no cover around, so they were unlikely to be ambushed, and even if there were danger, they could escape on horseback.

"Let's go. Find a place to make a fire and cook."

"My lord, did I hear correctly... make a fire and cook? We aren't continuing our journey?" Ron was already prepared to launch a counter-ambush from behind the enemy, just as they had done last year in the birch forest south of Lane.

"What else? You said yourself there might be danger in the woods; why would we rush to throw our lives away?"

"But we have no way around this forest."

"I never intended to bypass the forest anyway. Besides, we are in no hurry to travel, so waiting a day or two doesn't matter. If there really is an ambush in the woods, they won't have the patience to wait this long. By then, they will either retreat and leave, or rush out of the forest to attack us. All we need to do is keep our swords in hand and our saddles on our horses. Once we've eaten our fill and rested our mounts, if any danger arises, we'll just hop on our horses and gallop east."

"That's true... We can outrun them anyway, and we're not in a hurry, so we might as well wait. Jason, go gather some firewood. We'll roast cured meat for lunch today."

......

On a gentle slope within the dense forest, a dozen or so stiff-limbed bandits were still lying prone. With cocked heads and twisted necks, they all stared in unison at the road east of the forest.

The bucktoothed burly man crouching beside the chief finally reached his limit. He stood up and roared, "Chief, are those bastards coming or not? My damn neck is about to snap. If you ask me, we should just charge out with our axes. Why bother with some stupid ambush—"

The chief, lying flat on the ground, twisted his neck to glare at the burly man and hissed fiercely, "If you don't lie back down this instant, I'll chop off your pig legs."

Knowing the chief was entirely capable of severing his legs, the burly man sullenly dropped back to the ground, muttering under his breath, "This is damn suffocating. We might as well go back to being ordinary highwaymen..."

The chief pretended not to hear the burly man's complaints and turned to order One-Eye, who was beside him, "You blind fool, have those bastards arrived yet?"

One-Eye found it strange as well. It had been a good half-day; even if they were crawling, they should have made it by now.

Just as he was wondering, a scouting lackey came running back.

One-Eye stood up and delivered a kick. "Idiot, who told you to run back? Where are they?"

The little lackey quickly scrambled up, brushed the footprint off his clothes, and stammered, "Sec-Second Chief... those bastards are making a fire and cooking in the clearing before the forest..."

"What? Making a fire and cooking?! Are you blind? What time is it? Why aren't they hurrying along, cooking for what?" One-Eye delivered another kick, sending the lackey tumbling to the ground.

The little lackey was practically in tears. Lying on the ground, he replied with a sob, "Chief, Second Chief, everything I said is true. They are even roasting cured meat to eat..."

The bandit chief stopped One-Eye from delivering a third kick, pointed at the faint black smoke rising into the sky outside the forest, and said, "Enough, a bunch of good-for-nothings. Let's go. Charge out with me!"