FL - Chapter 32: Reinforcements Arrive

"Kill them all! Seize the goods!"

The bandit chieftain raised his long blade and roared. His men erupted with Battle Aura, their blood running hot as they surged forward.

Slaves and serfs shrieked in terror, dropping their rations and tools and scattering in every direction.

Soldiers fumbled for their weapons, scrambling to organize a defense—but the rain of bolts hadn't stopped. Some couldn't even raise their shields in time before shafts punched through their shoulders, and they collapsed with screams of agony.

Jon jolted awake. The bowl slipped from his hands and shattered on the ground. He stared at the chaos around him, frozen with terror and utterly at a loss.

He'd been running his mouth, drinking his porridge—how the hell did they suddenly get jumped by bandits?!

His knights swiftly closed in around him, drawing their blades. Silver-white Battle Aura shimmered along their sword edges as their warhorses reared and charged toward the enemy.

"To arms!"

Two knights led the assault, Battle Aura blazing from their weapons. Their blades traced faint arcs of light as they struck at the onrushing bandits.

The razor-sharp sword aura sent the first two attackers flying, blood spraying across the muddy mountain path.

But these bandits were no common thugs. Most of them were berserkers trained in Battle Aura.

A towering bandit leader swung a massive battle-axe, dark-blue Battle Aura coiling around his frame, and swept it in a brutal horizontal arc.

A knight, horse and all, was cleaved to the ground.

The warhorse screamed. Cracks spidered across the knight's armor, and blood trickled from the corner of his mouth.

The two sides were now locked in a desperate melee. Battle Aura flared and flashed in the darkness, illuminating face after face twisted with killing fury.

Jon tried to keep his head and issue commands, but the situation had already spiraled beyond his control.

His knights fought with valor and coordination, but outnumbered, their defensive line was quickly torn apart.

"Damn it!"

Jon watched helplessly as one of his knights was hacked down by the bandit leader's axe—and then saw that same leader turn and charge straight for him. His heart seized.

*What is going on? How are these bandits so strong?*

Their attacks were swift, their coordination tight, and their objective was painfully clear.

"Boss, this one looks valuable!" one bandit hollered. "Think we should hold him for ransom?"

"To hell with ransom!" the chieftain snarled. "Orders from above—bring him back for the sacrifice!"

Those words broke something in Jon.

His glorious journey had only just begun—was it really going to end here?

Boom!

A thunderous crash rang out from the mountain path in the distance.

Then came the pounding of heavy iron-shod hooves, closing fast amid earth-shaking battle cries.

"Charge!"

Jon's head snapped up. There, on the mountain path not far away, a fully armored company of knights was hurtling toward the battlefield.

Like a spear of lightning, they drove deep into the fray.

Jon spotted Louis at the rear in an instant, black hair streaming in the wind.

Louis had appeared like a legendary hero descending on a seven-colored cloud. Tears of sheer emotion welled up in Jon's eyes.

"Boss! You're here?!" Jon bellowed toward Louis with everything he had.

Louis didn't acknowledge him. His gaze was locked on the enemy. He gave the order: "Engage!"

The knight squad Louis led was nothing like Jon's company.

They had trained together for a long time, and their coordination was seamless. They had set an ambush rather than rushing to the rescue, waiting until the enemy let down its guard and Jon's side was in greatest danger before striking.

A death blow delivered at the perfect moment.

"Kill!"

The knights unleashed their Battle Aura at full force and crashed into the battlefield like a thunderstorm. A dozen warhorses swept through the melee, blades and shadows crossing, blood spraying.

"Stop them!"

One bandit barely got his weapon up before a Battle Aura-wreathed lance hurtled in from the distance, punching clean through his chest and pinning him to the ground.

Lambert followed with a sweeping arc of sword aura that sent three or four bandits tumbling through the air, their bodies rolling across the ground, hitting the earth already broken and bleeding.

The bandits scrambled to fight back—some couldn't even muster their Battle Aura in time before they were cut down, one after another.

The survivors panicked. They tried to run, only to find themselves completely encircled by cavalry.

A few managed to slip out, but warhorses were far faster. Within steps, lances punched through their backs and dropped them where they ran.

Louis's knights didn't get bogged down. They kept the momentum of their charge rolling—every sword stroke, every lance thrust, another bandit fell.

This wasn't a fight. This was a harvesting.

A reaping, like death itself.

"Damn you!"

The only bandit with any real strength left—the hulking chieftain—let out a furious roar. Dark-blue Battle Aura erupted around him like a storm, and he swung his great axe in a massive arc.

But several knights closed in at once. Their longswords crossed and locked his movements. Shields slammed into him, staggering him back half a step.

In the next breath, cold light flashed. A blade split through his Battle Aura defense. Blood sprayed.

The chieftain's eyes went wide. He couldn't believe how it ended. And then, powerlessly, he fell.

With the chieftain dead, the bandits lost all will to resist.

The battle ended so quickly that it felt unreal. Jon could scarcely believe the nightmare he had just endured was over.

Louis sat his horse, sweeping a cold gaze across the scene.

The scattered outlaws had been wiped clean.

Only twenty-odd captives remained, bound hand and foot on the ground. Their bodies bore wounds of varying severity, but hatred still smoldered in their eyes.

Lambert stepped forward and spoke in a low voice. "Confirmed—they're all Snowsworn."

The Snowsworn. Louis had heard the name.

A rebel organization born from the Snow Kingdom remnants in the Northlands.

Their ancestors had been warriors of the Snow Kingdom, until the Empire's legions conquered the Northlands, crushed their royal court, and slaughtered their royal line.

The descendants who survived had vanished into the wilderness, biding their time and gathering strength, sworn to repay blood with blood one day.

"So it's them." Louis nodded thoughtfully and walked toward the prisoners.

Seeing him approach, the captives' eyes blazed with fury. "Imperial dog… one day, you'll all pay in blood!"

"Kill us if you want. One day, you'll be buried in this land…"

"You invaders—you'll die a miserable death…"

One captive glared at him with pure venom, spitting curses thick with hatred—then suddenly hurled a gob of bloody phlegm at Louis.

The nearest knight erupted in rage. He kicked the man to the ground and pressed his sword against his neck, snarling, "Insolence!"

Even so, the captives kept their gazes fixed on them, their eyes filled with bone-deep hatred. They showed no sign of submission.

Louis watched in silence.

These men had been bandits too long, and they were steeped in hatred. There was no easy taming, no simple reforming them.

If he spared them, they would remain a danger waiting to erupt.

He hesitated no further. With a calm wave of his hand, he said flatly, "Execute them all."

The soldiers obeyed, dragging the captives aside one by one. Blades flashed. Blood soaked the mud.