Lance had already taken a stroll through the village earlier. It was a small settlent of no more than twenty households and fewer than a hundred people, surrounded by wooden fences.
All the houses in the village were longhouses with wooden fras, plastered with mud on the outside, and topped with thatched roofs. People and livestock lived together. Their sustenance relied on the fields around the village and the livestock they bred—chickens, ducks, pigs, and cows. In their spare ti, they also gathered wild fruits and set traps to capture wild animals.
This was the most common form of rural life in this world, the way most ordinary people lived—monotonous and burdenso.
In such circumstances, it was quite normal for the Church to develop a strong base among the people, who depended on faith to enrich their spiritual lives.
The purchasing power of these villagers was limited, so they didn’t buy much. However, Lance wasn’t concerned about that and instead started chatting with the village chief.
"Is it safe around here? Are there bandits or thieves of that sort?"
"Yes, recently a gang of bandits has been coming down from sowhere, raiding and stealing grain every now and then."
"Oh! Where are they?" Lance’s eyes lit up imdiately upon hearing this.
"They’re just in..."
He had been planning to find bandits to train his troops, while also replenishing his gifts.
He had passed through several villages on his way without any sign of bandits. Perhaps those nearby had already converged on Hamlet and been wiped out by him in one fell swoop.
As for why bandits were present here, yet the village remained unscathed? The Hamlet Family had lost their ruling power over the territory. Consequently, these scattered villages were effectively autonomous. They were usually led by the eldest villager, who beca the chief and used years of accumulated experience to maintain the village’s operations.
But a village of this size was also unable to organize a militia; rather, it was more a case of every villager being a defender. When bandits ca, everyone would gather, taking up hoes and pitchforks to fend them off, while also giving up so of their grain.
On one hand, this showed the bandits that robbery ca at a cost. On the other, they offered the ruffians a little sothing to appease them, wary of provoking them into true violence.
Villages like theirs, which wouldn’t yield much even from a strong-arm robbery, held little interest for the bandits. Besides, if they raided it clean, there would be no grain left for future trips, so it was better to leave the village intact and make regular collections.
The bandits were actually more interested in the richer pickings from people on the rchant roads.
After listening to the village chief’s account, Lance more or less understood the situation: a gang of about twenty bandits who mainly operated around a nearby town, coming over regularly just to steal so grain.
Hearing all this, Lance felt sowhat troubled. He was out on a mission and hadn’t followed Walter’s rchant caravan route, instead heading directly to Ovando. This ant the small town wasn’t on his planned route. Delaying two days for twenty bandits that might not even be found didn’t seem worthwhile.
"You can take a detour on your way there, another road that’s a bit farther. If you hear the dense sound of many hooves, be very careful."
"Hmm." Lance nodded, deciding to pass on this small fry. But the next second, he reacted, turning his head to look at the village chief. "What! You an those bandits... they’re mounted?"
"Yes, and each man has a horse. Ordinary rchant caravans don’t stand a chance if they run into them. It’s just bad luck if they do." The village chief continued, discussing the nace of these bandits, but Lance was already focused on those twenty horses, hardly paying attention.
Whether for tilling fields, pulling carts, or riding, horses were incredibly useful. There was no reason to pass up these "good brothers" bringing him gifts of horses. He had to pay them a visit.
As he was leaving, the village chief was still advising Lance’s rchant caravan to be careful not to get robbed.
After all, their village relied on these rchant caravans for supplies. If no rchants ca, they themselves would have to take the risk of going to a nearby town to trade for goods.
But Lance wasn’t concerned. He nodded and smiled, "Don’t worry, we definitely won’t go there."
Once the group left the village, the three of them rode their horses at the front.
"My Lord, aren’t we pressed for ti? Why waste it on these bandits?"
The two of them knew that the Lord had always been after bandits and robbers, and this ti they even had to take a detour.
"Our way ahead is clear now, but what if they encounter those fellows on their way back with the supplies?
Moreover, clearing out the bandits along the route now will make the trade route much safer for the future, saving us the trouble of sending n to hunt bandits a second ti.
Of course, the most important thing is that they have horses, and that’s precisely what our caravan lacks. With horses, we can pull more wagons and carry more supplies."
The two n had no objections to this; they were not afraid of battle.
....
"Boss! Boss!"
"Dammit! What the hell are you screaming about?"
"The lookout has spotted a rchant caravan."
"It’s been too damn quiet lately! Finally, so living souls! Tell the boys to get ready; we’re eating at tonight!"
The leader shouted, and the bandits in the camp imdiately began to gear up and mount their horses, their excitent palpable. After so many days, they were finally going to feast.
Soon, all the bandits were ready. Looking at their equipnt, one could see it was quite decent—not a full set, but they had essential breastplates, and quite a few even carried short muskets. Nowadays, many small towns couldn’t even muster twenty cavalryn, so one could only imagine how wealthy this band of bandits was.
Before setting off, most of the experienced ones covered their lower faces with rags and wore tattered cloth hoods; so even had helts.
They knew the nature of their work, so no one wanted their face to end up on a wanted poster; after all, they needed to spend their stolen money in towns.
"Move out!"
The group quickly rendezvoused with the lookout, confirming the rchant caravan was not far ahead.
"Boss, do we ambush or charge straight in?"
"How many people? What equipnt?"
"Eleven. All ordinary guards with spears. There’s one person in armor, don’t know if he’s a Knight or a rcenary."
"Damn it! With so few people, what’s the point of an ambush?" The leader sneered disdainfully upon hearing the small number, then shouted to the bandits behind him, "Follow , boys! Tonight, we go to town and have so fun!"
With that, the leader swung his warhamr and spurred his horse into a gallop, his underlings trailing behind.
As they drew closer, the leader saw it was indeed a typical small rchant caravan. His contempt grew, and he even found ti to joke with his underlings.
"Don’t kill them all; leave a few to drive the wagons!"
"HAHAHA!"
"Charge!"
"Kill!"
Reynard, watching the bandits’ mounted attack, showed little reaction. He had survived leading charges of hundreds, even thousands, of cavalryn before; this was nothing in comparison.
"Prepare! Form the wagon circle! Don armor! Cock the crossbows and nock the crossbow arrows!"
Reynard calmly gave his orders. The guards weren’t as fragile as they looked; having witnessed the brutality of desperate fights, they were not intimidated by the bandits.
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