Guided by the sheriff, Henwell and his group don’t stay in the town center. Instead, they settle in a huge warehouse in the southwestern corner of town. The rchant caravans that usually occupy the place have long since been cleared out.
Henwell tosses a bag of gold coins to the sheriff, instructing him to grant most of the warehouse staff a paid holiday.
Then the knights keep outsiders away from their horses, personally washing and feeding them with high-quality bean cakes mixed with eggs.
Once the horses are settled, they imdiately begin repairing the wagons.
After two months on the road, everyone has beco skilled at wagon repairs.
Next, they take care of their weapons and armor—bows, crossbows, swords, and plate armor all require regular maintenance.
Heavy crossbows and armor have many tal joints. Traveling through wind, rain, and fog exposes these joints to moisture.
So they carefully wipe everything clean, sotis even heating the tal parts before applying oil to prevent rust.
They work until evening, then enjoy a hot bath.
Barnett casually finds a few local families on the street, pays them with gold coins to prepare food.
Though not gourt, at least the food is warm.
That night, Henwell doesn’t assign anyone to guard duty.
Instead, he climbs to the highest point of the warehouse, carrying a bottle of wine and so small dishes, and starts eating and drinking on the rooftop.
In the middle of the night, as he sits cross-legged resting, Henwell suddenly grabs his large bow, pulls out so arrows, and swiftly fires seven heavy arrows into the surrounding darkness.
The arrows Henwell uses aren’t special long arrows for the great bow but are standard heavy armor-piercing arrows.
With a few deep twangs of the bowstring, what flies out isn’t a whole arrow but a tal arrowhead.
If you slow down the scene, you’d notice sothing remarkable.
At the mont the arrow leaves the string, the powerful force shatters the hardwood shaft from the tail end into splinters.
All the energy transfers to the triangular tal arrowhead, which tears through the air with a strange sound, disappearing instantly just beyond the bow’s limb.
Over a hundred ters away, the black-clad figures creeping cautiously suddenly explode as if struck by a heavy hamr—their heads blown apart in an instant.
Terrified, their companions dive behind walls, shielding themselves.
After a mont, they peek out again.
Under the moonlight, they see Henwell standing on the rooftop, holding his great bow.
The other black-clad man exchange a signal with partners, drag their headless comrades’ bodies away, and vanish once more into the darkness.
Just seconds after Henwell releases his arrows, the doors and windows of several guest rooms in the warehouse shatter.
Three figures leap out, swords in hand and round shields raised, scanning the surroundings.
More people rush out from the rooms, all ard, quickly spreading out across the courtyard.
The first three to jump out are Orak, along with Conrad and Hubert—both Battle Knights under Henwell’s command. Naturally, they react the fastest.
Henwell’s other n follow closely, with Orak’s troops appearing last as they form their battle lines.
Compared to Orak’s group, which splits into several small formations to prepare for the fight, Henwell’s n take on two distinct roles.
A few forr Lord Iron Guards rush toward the entrances, while Barnett leads the intelligence unit, who imdiately roll into the shadows to hide.
Unlike the others, the intelligence mbers don’t carry round shields but instead wield heavy military crossbows.
Henwell watches the scene below.
Orak blows a few whistle signals up to Henwell, a code asking about the enemy’s location and numbers.
Henwell waves his hand. “It’s nothing. Just so people who couldn’t resist coming over to say hello. I told them to go back to sleep early.”
He continues, “Everyone, get so rest. But I think you should fix the doors and windows first.”
After lifting the alert, the group finds so nails. Without even using hamrs, they press the nails into the wooden fras by hand.
Henwell turns to Conrad. “Hand a bow. Mine’s too heavy and noisy.”
Conrad dashes back inside, grabs his great bow and two quivers, and nimbly climbs to the rooftop.
“My lord, let stand watch. You should get so rest tonight,” Conrad urges.
Henwell takes the bow. “You go rest. No one will co after midnight. I want to stay up here to think.”
Knowing he can’t convince Henwell otherwise, Conrad jumps down and returns inside to rest.
Henwell unbuckles the leather strap on one quiver and pulls out the arrows planted in the straw core at the bottom.
Each quiver holds fifteen finely crafted arrows, all placed within easy reach.
From then until dawn, no more assassins co to throw their lives away.
Henwell leans against the flagpole on the rooftop and dozes lightly for four hours.
With his current constitution, Henwell only needs two hours of rest a day. If necessary, he can go several days without sleep.
At daybreak, everyone rises and washes up.
Henwell jumps down from the roof and, with Hubert’s help, removes his armor.
The early spring night is still chilly, and his undershirt is soaked through.
He changes clothes and takes a bath before instructing his n, “Conrad and Hubert, you two stick with Barnett today. He’s in charge of procuring supplies, buying wagons, and hiring drivers. You’re responsible for his protection. Learn as much as you can. Barnett may be young, but he’s professionally trained and experienced.”
Barnett replies, “Don’t worry, sir. I’ll handle it. With two veterans protecting , nothing will go wrong.”
While Henwell rests, Barnett sends away the townsfolk who cooked breakfast and randomly selects new residents to prepare lunch and dinner.
They don’t buy supplies from the town’s shops. Instead, they head straight to the warehouse district east of town and purchase a large amount directly from the rchant caravans there.
As for wagons, they simply pick out the best ones from the caravans and even pay a high price to hire a dozen or so teamsters.
These moves leave the approaching assassins scratching their heads.
What kind of bastard plays by no rules?
Poisoning and planting spies clearly won’t work, and a night raid is a joke.
Yesterday, a notorious rcenary group doing shady work was wiped out after just one encounter by the Lord of Blood Hill himself, who blew the heads off seven n with his arrows.
No one saw what happened, no arrows were visible—just that after Henwell shot, heads exploded.
The assassins start suspecting Henwell’s bow must be magical, possessing so extraordinary power.
They never consider that brute force could be the answer.
No matter what, last night’s incident killed several knights.
Night raids are completely off the table now, but so assassins are already plotting their next move.
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