Alexander ordered all his men to prepare their face masks and then quietly leave Lisbon.
"Boss, which banner should we bring, Archduke Ferdinand's or our own?"
Victor, one of Alexander's trusted aides, knew exactly what they were going to do and was being thorough by asking this before they set off.
"Are you stupid? We're going to rob them, so drop all the banners," Alexander replied speechlessly. However, he suddenly thought of something. "Wait, do we still have the Western Empire's banner that we captured before?"
"Of course we do, sir," Victor confirmed.
Alexander's lips curled into a mischievous smile. "Take it out."
"What?" Victor was completely puzzled by his boss's move. Waving the Western Empire's banner while robbing their caravan in the Kingdom of Saint Martin—what kind of genius plan was this?
Alexander would never tell Victor that there was no real scheme behind it—it was just for fun. After all, they were up to no good; as long as they didn't show their own banner, it would be fine.
So, over forty fully armed warriors, all dressed in large black robes and wearing masks, lay in ambush along the caravan's route.
The first day passed quickly, and Alexander and his men didn't encounter the caravan. But it didn't matter; Alexander knew that the caravan wouldn't arrive on schedule. It was normal for them to be delayed by minor incidents on the road.
He had brought enough food for five or six days, so he wasn't in a hurry and could afford to wait.
At dawn on the second day, a low shout from one of the sentries woke Alexander from his sleep.
"Boss, look, it's the caravan."
Alexander quickly got up and looked towards the horizon, where a large caravan was indeed passing by.
There were over ten wagons loaded with goods, though it was hard to see what was inside. But they were certainly valuable items; otherwise, they wouldn't have hired as many as thirty guards to protect them.
Caravan guards were similar to mercenaries, with considerable combat skills. They wouldn't dare take this job if they weren't skilled fighters.
However, Alexander didn't think much of these guys. After all, he considered himself a semi-regular soldier and had experienced several battles. Caravan guards didn't intimidate him.
Moreover, he had a numerical advantage.
Despite this, the cautious Alexander did not choose to attack immediately but instead let the caravan pass.
"Boss, why didn't we attack? We should be able to take them easily," Victor asked in confusion.
"I'm worried they might have people following behind to ambush us," Alexander replied.
Alexander still couldn't fully trust the Golden Cup. What if their people were following behind, waiting for both him and the caravan to weaken each other before swooping in to take them out? This was a possibility.
Fortunately, the Golden Cup wasn't that cunning. After waiting for two or three hours without seeing any other groups, Alexander and his men felt relieved and began to pursue the caravan along the trade route.
When they caught up with the caravan, they found it already in chaos—it had run into competition. Here, "competition" meant fellow robbers, like Alexander.
Over forty bandits were already fighting with the caravan guards. Despite their numbers, they were clearly no match for the guards.
So why did they still dare to attack? Weren't they afraid of dying?
Charging might not guarantee their survival, but not charging definitely meant death, possibly from starvation or the cold. But by attacking, leveraging their numerical advantage, they had a hope of winning. If they managed to rob the caravan, they could become rich overnight and completely change their fortunes.
Unfortunately for them, their hopes of wealth were shattered by the well-organized defense of the caravan guards.
Faced with these well-trained and well-equipped guards, the threat from this ragtag group was minimal.
Just as the bandits were about to be defeated, another group suddenly charged out from the roadside.
This group was peculiar: they were riding almost exclusively Saint Martin Kingdom warhorses but carrying the Western Empire's fan-shaped shield banner. The leader was riding a splendid horse that didn't match the rest.
Strangely enough, they were all dressed in large black robes and masked, resembling the Truth Church, those prophecy-obsessed lunatics who also wrapped themselves in large robes.
The caravan guard leader didn't care to figure out who this odd group was. He only needed to know if they were friend or foe.
So he split his forces, keeping some to continue fighting the bandits while the rest turned to guard against the new arrivals.
Seeing this, Alexander was overjoyed.
If all the caravan guards turned to defend, it would have been tough to take them down. But splitting their forces against his troops? They didn't stand a chance.
Additionally, another reason for Alexander's excitement was the sound of the system voice ringing in his ears:
**"Detected that Lord Alexander is robbing a caravan. Completing this robbery will reward 1,000 system coins and 1,000 experience points."**
Goodness, in these times, robbing caravans even earned system coins. It seemed like there was no option but to rob them.
"Who are you...? Damn it, brace for defense!"
The caravan leader stood at the front, trying to shout something, as even bandits typically shout commands before a robbery like, "Hand over your goods, or prepare to die!" or "Stubborn fools, don't blame my blade for being merciless!"
But the other side said nothing, maintaining complete silence and even accelerating their charge. The swift movement created a gust of wind, causing some of the warriors' robes to flap open, revealing the lances and armor underneath. This sight sent a shiver down the caravan leader's spine.
Dozens of fully armed cavalry charging towards them—he couldn't even fathom the outcome. He could only hope that only a few of them were so well-equipped.
But he would soon think otherwise.
The man on the white horse shouted, "Raise your lances!"
Everyone raised their lances in unison during the charge. The synchronized movement clearly indicated to the caravan leader that these were not ragtag bandits but a disciplined, regular army.
As the cavalry closed in, the sharp-eyed caravan leader noticed the standardized equipment of the Saint Martin Kingdom on the approaching troops.
Who could they be?
Were they members of the Saint Martin Kingdom's army who had lost a political struggle and were preparing to defect? Or perhaps a knight order down on their luck and trying to make some extra money? Or maybe a temporary band of deserters turned robbers?
Countless thoughts flashed through the caravan leader's mind, but there was no time to dwell on them.
Alexander and his men were already upon them.
The caravan leader made a bold decision: he ordered his men to countercharge, and then... he turned and ran in the opposite direction.
Goodness, he was a mercenary, not part of a suicide squad.
I am a mercenary, not a death squad. What I fear most is that I have my life to make money but not my life to spend it.