Beneath the Mill Windmill at the North Slope, six horses belonging to the Kantadar mercenaries were tied up to one side.
Three mercenaries, with waist swords hung at their sides, leisurely surveyed the chaos in the village, pointing here and there while chattering nonsensically, clicking their tongues in regret that they couldn't participate in the looting below the hill.
On the top floor of the Windmill Tower, of the three mercenaries tasked with keeping watch, only one stood by the window looking into the distance, while the other two leaned lazily against the wall, feigning sleep.
Leon carefully pulled back his peering gaze from the edge of the broken hole at the top of the tower.
They had hidden at the top of the Windmill Tower for several hours but had yet to find a chance to escape.
The previous night, at least a dozen Kantadar Cavalry had occupied the Mill.
These were not Wild Goblins or village ruffians—facing so many skilled, fully armed warriors on horseback, the three young men didn't stand a chance.
Although most of the cavalry had charged into Selva Village at the break of dawn, now only six remained guarding this place. Still estimating the gap in strength between them, Leon dared not risk a confrontation.
The enemy was grouped in threes, and there was no chance to catch anyone alone. Once exposed, it would be three against six, and whether it was Leon, Lokhak, or Azeryan, each of them fighting two cavalrymen was a fool's dream.
If only he had Olivia's martial arts skills...
In this dilemma, Leon couldn't help but recall Lokhak's earlier sighs.
Thinking of the golden-haired girl, his gaze involuntarily shifted with worry toward the village below.
Although it was hard to see clearly, they had silently witnessed the entire scene of the large group of cavalry attacking Selva from all sides.
That wouldn't possibly leave Olivia, who lived in the village, unaffected.
But hidden at the top of the tower, the three young men could hardly protect themselves, and aside from outrage, they were helpless.
As if a past tragedy were replaying, igniting painful memories, Lokhak turned his head and closed his eyes, unable to bear watching the calamity below.
Leon could only sigh inwardly, silently praying that the kind girl could escape the encirclement using her excellent swordsmanship.
Suddenly, the sound of clopping hooves approached from not far off.
The three of them cautiously lay down on the back side to hide their figures, to avoid being spotted by people looking from a distance.
Around the Windmill Mill, the guarding cavalry peeked around.
They saw three burden-laden mercenary comrades riding their horses over; one of them had a brown-haired little girl tied to the back of his horse, her mouth gagged with ragged cloth, sobbing.
(In Urian Language) "Why have you three returned?" asked one of the stationed hired cavalry.
"The boss called us to switch shifts. We brothers got tired of looting. What, are you not pleased?" the leader, with a pockmarked face, pulled on the reins and dismounted, laughing and cursing.
"You've got quite the haul there. This run-down village had some loot after all?"
"Hey, don't even mention it, it's all crap. Every slightly better-off house had been cleanly stripped by the attendants of those Knight Masters. We brothers only grabbed some dregs."
Pockmarked-face, after complaining, suddenly changed his tone, his expression full of schadenfreude, "But they got more than they bargained for. Some people loot but won't live to spend it."
"What do you mean? Did this tiny village put up a resistance? Did we lose men?" asked one of the stationed Kantadar Cavalry in surprise.
"We lost one, Baron's men lost two, and one of the Knight Masters got his leg disabled. If the Baron hadn't arrived quickly with reinforcements, that Knight would have lost his life; he's still bedridden. What a disaster, the gutter capsized, tsk tsk tsk."
Pockmarked-face ranted on.
"Explain, what happened? Are the militia here that strong?"
The stationed few perked up with interest and gathered around to listen to his story.
"What militias? It was a little girl and an old man. They killed three of our men along the way and almost escaped on horseback. The injured Knight Master was taken down by the little girl."
"Ah, cut the crap!"
When the others heard this, they completely disbelieved it, treating it as Pockmarked's bragging.
"Damn it, if you don't believe it, why don't you go to the village and ask yourselves?"
Pockmarked couldn't be bothered with them anymore.
But it was understandable; if he hadn't seen with his own eyes that golden-haired girl confronting the Knight Master and the Baron while holding the knight hostage, he probably wouldn't have believed such an absurd story.
A petite girl, around fifteen or sixteen, wearing just a cinched waist dress, wielding only a sword, had beaten a Noble Knight in Heavy Armor who was double her weight...
It was a tale so far-fetched not even a tavern drunkard could concoct.
Pockmarked didn't even dare to ponder how that precious Warhorse of the Knight Master had been knocked down; he was just relieved that he hadn't been in the way at the village entrance at that time.
"So, it was this little girl? I see she didn't chop you dead either?" A Cavalryman smirked as he stepped forward, patting the brunette girl he had caught on his horse's back, rudely giving her a squeeze.
The girl struggled fiercely in fear.
Pockmarked displeasedly slapped away that man's vile hand: "Touch my stuff less, I haven't even started having my fun; if you want her, go snatch her yourself!"
The Cavalrymen could only spread out, giggling and hollering; one climbed upstairs to wake up his comrades, and the men mounted their horses and rode off.
Pockmarked tied up the horses and carried the stolen girl down from his horse's back, not forgetting to turn and order two of his men close by, one to stand watch from the building's top and another at the door: "Don't be hasty, let me have my fun first, then it's your turn to play."
After giving the orders, he slapped the weeping girl on his shoulder and walked into the Mill, laughing lewdly, "Haha, stop screaming, save some energy; I'm about to make this little bitch scream even louder."
...
At the top of the Tower, Leon and his two companions quietly watched the six cavalrymen's figures gradually fade into the distance.
Although he didn't know what the Kantadar people were talking about downstairs, he peered down the tower.
The six men had now turned into three, and not only that, these three Kantadar Soldiers had separated.
One loner sat by the door of the Mill, watching the horses.
Two had gone into the Windmill Tower.
Leon turned around, his eyes looking towards a companion at the hole in the wall.
Lokhak peeked through the gap and glanced on the third floor.
After a moment, he looked up and showed Leon a finger, signaling that he saw only one person on the top floor.
Now was the chance!
Leon nudged Azeryan's shoulder beside him, signaling him to get ready.
After waiting for a couple of exhausting hours in the chilling wind at the top of the tower, now was their best chance to escape.
The three enemies were completely isolated, one at the top-floor window on watch, one by the door of the Windmill.
The guy carrying the village girl and prepared to commit vile acts, was definitely on the first or second floor.
Leon steadied the sword sheath on his waist, terrified of making any noise; he and Azeryan tiptoed to the edge of the gap and peeped.
Indeed, there was only one Kantadar mercenary, with a bow, listlessly looking out the window at the distant scenery.
They could faintly hear the girl's fearful screams from beneath the Windmill Tower, along with the rugged lecherous laughs of the Pockmarked Cavalry.
Leon deduced that the enemy was certainly on the second floor attempting their acts; if they were on the first floor, they wouldn't be heard so clearly from the top of the tower.
He pointed to the Soldier by the window downstairs and gestured to his companions — they would start with him.