"Master Richard, we found a total of nineteen individuals; we dispatched sixteen, while three sensed the disturbance and fled," Tuku reported with urgency.
"And in which direction?" Richard pressed, his voice steady yet laced with curiosity.
"To the south," Tuku confirmed.
"Directly south?" Richard inquired, for south was not particularly known as a safe escape route.
"Indeed," Tuku replied affirmatively.
"Fascinating," Richard's lips curved into a smile, a glint of intrigue surfacing in his eyes. "Directly south lies the Baron's castle. Are they truly unafraid to venture this deep into hostile territory? Or do they harbor other motives?"
"Then…" Tuku began, but Richard interrupted him.
"Pursue!" Richard's demeanor shifted dramatically, an unmistakable gravity filling his voice. His brows arched, and he spoke with deliberate emphasis, "Since that dreadful mishap during the autumnal excursion, how much time hath passed? And now, dare they return? Do they verily believe I am an easy quarry? Very well, if they have come, then let them not depart—let them bide right here! Onward! Pursue!"
At this moment, a palpable fury emanated from Richard.
Witnessing Richard's expression, Tuku involuntarily shivered. Without uttering a word, he spurred his horse forward along the path in the direction of the fleeing bandits.
Richard followed closely behind.
With Richard in pursuit, Tuku knew the gravity of the situation had escalated, urging his steed to gallop faster. The remaining members of the First Guard mirrored this urgency, hastening the pace of their formation until the entire battalion vanished into the rain-soaked haze, mere phantoms obscured in the storm.
The merchant caravan, left behind in shocked silence, exchanged bewildered glances, uncertain of how to proceed. They had just endured a perilous encounter, yet now felt like mere spectators in an unfolding drama.
After a moment of contemplation, a hesitant voice broke the silence, "Should we… pursue them as well?"
"Uh, well…" another voice hesitated.
"I will go take a look," declared Miss Melissa, her voice cutting through the doubt. In that moment, even she was uncertain of her own motivations; she mounted a horse and galloped towards the vanishing figures of Richard and the First Guard, soon disappearing into the curtain of rain.
Mular, the caravan leader, was taken aback, a wave of panic washing over him. After all, Melissa was the daughter of the caravan's owner; should anything happen to her, the consequences would be dire.
"Damn it!" Mular cursed under his breath before mounting a horse and charging into the downpour after her.
The remaining members of the caravan began to stir uneasily, lost without their leader. Luckily, Mular's aide—typically quiet and reserved—stood up, attempting to calm the crowd.
As he spoke, however, he was interrupted by Alex, who suddenly bolted out, mounting a horse and racing off into the storm. At that moment, a determination surged within him, a desperate need to prove himself. While his archery skills may not have been as remarkable as reputed, here was a chance to demonstrate his courage… his bravery…
The aide, witnessing this uncharacteristic display, blinked in surprise before feeling a sudden relief. With only a handful of "young, fleet-footed steeds" available for riding, and Melissa, Mular, and Alex each having taken one, there were no viable mounts left for anyone else. Should anyone else wish to give chase, their only option would be to take the aging pack horses; their speed would be little better than running on foot.
With this realization, the aide refocused on the restless group, trying to calm the rising tide of panic, "Everyone, remain steady! There's no cause for alarm…"
Meanwhile, Richard and the First Guard had come to a halt, partially surrounding a dilapidated thatch-roofed hut in the open field.
The hut was humble and diminutive, occupying no more than fifty or sixty square meters with a height barely exceeding three meters. One of its walls bore a prominent crack, rendering it unable to shield against wind or rain. Yet within its fragile structure lay the fugitives.
"The three riders from earlier, along with the four thieves, make a total of seven. They're all hidden inside," Tuku reported, leaning closer to Richard. "They must have discovered this location ahead of time, knowing it would serve as a refuge, which explains their retreat here."
"Now they've even brought their horses into the hut, probably to shield against arrows and such. It seems they intend to make a last stand," Tuku concluded.
After listening to Tuku, Richard turned his gaze toward the thatched hut, scrutinizing the ground closely to confirm the absence of tunnels or cellars. He couldn't help but shake his head, "Make a last stand? How long can they truly hold out? What will they eat, drink? They have four horses—it stands to reason they might last a handful of days. But realistically speaking…"
"This…" Tuku hesitated, uncertain.
"They're cornered. They must be well aware of this fact." Richard reached his conclusion resolutely.
"Then…"
"Let's persuade them to surrender," Richard suggested, his words seemingly straightforward, but beneath the surface lay motives unorthodox.
"Persuade them?" Tuku blinked, momentarily stunned. "Master Richard, only moments ago, you spoke of executing them all."
"Indeed," Richard nodded in agreement, not denying his earlier intentions. "However, naught in this world is absolute. I am a man of reason. If they be willing to surrender and provide me with the knowledge I seek, I shall spare their lives. Convey unto them that I shall offer three slots for the seven—those who first lend their cooperation shall secure theirs. The last four, however, shall meet their doom. Ultimately, how many are reprieved dependeth entirely upon their actions."
As Tuku absorbed Richard's words, an uncomfortable chill settled in his heart. He foresaw the chaos that would unfold: if word of Richard's proposition reached the desperate riders and thieves, it would ignite discord. After all, every one of them would wish to survive.
With only three slots available, it logically meant that three of the more competent riders would kill the four thieves and then surrender. Yet the thieves were not foolish; they would surely calculate their own response and might strike preemptively—resulting in a chaotic confrontation where no one might survive. The count could well be zero. This approach was far more terrifying than simple execution.
Taking in a deep breath, Tuku looked towards the thatched hut and called out, "Hey, those inside the house—lend me your ears! Master Richard…"
After an extended pause, Tuku's words elicited the anticipated response: chaos ensued within the hut, the sounds of struggle erupting forth. While Tuku's eyelids twitched at the noise, Richard remained unperturbed.
Time stretched on…
Suddenly, with a creak, the hut's rickety door swung open, revealing a blood-soaked rider and a battered bandit emerging. They cast fearful glances at Richard and the First Guard, taking care not to stray too far from the door—ready to retreat back inside for defense at the first sign of danger.
With heightened wariness, they spoke, "Thou truly wilt not slay us?"
"Of course," Tuku replied with exasperation. He was extremely annoyed by those lengthy talkers. "If you divulge all that you know to Master Richard, you will be spared."
"But how canst thou assure me that, if I share all, thou wilt not break thy word?" the rider pressed skeptically.
"You!" An irritated Tuku glared fiercely, irritation boiling within. "Why so many questions? If we said we wouldn't kill you, then we are bound by word!"
"We trust thee not! Unless thy Master Richard doth agree to allow me to swear fealty and accept me as his subordinate, I shall share naught—I promise!" The rider's eyes gleamed with determination.
Tuku furrowed his brow in anger. He recognized that swearing fealty was a ceremony typically reserved for knights sworn to nobles, signifying lifelong service and loyalty. Such an oath established a contractual relationship; once crafted, it was both complex and binding. Richard, however, despised such elaborate protocols…
As those thoughts crossed his mind, Tuku glanced toward Richard, who wore an inscrutable expression, showing no inclination to agree. With a resigned sigh, Tuku understood that the rider bore little value in Richard's eyes and turned to reprimand him to see reason.
Yet, before Tuku could voice his frustrations, the rider seemed to grasp the broader picture—the realization that Richard would not move forward to accept his oath and would remain stationed forty meters away.
Forty meters was just within striking distance.
"Attack!" the rider shouted suddenly.
In a flash, he lunged toward the door of the hut, dragging the thief with him. With a crash, the door slammed shut, sealing them away.
The members of the First Guard stood momentarily astonished by the sudden shift, and then they beheld five crossbows emerging from the narrow windows of the hut, rapidly aiming at Richard.