Lynn-Red Wolf-stood tall as the tavern remained eerily silent.
The weight of his presence crushed any lingering doubts. Some of the men still looked uncertain, but doubt was a dangerous thing. It spread like a disease, and he couldn't allow that.
He stepped forward, gaze locking onto each bandit in turn.
"Some of you hesitate," he said, voice low but sharp.
"I see it in your eyes."
No one dared to speak. He gestured to Gord, who was still coughing, recovering from the brutal display.
"You all knew Gord was the strongest among you. He thought I was an imposter. Now he knows better."
Lynn turned back to the others. "If any of you still have doubts, step forward."
Silence.
Then-a man, younger than the rest, barely in his twenties, hesitated before stepping forward.
"With all due respect, boss... If you really are Red Wolf, prove it." Lynn smirked.
He liked this one's guts. But he also needed to send a message. He moved in a blur.
Before the young bandit could react, Lynn seized his arm and twisted, bones snapping like dry twigs.
A scream tore from the man's throat as he crumpled to his knees. Lynn crouched beside him, his tone almost casual.
"Didn't your mother teach you not to question your betters?" The young man whimpered, clutching his ruined arm.
Lynn glanced up. "Anyone else?"
No one moved. Good. He stood, his expression hard.
"I didn't crawl out of a grave just to play games. We're weak right now. Half our numbers are gone.. But I didn't come back to lead cowards."
He let the words sink in.
The men shifted uncomfortably, but there was a new spark in their eyes-fear, yes, but also something else. Hope.
"We take what we want," Lynn continued.
"We kill who we must. And we rise again, stronger than before." His voice darkened.
"But if any of you betray me, I will make what happened to Gord look like a kindness."
Gord flinched. The young man on the floor didn't even dare to groan in pain.
Lynn let the silence linger before finally grinning. "Now, let's talk business."
Lynn walked toward the tavern's back table, where a crude map of the region was spread out. He traced a finger over it.
"We need supplies. Weapons. Coin."
One of the bandits spoke up hesitantly. "There's a merchant caravan passing through Black Hollow in three days. Easy pickings."
Lynn shook his head. "Too small."
His finger moved to a larger target.
"The Duke of Ashwood is sending a supply convoy to the capital next week. Guards will be heavier, but the rewards will be worth it."
Murmurs rippled through the group. That was a dangerous move.
Lynn smirked. Good. Let them be afraid.
"Make your choice," he said.
"Do we stay as starving rats? Or do we take what's ours and carve our name into this land again?"
One of the veterans, a scarred man named Varik, frowned. "Boss, that's a heavily guarded convoy. We'll be fighting knights, not farmers."
Lynn nodded. "Exactly. And we're not going in blind."
He motioned to a nearby map, nailed to a tree. "The convoy route takes them through Razor Gorge. A narrow pass, easy to ambush. But we need the right tools. Horses, explosives, and someone on the inside feeding us information."
A woman in a dark hood stepped forward. Nyssa, their best scout. "I can get us an informant," she said. "The Duke's men recruit mercenaries from a tavern near the border. Bribe the right drunk, and we'll know every detail of their route."
Lynn grinned. "Good. Do it."
Then he turned to the others. "Varik, I want our best fighters drilled. I don't care if they're injured—train them anyway. We don't need numbers. We need killers."
Varik smirked. "That, we can do."
Lynn's eyes darkened. "The Head Hunters were feared for a reason. It's time we remind the world why."
A heavy silence followed—then a roar of approval.
.
....
....
Lynn stood at the edge of the camp, staring up at the moonlit sky, a smirk creeping onto his lips.
This was never supposed to happen in the novel.
The convoy they were targeting? It wasn't just any noble transport. It carried him—the protagonist of this world.
A man blessed by fate, wrapped in layers of plot armor so thick that killing him should be impossible.
No, the story dictated that he survived. That he thrived. That no mere bandits could touch him.
Lynn exhaled through his nose, shaking his head in amusement.
But what if the story was wrong?
What if he was the anomaly?
The system in his head buzzed softly. A notification appeared.
[Major Death Event Detected]
Target: Nathaniel Everhart
Classification: "Hero of Aetheria"
Plot Armor Integrity: HIGH
Expected Outcome: Death Improbable
Override Attempt Recommended? (Y/N)
Lynn's smirk deepened. Override, huh? That meant the system itself recognized how difficult this would be.
And yet, despite the near impossibility of killing Nathaniel Everhart, one thing was certain.
If he did die…
The reward would be massive.
[Bonus Reward: 500,000,000 Dead Coins upon Nathaniel Everhart's Death.]
Lynn's heart pounded with anticipation. Five with many zero dead coins. He could buy anything with that—divine blessings, resurrection insurance, even a full reset of his own identity. (Five hundred million, sure.)
Was it a trap? A gamble? Was he overthinking this?
Perhaps.
But in the end, it didn't matter.
Because whether Nathaniel Everhart lived or died, one thing was guaranteed—
Lynn was about to profit either way.
....
.....
Days passed Lynn leaned against a tree, eyes glinting with amusement as he watched his men sharpen their blades and reinforce their armor.
The Head Hunters were no ordinary bandit crew—they were trained, predators who thrived in the shadows.
But even with all their skill, even with the perfect ambush site, this was Nathaniel Everhart.
A man who, in the novel, had waded through entire battlefields unscathed.
A man who should be impossible to kill.
His smirk widened as he glanced at the system prompt again. [Override Attempt Recommended].
He'd never seen that message before. That meant he was pushing against something big—something the world itself wanted to protect.
And that? That made it even more tempting.
"Boss."
Lynn turned as Nyssa approached, her expression grim.
"The informant talked. The convoy's schedule is confirmed. They'll be moving through Razor Gorge at dawn in three days. Twenty knights, five iron rank adventurers, and the main carriage holding the target."
Twenty knights. Five iron rank adventurers.
A joke.
The problem was the man inside that carriage.
Lynn pushed off the tree, stretching lazily. "Good. We'll set the charges at the ridge and force them into the ravine. Once they're boxed in, we hit fast, hard, and without mercy."
Nyssa hesitated. "You sure about this?"
Lynn's grin didn't falter. "Not at all."
Nyssa frowned, but she didn't argue. She knew better than to question him when he was in this kind of mood.
Lynn glanced at the moon once more. Five hundred million dead coins.
Even if Nathaniel Everhart was a walking impossibility, even if the world bent over backwards to keep him alive—Lynn wasn't going to lose anything.
Because whether the hero survived or not, Lynn was about to turn the story upside down.
.....
....
Three days later, the sun barely peeked over the horizon as the Head Hunters lay in wait. Razor Gorge was a natural death trap—a narrow passage with towering cliffs on either side. There was only one way through.
And once the convoy entered, there would be no way out.
Lynn crouched on the ledge above, overlooking the twisting path below. His men were in position, hidden behind jagged rocks, waiting for his signal. Explosives were buried beneath the dirt, primed to collapse the passage and trap the convoy inside.
Nyssa knelt beside him, her sharp eyes scanning the road.
"Scouts just passed. The main group will be here in five minutes."
Lynn exhaled slowly.
"No mistakes. No hesitation. When the signal goes up, we hit them hard."
Nyssa gave a curt nod before disappearing into the shadows.
Lynn turned his attention back to the convoy.
At the front rode ten knights in polished steel, their armor gleaming even in the dim morning light. Behind them, a large carriage reinforced with enchanted metal rumbled forward, flanked by more mounted knights.
The five adventurers traveled close to the carriage—men and women wrapped in flowing cloaks, each radiating a distinct aura of power.
And inside that carriage?
Nathaniel Everhart.
Lynn could practically feel the weight of fate pressing down on the battlefield. His system interface buzzed again.
[Target: Nathaniel Everhart detected.]
Plot Armor Integrity: HIGH
Reality Correction in Effect
Override Attempt: Active
Lynn's grip on his sword tightened. Reality itself was fighting against him.
Good. Let's see how far we can push it.
He raised his hand. The signal.
From the cliffs above, a flaming arrow shot into the sky.
The ground exploded.
Rocks and debris crashed down, splitting the convoy in half. The knights at the front were buried alive, their bodies vanishing under a cascade of rubble. The carriages tilted violently, horses shrieking in panic as dust and smoke filled the air.
Then the slaughter began.
The Head Hunters surged from the cliffs like wolves descending upon wounded prey. Arrows rained down, finding gaps between armor. Steel flashed as mercenaries clashed with knights in brutal combat.
Lynn moved like a shadow, his blade a blur of death.
He ducked under a knight's wild swing and drove his sword through the man's throat. Blood sprayed across his face, warm and exhilarating. Another knight charged at him—Lynn sidestepped, kicking the man's knee inward before slitting his throat.
Screams filled the gorge.
It was chaos.
But something was wrong.
Even as the Head Hunters cut down knights and adventurers, Lynn felt it—a shift in the air, an invisible force pushing back against reality.
Then—
The carriage doors burst open.
And Nathaniel Everhart stepped out.
Golden hair, sharp green eyes that burned with righteousness, his aura so intense that even the dust and smoke seemed to part around him.
Lynn's system flared with warnings.
[Reality Correction Activated.]
[Plot Armor Reinforcement: +300%]
Nathaniel drew his sword. The blade hummed with power, a holy light coiling around it like a living thing.
"Bandits," he growled. "You've made a grave mistake."
Lynn exhaled, rolling his shoulders. This was it.
The moment fate would try to erase him.
His smirk returned.
"Let's see about that."
And then, he lunged.