CHAPTER 48: CHAPTER 48: NIGHT ATTACK WITHOUT LIGHT_1

Lance recognized at a glance that it was the alpha wolf, its gaze fixed on them constantly, only stopping once it reached the jerky. After sniffing it tentatively, it bit into the jerky and tore at it before swallowing it in one gulp.

However, after eating, it showed no signs of leaving but continued to watch everyone with wolfish scrutiny.

"Beasts will be beasts. It’s lucky I didn’t poison it, or it wouldn’t survive the night," Lance said with a chuckle, then proceeded to explain his plan to the others.

"Don’t kill these wolves for now. After they’ve had a taste of the spoils, they will follow me. Once we’ve dealt with the stronghold, we’ll leave a body behind.

By then, a corpse bitten by wolves, along with wolf tracks around the camp, will add credibility to our story. Besides, those people don’t know the specifics and can’t differentiate between a gray wolf and a white wolf."

"I think it’s worth a try."

"Agreed."

The new plan was quickly approved, and the pack of wolves unwittingly escaped calamity.

"So what do we do now?"

Dismas looked at the eyes surrounding them. These ravenous beasts were unwilling to retreat easily after getting a taste of the jerky.

"It’s about time. We should set off now."

Not wanting to miss this godsend opportunity, Lance decisively took the lead.

The squad retraced their path, approaching the stronghold. As expected, the wolves hadn’t left but instead trailed behind at a distance, making even less noise than them.

Looking over from their initial position, the campfires in the encampment had been extinguished, and there were no sentries in sight.

Lance patted Dismas on the shoulder, who understood and led the team towards the encampment.

They carefully removed the warning bell, then moved slowly and cautiously closer.

Everything had been going smoothly, but suddenly Dismas stopped dead in his tracks.

At this moment, Lance felt his heart sink, and Reynard and his companion were ready to make their move.

But quickly, Dismas turned back, signaling them to halt with his hands. He then pointed towards the ground on one side before bending down to reveal what lay hidden beneath the camouflage.

Only then did they realize it was a bandits’ trap; if triggered, it would likely maim a leg for anyone not wearing shin guards.

After dismantling the trap, Lance breathed a sigh of relief. It was lucky Dismas was leading; an ordinary person would likely have never noticed it.

Once the danger was defused, the team became even more cautious, taking nearly half an hour to cover a mere hundred meters. Still, they managed to approach the encampment without alerting anyone.

The dilapidated building had no actual doors, but the bandits had moved several stones to block most of the gaps, leaving only the main entrance open.

Peering inside, they could see the central bonfire had died out, but the embers still glowed a dim red, revealing bandits lying about in disarray. They were so casual, probably overly confident in their traps, that they lacked any sense of vigilance expected in the wilderness.

Such a setting would be perfect for tossing in a grenade and wiping them out in one go, but unfortunately, that wasn’t an option.

Lance discarded the fantasy. After exchanging glances with the others who all understood their roles, the squad sprang into action at his signal.

As they burst in, Lance was immediately hit by the stench of rotting wood mingled with sweat and excrement. It was nauseating, like year-old unwashed socks.

Dismas, uncaring of the stink, had abandoned his Crossbow in favor of a Short Sword more suited for close-quarters combat. He approached one target, clapping a hand over the man’s mouth, and before the enemy could wake, his Short Sword plunged into the man’s neck, slitting his throat.

His movements didn’t pause for a moment. He swiftly released the first bandit and moved on to deliver a fatal stab to the next target’s throat.

The bandit whose throat had been slit was deep in sleep only a second before. The next moment, he felt pain and death closing in, unable to even make a sound.

Still, his desperate struggles caused quite a stir, and finally, someone woke up in a daze.

"Who the hell kicked me?"

But in the next second, Lance granted him the peaceful slumber of a baby with one swift stroke of his Short Sword. He then pulled back the blade with a reverse grip. As for killing, he felt no disturbance in his heart.

"AH!"

The commotion finally alarmed the bandits, and their survival instincts kicked in at the scream. The remaining bandits scrambled to their feet, only to see a tall, dark figure approaching.

"Ambush!" a bandit shouted, and the next second, he was split in two by a Longsword.

Compared to Lance’s tense thrusts, Reynard was like an efficient killing machine. His Longsword swept across, leaving the bandits who had just stood up "torn to pieces."

Literally.

In the dimly lit scene, chaos quickly ensued, with all the bandits picking up weapons and hacking wildly.

Some tried to flee the building but were cut down by their comrades, and cries of agony filled the air.

Their frenzy only made Lance and his companions back off slightly, until a shout shook the heavens.

"Fuck! Rally to me!"

It was the boss’s voice. The surviving bandits immediately snapped back to their senses, stopped flailing their weapons, assumed a defensive stance, and moved toward the source of the voice.

"Torches! Light the damn torches!"

The leader shouted vigorously, trying to reorganize his troops.

A minion picked up a torch to light it, but as the flame flickered to life, a Crossbow Arrow pierced his body. The newly lit flame was extinguished as the torch fell, plunging the area back into darkness.

Lighting a torch in this situation was like painting a target on your back, wasn’t it?

Lance thought with disdain, but his hands didn’t stop moving as he quickly drew his Crossbow and nocked another arrow.

Bandits, after all, lived by the knife’s edge, and after the initial chaos, their ranks quickly reformed under the boss’s command.

However, compared to their original number of a dozen or so, only seven or eight remained. They looked to be in a sorry state, but under their leader’s command, they didn’t lack the courage to fight.

Although the torch had been extinguished, the brief light had allowed them to spot Lance’s group, and they immediately launched an attack.

"I’ll hold off the Knight! You go kill that Crossbowman!"

Targeting ranged attackers first was a universal tactic because nobody would allow a Crossbowman enough time to aim.

Reynard didn’t hesitate to rush forward with his Longsword to intercept them, simultaneously buying more time for Lance, who was in the back.

Once that two-handed Great Sword swung into action, nobody wanted to get near it. In such a cramped space, it exuded an aura of one man holding off ten thousand, an impassable barrier.

But there was a reason the leader was the boss of this gang of bandits. With a wild scream, he picked up a corpse from the ground and threw it at Reynard.

The corpse was cleaved in two by the Great Sword’s blade, but the move disrupted Reynard’s rhythm. Seizing the moment, the bandit leader used his fallen comrade’s body as cover, raised the Battle Axe in his hand, and charged at Reynard.