"Enemy attack!"
The moment the arrows whistled in, the sellswords around Leo snapped alert and shouted the warning. One of them instantly blew the whistle hanging at his chest. The sharp blast ripped through the quiet Kingswood.
Most of the arrows missed. Only one unlucky farmer took a shaft in the shoulder.
"Kill them!"
The bandit boss led the charge, spurring his horse down the slope with a handful of mounted men right behind him. The rest of the crew poured down both hillsides on foot, screaming like demons to build their courage.
The farmers in the convoy panicked first. Faces pale, they looked ready to bolt.
"Hold the line!" Leo roared.
"Don't run! They've got horses—you won't get far! My sellswords are only two miles back. Just hold for a few minutes and they'll be here!"
"Grab anything you can use as a weapon and fight! Fifty silver stags for every bandit you kill—dead or alive! Wounded or killed, you and your families get heavy compensation. Take one step back and you get nothing!"
The promise of gold hit harder than the fear. The farmers gripped their hoes, shovels, and sickles tighter, some shaking, some snarling, eyes locked on the closing bandits.
The five sellswords drew their swords and formed a tight ring around Leo, faces grim.
The bandit boss frowned when he saw the arrows and war cries hadn't sent the farmers running. Instead the whole group had locked shields and stood ready.
"You've got balls, robbing a noble," Leo called out first. "You want to die that badly?"
The bandit boss laughed. "Drop the act. We already know exactly who you are—including every move you made hiring men at the riverside inn."
"You're no lord from the Seven Kingdoms. Even if we cut you down, no one's coming to burn us out for it. Besides…"
He paused and grinned. "We make our living with steel at our throats. You think we're scared of so-called nobles? If those lords were worth a damn we wouldn't have owned the Kingswood for years. Ain't that right, boys?"
The bandits roared with laughter and started hurling insults at Leo and every noble in Westeros. They didn't give a shit about titles. Kill the fat sheep, eat well, drink better. Then vanish back into the trees where the useless lords could never find them.
Couldn't burn the whole Kingswood just to catch them, could they?
"As for those sellswords trailing two miles behind you—we've got thirty-plus men. You've got barely twenty, most of them farmers. Plenty of time to finish you off or take you hostage before they get here."
"Without you paying them, you think they'll still fight for you?"
"Take them! Quick and clean!"
The bandit boss waved his arm and the crew charged like starving wolves.
Leo slid off his horse. In the chaos he swapped his weapon for the massive Grand Marshal's greatsword.
The slaughter began.
The bandits' main target was obviously Leo and his five armored sellswords. Half the crew split off to handle the farmers; the other half closed in a tight ring around Leo and his guards, focusing everything on the real prize.
Even though they were outnumbered, Leo and the sellswords stayed calm.
They were all in good chainmail. The bandits had only ragged leather or nothing at all, and their weapons were a mismatched mess of rusty swords and spears—no warhammers to crack armor. Most commoners couldn't afford the expensive steel needed for a proper maul anyway, and swinging one took real size and strength.
When the bandits saw Leo pull out the huge Grand Marshal's greatsword, they all flinched.
Where the hell had that monster come from?
The wide blade and razor edge flashing in the sunlight made their scalps tingle. One swing from a sword that size would end anyone.
The five men the boss picked to face Leo were the toughest he had. The rest went after the sellswords.
Just as the boss expected, Leo's first swing came fast, hard, and with terrifying power. The bandit leader barely blocked it and felt his whole arm go numb. No way to trade blows.
"Careful!" the boss shouted. "The kid's strong as a bull. Don't meet him head-on! He's wearing heavy plate and swinging that giant blade—he'll tire out in minutes. Then we crack his shell and send him to the Seven Hells!"
Leo gave a cold laugh.
Exactly what he figured.
When he fought the three bandits earlier he'd already noticed his strength was way beyond normal. The system listed him at 14.2 Strength—ordinary men probably sat at 10, like in the stories. He was already a full tier above them.
The plate that looked so heavy felt like ordinary clothes on his body. No extra weight, no drag, and it was every bit as tough as it looked—maybe tougher.
Raw power plus no armor penalty. That was why Leo had zero fear swinging steel at these bandits.
He was even starting to enjoy it.
The bandits' plan to wear him down played right into his hands too. The rear group was only two miles back on horseback—they'd be here soon. The longer this dragged on, the better for him.
Leo spun the greatsword in a wide arc and went on the attack, forcing the five bandits back. The pressure suddenly flipped on them. They retreated step by step, trying to tire him out.
Even though Leo had never studied real sword forms, he swung the massive blade with raw power and momentum. For the moment he had the upper hand, driving the five bandits backward.