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墨書 Inktalez
The bandits tightened their grips on the reins, their expressions turning frantic.
In a remote place like the Aguillon Mountains, cultivators were extremely rare. Take their leader, Strick, for example; although Strick's Fighting Spirit level was only at two, it was enough for him to dominate this region.
If this suddenly appearing man was indeed a strong cultivator of Fighting Spirit... then they had truly run out of luck!
Meanwhile, as Garen stepped out, the guards behind Black Duncan revealed expressions of ecstatic joy.
The scene froze for about a minute.
Strick forced himself to calm down and squinted as he asked, "Who are you?"
"My name is Garen."
The low, steady voice resonated, causing everyone present to mentally repeat it. Unfortunately, it seemed they had never heard of the name Garen before.
The members of the Blackstone Guard felt a bit disappointed, but that was all; after all, on the Godeyas Continent, warriors and mages often traveled. As long as this guy named Garen could help them escape easily, that would be enough.
Strick did not continue to inquire further because the moment Garen emerged from the bushes, his actions spoke volumes—facing the bandits while turning his back on the weaker Blackstone Guard.
Strick couldn't gauge the opponent's strength; however, retreating like this would further diminish his prestige in front of his subordinates.
Gradually, sweat began to bead on Strick's forehead. Just then, a young man dressed in a gray robe suddenly stepped out from the lineup behind him and whispered something in Strick's ear.
"No fluctuations of Fighting Spirit?" Strick's voice carried a hint of surprise.
This quiet statement landed firmly in everyone's ears, causing their expressions to change dramatically.
No fluctuations of Fighting Spirit?
He... wasn't a cultivator?
Especially for the Blackstone Guard, this statement was like a bolt from the blue, instantly dragging them from heaven back to hell. They turned their heads in unison, glaring angrily at the man who had "deceived" them.
Garen helplessly stroked his chin; although he had lost Rune Power, being labeled as "weak" still felt quite uncomfortable.
Most importantly, the bandit leader named Strick was very weak. Even though waves of Fighting Spirit emanated from him, Garen was confident he could knock him down with a single slap. On the contrary, the Gray-Robed Youth exuded a somewhat different aura that could barely put some pressure on Garen.
Moreover, the strength before battle and the outcome after were always two unrelated matters.
"Heh heh, outsider, your performance talent is indeed impressive; you almost fooled me as well. But you should know that power cannot be pretended!"
Strick lightly tugged on the reins, looking down at Garen from his elevated position. "You will pay for your ignorance!"
"Kill him!" The bandits behind him began to shout loudly, striking their weapons together, creating a harsh clanging sound of metal.
"Wait!"
At that moment, Black Duncan suddenly stepped between Garen and Strick, stating seriously, "Strick, this is a conflict between us; it shouldn't involve others!"
Strick coldly replied, "But he offended me."
As an old acquaintance, Black Duncan knew exactly what Strick wanted. He gritted his teeth and said, "The five hundred pounds of food behind... all yours!"
Only then did Strick show a smile, satisfied. "Deal!"
Black Duncan clenched his fists tightly, wishing he could smash them into Strick's face. But he knew he couldn't do that; such an action would bring disaster to the twenty-three guards behind him and this kind-hearted passerby.
It was only then that Black Duncan noticed Garen was looking at him. In those clear and resolute eyes was a hint of confusion. Black Duncan had no intention of explaining too much; he shook his head and returned a gentle and grateful smile.
"Why should I?"
Suddenly, a roar erupted from the guard team. "Why should we use our food to save his life? Damn it, Black Duncan, are you out of your mind? If we go back empty-handed, we'll all face punishment!"
Black Duncan turned around and saw that the speaker was a Short Man. Beside him, the other guards wore similar expressions of anger.
The Short Man pointed at Garen and coldly said, "Because of his appearance, we almost fell into danger! And now, you still want to pay for his ignorance?"
Black Duncan frowned. As the captain of the guard team, he knew exactly what type of people were behind him. At that moment, they were merely venting their pent-up rage from being robbed by Bandits, and since these Bandits were too powerful, they could only unleash their anger on an outsider.
They even conveniently ignored that Strick's initial target was actually all the food.
"Someone who pretends to be strong without any real power should be cut down by the Bandits. He doesn't deserve our..."
At that moment, the Short Man's voice suddenly stopped, his narrow eyes filled with shock.
Next to Black Duncan, the man suddenly moved.
Perhaps everyone was too busy watching the guard team's misfortune that even the nearest Bandit to Strick failed to see the entire process!
Just moments ago, Garen lunged forward and instantly reached Strick's side. He raised his arm and grabbed Strick by the neck, then with a loud "thud," he slammed him down!
Strick was forcefully yanked off his black horse and pinned hard against the ground!
This all happened in an instant. When everyone came back to their senses, Strick was already on the ground, and a small dent had formed in his back. It was easy to imagine how much strength such a blow required!
Strick felt a sudden wave of dizziness. When he opened his eyes, he found himself in this situation. A furious roar erupted from his throat as he summoned his Fighting Spirit and charged violently at Garen!
"Bang!" "Bang!"...
However, soon Strick's eyes were clouded with shock. After several consecutive charges, he did not see the scene he had imagined where Garen was sent flying by his attack.
To know, the level of the second tier Fighting Spirit is enough to reach three times the strength of an adult man, yet this man before me managed to block it all with just his own defense!
"You... you..." Strick looked at Garen in terror, as if he were staring at a demon.
Garen smiled, just as he had anticipated; this leader named Strick was pitifully weak. If it weren't for the need to find a flaw in his protective Fighting Spirit, this battle could have ended much faster.
At that moment, Strick seemed to think of something and shouted loudly, "Yotefu!"
In front of the completely stunned bandits, a Gray-Robed Youth appeared as if he had been prepared all along. He quickly pulled out a delicate scroll from his pocket and carefully held it in his palm.
The Gray-Robed Youth's lips moved as if reciting some mysterious incantation. Soon after, the scroll opened on its own, and a blazing fireball slowly emerged on its crystalline surface!
The surrounding bandits displayed panic on their faces and hurriedly retreated to the sides.
Indeed, this Gray-Robed Youth was a magician! Although his magical power level was very low—so low that he had to rely on a magic scroll to cast spells—there was no denying that the power of magic was incomparable!
Unless one was engaged in close combat from the very beginning, in equal tiers, a magician's power would surpass that of a Fighting Spirit warrior!
At this moment, Yotefu's magic was clearly about to take shape, and there were still more than ten meters between him and Garen!
Strick sneered, watching Garen with a mocking gaze as if to say: Strong? What good is that? In the face of true magic, you will soon be reduced to a pile of charcoal!
Just then, Strick suddenly realized that Garen was gone!
"Fatal Strike!"
At the same time Yotefu took out the magic scroll, Garen had already activated his Ability Skill "Fatal Strike." Although he lacked the energy from Fighting Spirit power, he could clearly feel every muscle in his body tightening in an instant, creating an explosive aura.
A straight shadow suddenly appeared; Garen instantly reached Yotefu's front. The hilt of Stormblade slammed into the magician's chest with a loud bang, sending Yotefu flying five or six meters away!
The scene caused all the Bandits to fall into a panic, and even Black Duncan and his companions nearby were completely stunned.
Compared to the earlier moment when Garen subdued Strick, not many had paid attention. However, this time, everyone witnessed it clearly, especially when Garen suddenly exerted his strength and shattered the ground beneath him!
"Yotefu? Yotefu!"
Strick, lying on the ground, did not see this scene. He angrily turned his head and shouted, "Yotefu! What are you doing?!"
A few meters away, the Gray Robed Mage clumsily got back on his feet, hurriedly cradling a magic scroll in his hands.
In the next moment, his face turned pale with horror.
"This... this is... Silence!!"
---
Bright sunlight bathed the land.
Under Black Duncan's calm command, fifteen wooden carts quickly departed from the Aguillon Mountains. However, it was clear that the guards were not fully present; they occasionally spaced out for a moment.
It was evident that their recent experience had left a deep impression on them, as seen in their nervousness when they apologized to Garen just moments ago.
Garen sat on a large stone by the roadside, asking Strick for a piece of rag to wipe the dust off Stormblade.
Strick stood trembling beside him, while the other Bandits obediently stayed twenty meters away, not daring to make a sound.
"Thank you for the cloth," Garen said as he returned the rag.
"No, no, no, it is an honor for Strick to assist you!" Strick said nervously, quickly waving his hands. Clearly, the earlier "sparring" had left him with an unforgettable impression.
"Excuse me, which way should I go to reach the nearest town?"
Garen stood up. After the brief interlude, it was time for him to find a place to stay and start preparing for the Watchtower.
"The nearest one is Blackstone Town. Just head east for half a day, and you'll get there!"
Strick immediately provided the answer and then brought over his personal mount, explaining that the gentleman's boots shouldn't be sullied by dust.
...
...
Watching Garen's figure gradually fade into the distance until he disappeared, among the thirty or so Bandits in the lineup, a strong man slowly removed his helmet. Strangely, he had a face that did not match his physique—delicate, smooth, and slightly pale in a sickly way.
The other Bandits were scattered around but kept their distance from him, as if he were intentionally isolated or perhaps simply unknown to them.
The man murmured to himself, "Why didn't you let me take action just now?"
After waiting a few seconds, an excited smile appeared on his face.
"Heh, it seems you already had a plan in mind. My dear brother!"
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