In a robber den.

Even though it was just dawn, people were already up to work.

People in this era, without nightlife, go to bed early and wake up early.

The boy clenched the wooden sword in his hand, which his father made for him, and kept looking at the entrance of the village, full of anticipation: "Grandpa, hasn't my father come back yet?" ”

In front of the cabin, the lame old man was sharpening the firewood knife in his hand, and he was also a little worried when he heard this.

It's been all night, so it can't be that the guards of those noble lords have caught up, right?

But he still had a smile on his face and reassured, "I'll be back soon." Don't worry, your father will definitely bring back a lot of meat and money this time, and when the time comes, I will go to the tailor's shop in the city and cut you a new dress. ”

The boy suddenly showed a smile with a missing front tooth: "No, I don't want new clothes, I want my father to give my grandfather a pair of crutches first." ”

The folds on the old man's face squeezed out a smile: "The good grandson is really filial, but my leg is not in the way, so let's cut new clothes for you first." ”

The grandparents talked and laughed.

But the boy's face suddenly froze, and he pointed behind the old man with a face full of fear: "Grandpa, it's the devil, the devil is coming!" ”

The lame old man looked back and saw that at the entrance of the village, a villager with a frightened face was being kicked over by a man in a red burqa and iron armor.

Crimson blood was dripping from the blade of the Tin Man's hand.

The man held a blood-stained sword in his hand, like a devil from hell, and walked slowly towards the village.

The lame old man almost immediately remembered the high-flying knight lord in the village, and his leg was broken by the knight lord.

No one knows better than him the horror of a knight!

"Go, go, hide in the cupboard in the house!"

The lame old man nudged the boy and whispered.

...

Lothar exerted his arms and slashed down with his sword.

The sharp blade of the half-sword in his hand seemed to be unhindered, and he cleanly slashed half of the bandit's shoulder in front of him, along with the wooden spear he wanted to block.

Ahh

A shrill scream rang out.

The pain was so intense that the robber was tumbling on the ground.

The blood flowed all over the place, converging into small puddles.

A hint of compassion flashed in Lothar's eyes under the barrel helmet, and he grasped the blade of the sword with both hands, and stabbed it steadily into the other's heart.

The screams came to an abrupt end.

The greasy feeling of metal rubbing against flesh came through the tip of the sword.

He drew his half-sword and slashed at the two robbers again.

Prajna stood beside him, following like a shadow.

She didn't make a move at first, and the weak robbers didn't have the slightest idea of letting her do it.

Until, a robber seems to have taken her as a soft persimmon and wants to hold Prajna hostage, so that the rampant terror knight can throw a rat into a trap.

But before he could get closer, a string of blood floated around his neck.

On the three sharp corners of the Ghost Face Triangle Shield, blood dripped down, and Pranyo turned sideways to avoid the blood water that spewed out, and the expression on his face still did not fluctuate.

Blood gradually seeped into the shield.

The grimace relief on it, with a satisfied smile, immediately sent out a urging thought, trying to get Prajna to kill more living people.

But Prajna still didn't move, just silently followed Lothar's side, not showing any emotion.

...

The young robbers were gradually cleared out.

Lothar raised her foot and kicked over an old farmer with a dung fork, his gaze sweeping over the old countenance of the other man.

Then without hesitation, he stabbed the other party through the heart with a sword.

He didn't dare to despise such a ridiculous weapon as a dung fork.

It is said that a witcher was once killed by a dung fork.

Since he is armed with a weapon, he should have the consciousness of dying under his sword, whether it is an old woman or a child.

...

Hans and Moder covered each other, fighting the enemy.

The martial arts and equipment of the two are far superior to these people.

In addition, when he got up early in the morning, he was caught off guard, and no one in this bandit stronghold was the enemy of the two of them.

Bang –

Hans raised his shield and knocked over a lame old man, kicking the knife in his hand, and Moder stabbed him in the throat with a sword.

Giggle –

The old man wanted to say something, but the blood gushing from his neck blocked his trachea.

He fell to the ground weakly, looked at his grandson who was hiding in the wooden house, and then burst into anger.

"No!"

"Grandpa!"

With tears in his eyes and hatred in his face, the boy rushed out of the cabin.

He picked up the ground, and the old man's discarded knife threw himself at Hans.

Hans only hesitated for a moment, and was almost struck by the hatchet, but it was Moder beside him who stepped forward in time and resisted the knife with his shield.

"You horned demon, I'm going to kill you!"

"I'm going to kill you!"

The boy roared, slashing at his weapon desperately.

But the knife was too blunt, and his strength was insufficient.

When Hans was on guard, his shield was in front of him, and no matter how wildly he slashed, it was like a grasshopper shaking a tree.

"Stop the kids, put down your weapons at once!"

"As long as you don't attack us," said Moder, "for your sake, we will spare your life." ”

"My lord, what should I do?"

Under the horned helmet, Hans looked a little confused.

At this time, the shouting of killing has stopped.

The robbers were all old, weak, sick and disabled, and even a few robbers armed with hunting bows, the arrows were even bone and wooden, and they could not threaten the four of them at all.

It was an overwhelming slaughter.

Morder was a little impatient, and asked him to say that such a child who did not know what to do should be hacked to death with a sword.

Left and right are just the descendants of robbers, and when they grow up, they are also villains who deserve to go to the gallows.

But he hesitated.

His lord is obviously a benevolent monarch, if he does this kind of slaughter, will it seem too bloody and ruthless, not in line with chivalry?

You know, last night the lord said that it was possible to canonize them as knights in the future!

This mentality of suffering from gains and losses made Moder unable to make a move.

Not far away, Lothar shook off the blood stained on the blade of her sword and walked unhurriedly.

He looked around and knew what was going on.

He was silent for a moment, and then said, "Since you have taken up arms, you are the enemy." ”

"Squire Hans, Sergeant Modell, what to do with the enemy, you don't need me to teach you, do you?"

Smack-

With a shield strike, Moder knocked the little boy to the ground.

Lothar stared at the little boy with hatred on his face, and his expression was a little pity: "Your father must have witnessed such a look when he slaughtered other people's fathers. ”

"When you eat your father's bread dipped in the blood of others, you will certainly not think it is sinful, but will think that your father is awesome with adoration."

"Right?"

Lothar held up a finger with an indifferent expression: "I'll give you one last chance to put down the weapon in your hand." ”

The little boy stubbornly held the firewood knife in his hand, gritted his teeth, and the hatred in his eyes seemed to flow out of ink as if it was about to turn into ink.

Lothar shook her head and turned her back.

"Do it, Hans."

Hans gritted his teeth and raised his half-sword in the air.

Hmmm-

Blood flowed freely on the ground.

Lothar lowered her head slightly and drew a cross in front of her: "Heavenly Father is above, whether they are guilty or not will be judged by you, I can't carefully screen them, let alone judge whether they are guilty or not, so I can only send them to see you." Amen. ”

"Go on, those who have weapons in their hands and dare to resist, if they can't be persuaded to do so, they will all be disposed of."

Lothar gave the order.

Moments later, this small, tranquil village was transformed dramatically.

There were corpses everywhere, and blood flowed freely.

Women and children screamed and hid in what looked like a council chamber.

"My lord, are we different from these robbers?"

Hans looked a little confused.

The same goes for Lothar.

He didn't know if he was doing the right thing.

But he knew that he could not show any confusion in front of Hans, the subordinate who admired him.

"Everyone has to pay for what they do," he said. Besides, it's the greatest mercy that we kill only those who have weapons, and don't bother others, isn't it? ”

Instead of giving the order to attack the council chamber where the women and children were, he commanded: "The enemy has been largely cleared. Moder, you go and tell Ryan that they're coming over and receiving supplies... Remember to leave some rations and seeds for those who did not resist. ”

Lothar came to the "council chamber" and looked at the faces that were a little numb and frightened, and said nothing to show that she represented justice.

Among these people, there may be the female dependents who have been taken captive, but more often it is the family members of the robbers themselves.

They, including many of the dead, may have been innocent and had never harmed anyone.

But when they eat the food and money that the guilty bring with them, they are not so innocent.

It is said that the disaster will not affect his wife and children, but is his daughter who takes the old money to avoid living abroad really innocent?

If she is innocent, how innocent are those who are destitute and counting on this money to save their lives?

That's how Lothar does things.

It is both merciful and cruel.

In my ears, a chime will sound that the milestone has been completed.

With a heavy expression, Lothar was the first to leave the village.

"Oh, chivalrous knight."

Lothar laughed to herself in a low voice.