"Is this the place?"
Black gazed at the valley before him, his hand resting lightly on the hilt of his sword as he turned to Kelly at his side.
"Yes—this is it, my lord…"
Kelly's face was ashen, his body trembling uncontrollably. Unlike Ofalil, who'd been carried comfortably by a spirit warrior, the poor bandit had been dragged and hauled through the forest, a tattered cloth stuffed in his mouth to muffle any cries for help. Bruised and scraped from head to toe, denied even the right to scream, Kelly cursed his wretched fate. Even a stint in a royal dungeon would have been kinder than this.
Regret gnawed at his heart—but he knew there was no turning back now.
"Good."
Black smiled softly, patting Kelly gently on the shoulder. His eyes had already locked onto the bandit encampment in the distance. Unlike the ramshackle forts they'd destroyed earlier, the Moon Wolf Gang's lair was imposing—complete with high walls, watchtowers, and neatly arranged buildings inside. It was clear Daros was no ordinary outlaw; he was a man with ambition, far removed from the thugs who robbed and pillaged just to survive.
"You've done well. I have a letter here—deliver it to your 'Mr. Moon Wolf.' After that… you're free to go."
"A-a letter?"
Kelly looked up in surprise and unease, staring at Black as if trying to unravel a mystery. Was the young noble planning to recruit Daros? If only it were that simple. Kelly knew a thing or two about the Moon Wolf. Daros didn't control the most lucrative stretch of the Golden Trade Route *just* because he was a High-Tier Swordsman. No matter how strong he was, he was still one man—if the other bandit gangs had united against him, they could have overwhelmed his forces easily.
But Daros was far from stupid. He had powerful allies pulling strings behind the scenes. Any gang that dared to challenge him either vanished overnight or found themselves targeted by the royal garrison. Rumors swirled among the outlaws that Daros worked for a noble—carrying out raids on merchant caravans at his patron's behest. These were just whispers, of course—but they held weight. After all, not every bandit leader could get his hands on top-quality weapons and armor.
Black's arrival only confirmed Kelly's suspicions. The young noble must know about Daros's true backers—and he intended to buy Daros's loyalty. The earlier raids on the other gangs? They were nothing more than a show of force, a message to Daros: *Surrender, or suffer the same fate*. Yes—this had to be it!
Reluctant as he was to obey, Kelly had no choice. He steeled himself for the inevitable, his legs threatening to buckle beneath him as he approached the Moon Wolf Gang's gates. The only silver lining was that Black had let him bathe in a nearby river and given him a clean set of clothes. Now, he looked almost like a proper noble's servant—which put Kelly's mind at ease. Clearly, the lord intended to take him into his service. With renewed purpose, Kelly squared his shoulders and marched forward.
"Halt! Who goes there?!"
The gate guards spotted the disheveled figure approaching and raised their weapons, though they hesitated to attack. Kelly looked harmless enough—hardly a threat to the gang's defenses. This gave Kelly a moment to catch his breath.
"I have business with your leader!" he shouted, summoning every ounce of courage he possessed. He held up the letter in his hand, his voice ringing out despite the swords pointed at his chest. "I come on behalf of my master—he wishes to speak with Daros!"
*Speak?*
The bandits exchanged surprised glances. They didn't believe the stranger's claim—but there was something about his demeanor that smacked of nobility. The members of the Moon Wolf Gang knew better than most that their leader had… *connections* to the upper crust. Many of them were convicted criminals who'd been sprung from prison and smuggled here. They didn't ask questions about who'd pulled the strings—they were just grateful to be alive.
With that in mind, the guards quickly sent a runner to inform Daros of the unexpected visitor.
"Someone wants to see me?"
Daros frowned, the scars crisscrossing his face twisting into a menacing snarl as he shifted in his seat. The leader of the Moon Wolf Gang was a towering brute of a man, his muscles straining against the leather armor he wore. He lounged on a plush sofa, a slave girl in his lap, her ample breasts pressed against his chest as she tried to curry favor. But Daros paid her little mind; her attempts at seduction did nothing to lift his foul mood.
*Could it be them?*
Daros's frown deepened. He'd received word from his noble patron recently—rumors of a high-profile crackdown on bandits along the Golden Trade Route. His backer had warned him to lie low, to avoid drawing attention to himself. Daros had obeyed; as a business partner, it paid to listen to one's clients. Besides, he'd been told the crackdown would be led by none other than the Pale Eagle Order—one of the royal capital's most elite knightly orders.
As a High-Tier Swordsman, Daros knew exactly how formidable the Pale Eagles were. He had no desire to test his luck against them, unlike the foolhardy bandits who thought they could take on the kingdom's finest. But sitting around the lair all day was driving him stir-crazy. Now, out of the blue, another noble was sending a message? Had something changed?
At Daros's nod, Kelly was dragged before him by two burly bandits. When Daros demanded to know his business, Kelly shook his head, claiming he knew nothing—he was just a messenger. The letter would explain everything.
Curious, Daros took the envelope from him. It was sealed with wax, the kind commonly used by nobles, and bore no identifying marks. He flipped it over, his eyes narrowing at the elegant script scrawled on the back.
> To Mr. Daros—Respectfully.
*Now this is how it's done.*
Daros sneered, a hint of approval creeping into his voice. *Mr. Daros. Respectfully.* Proper, civilized language—unlike the filth that came out of his men's mouths. He glanced at the rough-looking bandits standing guard nearby, his lip curling in disgust. When would these idiots learn to speak like decent human beings? Instead of "boss" and "chief" and "your honor," they should use proper titles—*sir*, *my lord*, *excellency*. Savages, the lot of them. He, Daros, was a man of refinement—he deserved to be addressed with respect. One day, when he retired from this life of crime, he'd buy a manor somewhere, live the quiet life of a gentleman, surrounded by servants who knew how to talk properly. No more of this rabble.
Satisfied, Daros nodded and slit open the envelope, his eyes scanning the contents with growing interest.
But his expression quickly darkened, his jaw tightening so hard his teeth ground together with a audible *clench*.
Black's letter was indeed written in elegant, polished prose—filled with all the niceties expected of a noble's correspondence. But beneath the flowery language lay a message so blunt, so unapologetic, it left no room for misunderstanding. It could be summed up in a single sentence:
> Dear Mr. Daros, I require your life. Please come out and surrender to your fate. If you refuse, we will have no choice but to collect it ourselves.
"BASTARD!!"
Daros roared, leaping to his feet as a brilliant aura of soul energy erupted from his body. Before Kelly could even register what was happening, a flash of cold steel sliced through the air—and his head tumbled to the ground, his body crumpling into a lifeless heap at Daros's feet.
*Who the hell does this little upstart think he is? Daring to challenge me?*
Gripping his massive cold iron longsword, Daros's face was a mask of rage. He tore the letter to shreds, his voice dripping with venom as he barked out his orders.
"Sound the alarm! Assemble every last man—we're going to war!"