"Die!"
One bandit slipped behind a sellsword and drove his sword straight at the man's back, already tasting blood.
The next second the blade hit something hard. The bandit's eyes flew wide.
"Chainmail?"
Before he could react, the sellsword spun and rammed his own sword through the bandit's throat. Blood sprayed out like a busted faucet.
Another bandit slashed at the same sellsword's arm. The blade rang off metal with a clear clang. Shock flashed across the bandit's face.
The sellsword grinned, yanked his sword free, and stabbed back.
"They're wearing mail!" the bandit screamed.
The rest of the crew attacking the other sellswords quickly realized the same thing. Every time they landed a hit, the blade just bounced off. Under those ragged robes the sellswords were all in chainmail.
With solid armor protecting everything except the joints, the five sellswords grew bolder and fought harder.
The bandit boss was having an even worse time.
He had expected only Leo to be in heavy plate and figured twenty men would be easy pickings. Instead he had run face-first into iron.
Not only were all five sellswords armored, the young noble in the fancy plate was a damn turtle.
The five of them had been hammering Leo for minutes and hadn't scratched him once. The ornate armor covered every inch. Even when they saw his swordwork was raw and sloppy, their flank attacks bounced off uselessly.
And that massive greatsword he swung like a storm kept them dodging, terrified of eating a single clean hit.
It was like a pack of lions trying to bite a porcupine—no place to sink their teeth.
Worse, Leo still didn't look tired. The boss was getting pissed.
If they dragged this out much longer the rear group would arrive and everything would go to hell.
Now he learned the other five sellswords were also mailed up. How the fuck were they supposed to end this quick?
The bandits attacking the farmers had managed to cut down a few, but they'd taken wounds too—two of their own had their skulls split open by shovels.
Truth was, most of these "bandits" were just armed farmers outside the core crew. Same background as Leo's farmers. It came down to guts.
Once Leo's farmers saw that fighting back actually worked, their fear faded. The bandits couldn't break them.
Watching the stalemate, the bandit boss started thinking about pulling out.
Then a scream tore through the noise.
One sellsword tripped on a rock, stumbled, and two bandits piled on him. A third drove a sword through his face.
Another sellsword glanced at his dying comrade and lost focus. A hidden archer put an arrow straight through his cheek. The sellsword howled, panicked, and the swarm cut him down in seconds.
Two elite fighters gone in a heartbeat. Leo's stomach dropped.
The bandit boss perked right up. Only three sellswords left. More men could swarm them now, and the iron turtle would fall soon enough.
"Push, boys!" he roared. "Finish these bastards and kill the lord! Gold dragons for everyone—wine, women, the works!"
The bandits howled like they could already smell the loot.
The three remaining sellswords shot Leo a nervous look.
Leo bellowed and put everything he had into a charge at the loudest bandit lieutenant—the one who had been taunting and flanking him the most.
The man had turned his back, slapping his own ass and mocking Leo, trying to bait him into a mistake.
Leo took the opening. He swung the greatsword with every ounce of strength and triggered [Slam] lv2.
[Slam]: Deliver a heavy, crushing strike. Power scales with your Strength.
The lieutenant raised his sword to block, calm and professional, already stepping in to close the distance and tackle Leo so the others could dogpile him.
He never got the chance.
Clang!
The Grand Marshal's greatsword sheared straight through the bandit's cheap sword, through his arm, and through his torso in one clean cut.
Blood fountained. The lieutenant's sly grin froze, then twisted into pure disbelief as he toppled in two pieces.
Everyone on the field went dead silent.
One swing. Sword and man both split in half.
How much strength did that take?
"Anyone else?!" Leo roared, face splattered with the man's blood. His eyes burned as he swept the circle, pure murder in his stare.
The bandits took an involuntary half-step back.
"For Lord Neo!" one sellsword shouted. He drove his blade into the chest of the man in front of him and kicked the body away.
The other two sellswords roared the same battle cry and dropped two more bandits.
The farmers, still locked in their own fights, caught the fire. They swung their tools like madmen, screaming, throwing themselves at the enemy with everything they had.
The tide flipped in an instant. Doubt crept into every bandit's face.
Then, from the distance, the faint thunder of hoofbeats rolled in.
The sellswords lit up. "Reinforcements! Our boys are here!"
Despair washed over the bandits. They all looked to their boss.
The one-eyed leader knew they had bitten off more than they could chew.
Time to run.
He shot Leo one last hate-filled glare and bellowed, "We're pulling out!"