The Monster King's Legacy

That night, the caravan had camped deeper in the woods than usual, their tents pitched in a tight circle, surrounded by the carriages and wagons arranged defensively. The horses were tied down and fed, already uneasy, sensing something the others hadn't yet noticed. The people, hungry and tired, focused on one thing, food.

The aroma of cooked vegetables and dried meat wafted through the air as fires crackled, pots clanged, and conversation buzzed.

They hadn't eaten since morning, not after the second beast attack that had forced them to skip their midday meal. Exhaustion hung heavy in the air, but the smell of dinner brought a sliver of warmth to the group.

Lance sat quietly near the outer edge of the camp, one knee raised, elbow resting lazily atop it. His eyes were half-lidded without focus on anything, then gradually, they came open.

He stood, casting a glance into the darkness of the trees beyond the wagons, sensing what they others hadn't yet noticed.

"They're back," he said simply.

The sound of his voice cut through the chatter like a blade, forcing everyone to their feet.

"What?" Eran asked, half-standing, hand reaching for his sword.

"The beasts," Lance said, stepping away from the firelight. "Prepare yourselves."

Orders rang out, swords drawn and Shields raised, the half-cooked meal forgotten as everyone sprang into position.

The forest hounds emerged once more, snarling and growling as they rushed the camp's perimeter. These were larger than the previous pack, with deep scars and more coordinated movements, driven by something greater than instinct alone.

Lance stood back, watching as the group clashed with the beasts. He observed their movements, their coordination, and their timing, noting that they were slower and Sloppier than that afternoon.

He wasn't surprised of course, as they hadn't eaten. Their energy was drained, and their minds dulled by fatigue. But even then, Lance didn't move to help. At least, not yet.

And as the fight dragged on, he sensed something else away from the fight before his eyes. Beyond the forest's edge… fifteen distinct presences… Human, stood waiting.

He heard their controlled breathing, observing their subtle shifts through the foliage with senses honed far beyond those of normal men or warriors.

"Interesting," Lance murmured.

There was no way these were random stragglers.

With such a situation, he pieced it together quickly. The morning attack, the one in the afternoon, and then the one happening at that moment… The timing was too perfect. They've been using the beasts to wear down the guards and merchants… to make them vulnerable, then strike when they're weakest.

He let out a low chuckle as he realized what was going on. "Smart…"

The moment the final hound dropped with a gurgling yelp, the attackers made their move.

Figures emerged from the trees, some hooded and all of them armed, some carrying crossbows, others short swords and spiked clubs. They moved quickly, surrounding the caravan in a well-practiced formation.

The group, still recovering from the beast attack, froze in place as the new threat revealed itself.

From the men surrounding the caravan, a man stepped forward. His armor was scavenged, mismatched pieces strapped together with leather cords, with a jagged scar running across his cheek. His eyes gleamed with arrogance as he held out a hand.

"Well, well," he sneered. "Tough night, huh? You all look tired." He grinned, scanning the group.

"How 'bout we make it easy for everyone? Hand over the goods, every coin, every gem, every little trinket you've got, and maybe, just maybe, we'll let you walk away with your lives." He said.

The merchant leader stepped forward slowly, his breathing still heavy from the fight. "We will do no such thing."

That made the bandits laugh. Some pointed mockingly, others hooted.

The leader's smile faded. "Listen, old man. You don't get it, do you? You've got nothing left. You're tired. Your people are half-dead on their feet. Refuse me again, and I'll paint the grass red."

The merchant's eyes flicked toward Lance.

He was still standing there, calm and relaxed, not even looking at the bandits. And yet, that was all the reassurance they needed.

At that moment, Lance couldn't help but think how generic the conversation he just heard was… it was… refreshing, in a strange way.

The merchant squared his shoulders after focusing on the bandit again. "Still no."

The bandit leader's face twisted a bit as he dropped his shoulders. "Fine."

In that instant, he moved, a blur to the others. His blade gleamed under the moonlight as he charged forward, but just as the blade neared the old man's throat—

CRACK.

The bandit leader was sent face first right into the dirt, a deep handprint-shaped welt forming across his face if anyone had noticed, where Lance had slapped him away.

Everyone went silent after this, processing what had just happened.

The remaining bandits stood frozen, shocked beyond reason. Even their leader couldn't comprehend what had happened.

He hadn't seen Lance move, and even then, Lance was no longer in front of the old man. He was already gone.

All across the perimeter, brief flashes of movement followed as Lance appeared and disappeared. By the time anyone realized what was happening, Lance was standing alone again, brushing dust from his cloak.

Around him, fourteen lifeless bodies hit the dirt almost simultaneously, the camp falling silent almost immediately. Even the crickets seemed to have gone quiet for a moment.

The bandit leader groaned, face half-buried in the soil, his limbs shaking.

He tried to get up, only to seize an opportunity as soon as he saw it. His hand darted toward the older merchant, wrapping an arm around his neck and dragging him back with a dagger gleaming in his hand. His sword was already broken in half my Lance, and not only that, but it was a couple metres away from him.

"Don't move!" He screamed, his voice breaking. "I'll kill him! I swear I'll—"

Before he could finish, Lance was suddenly behind him, crouched low. With a clean, efficient twist, he snapped the arm holding the dagger.

Crack!

The scream that followed was enough to send birds fleeing from nearby trees even though it was night time… definitely enough to wake them from their sleep.

The dagger clattered to the ground as the man collapsed, cradling his broken limb, tears and snot streaming down his face.

Looking at him, Lance couldn't help but think how out of character the bandit looked after just a broken arm. Even back before he became this strong, he didn't give such a reaction when he broke his arm.

Lance leaned close to the bandit, applying some pressure on his leg to get his attention.

"You'll do exactly as I say from now on."

The bandit sobbed, unable to even look up, nodding without hesitation.