Chapter 55: The Bandit Raiders' Assault!

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Although Leo had agreed to Faesha’s request, he could never dispatch his troops blindly.

An adult ogre, towering close to three meters and weighing over six hundred pounds, made human warriors seem like preschool children before it. Even awakened extraordinary warriors needed to exhaust themselves entirely to defeat a single ogre fighter.

The river bend’s militia, after training and real combat, and with upgraded equipment, now had half their number reaching the strength standard of imperial regular infantry—but even they could not withstand a single blow from an ogre.

Furthermore, the threat of Brother Lawrence still lingered in Leo’s mind. He was always inclined to suspect outsiders with the worst intentions and could only remain vigilant, waiting for Urian’s return before deciding his course.

Retribution came swiftly. The very next morning, just as Leo finished his exercises, brushed his horse, and prepared to practice archery at the range beside the manor, a sudden horn sounded from afar.

It was the watchtower Urian had built by the canal—its sentry had spotted the enemy at once.

But this time, the attackers were not weak kobolds, but a band of horse thieves.

The horn had barely begun to echo when a group emerged from the woods across the canal. Around forty strong, clad in filthy, tattered fur armor and wearing turned-up felt hats, they rode swift horses, easily leaping the two-meter-wide canal, howling ferociously as they charged straight for the river bend.

Leo’s head spun; he grabbed his shield and barked at the startled little mouse beside him, “Get inside the manor!”

These roving bandits from the western frontier were the most loathsome kind—skilled in archery and horsemanship, moving like the wind, impossible to eradicate. Whether farming villages or nomadic settlements, none could handle them.

Farming villages had only a handful of horses held by the knightly lord; the troops, made up of retainers and militia, could neither chase nor outshoot the horse thieves, forced to huddle in their fortifications and take the blows.

Nomadic villages, though boasting more herdsmen and able to muster light cavalry equal in strength to the bandits, were too scattered; sudden raids were even harder to counter.

Only mountain fishing and hunting tribes were unafraid of the horse thieves—the terrain was unsuitable for swift horses, and their hunters’ longbows could easily match the bandits’ archery.

The river bend responded quickly. Ivan, at Leo’s side, grabbed his small horn and sounded the alarm.

Villagers clearing the north side rushed desperately toward the camp, seeking shelter in the lord’s manor.

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Olivia appeared at the manor’s door, standing on the wooden steps, anxiously watching the elderly and children enter, maintaining order and commanding the militia reserves to drag back those villagers still trying to carry grain and hides.

Militiamen who had been building houses with timber quickly snatched up nearby weapons and rushed to the village center to join Leo.

To safeguard the river bend’s defenses, Leo had ordered in recent days that apart from those patrolling or keeping watch, all militia were to focus solely on camp work, with weapons close at hand for instant formation against any threat.

Now, the river bend’s projects were few. The main militia was building houses in the village; the reserves were constructing levees on the northern riverbank, while the rest continued to clear land.

This was entirely Freya’s doing—the mighty groundhog, lured by Leo, had single-handedly accelerated construction by at least a month.

The horse thieves moved fast; from the moment they appeared by the canal, less than two minutes passed before they reached the village.

Shouting and yelling, they raised their short bows and fired at the militia.

In so brief a time, not even half the militia had assembled; those who arrived first hurried to load their crossbows and shoot back.

Leo, too, raised his yew longbow, firing three arrows in quick succession, felling a horse thief.

“Raise your shields! Shields up!” Leo interrupted a militiaman who was preparing to reload his crossbow after firing a bolt.

The boarfolk’s crossbows were inaccurate and slow, no match for the horse thieves. At long range, luck governed the outcome, but as the bandits drew nearer, exchanging fire was suicidal.

As Leo shouted, the horse thieves reached the village entrance. Several militiamen who hadn’t raised their shields were struck by arrows, groaning in pain.

Luckily, the short bows lacked power; after piercing the thick fur armor, the arrows lodged shallowly, not immediately fatal.

Once inside the village, the bandits scattered, slipping in from every corner. They abandoned their bows, brandishing curved blades and spears, charging at the militia.

Timber piles and houses cluttered the village, creating a complex terrain unsuitable for the horse thieves’ hit-and-run tactics.

More militia arrived from all directions, and the experienced bandits knew better than to let them form a cohesive fighting force.

According to their usual tactics, if the bandits could slaughter and create chaos before the militia assembled, breaking their morale early, the rest would be a blood-soaked revel.

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No village militia, fighting separately or fleeing, could withstand a horse thief assault.

One bandit, laughing wildly, raised his curved blade and charged at an unprepared militiaman, slashing horizontally from horseback.

Ordinarily, the momentum of a galloping horse added such force to the slash that it rivaled a two-handed weapon’s blow, easily severing heads or arms in one stroke—the sheer brutality could terrify nearby villagers out of their wits.

Even striking a shield was no issue; in his experience, a militiaman’s thin wood shield could only block arrows.

Yet this militiaman did not dodge, bravely raising his wooden shield.

The horse thief grinned wickedly, slashing without hesitation, intent on cleaving both man and shield in two.

But this time, the shield absorbed the blow—a deep gash marked its surface, but it did not splinter, and the militiaman merely staggered, otherwise unscathed.

The river bend militia’s oak shields were a full inch thick!

The round shield in the militiaman’s hands was one of a batch Urian had ordered Valery to reforge: its exterior was soft pine, its core hard oak.

This dual-layer structure, modeled after imperial infantry shields, allowed it to better withstand slashes and blunt impacts, greatly reducing the force absorbed by the militiaman.

Had there been more time and materials, Urian would have lined the shields with thick leather.

The thwarted horse thief, enraged, tried to turn his mount for another strike.

Before he could, he glimpsed another militiaman ahead, who hurled a short spear at him.

The sharp spear flew more than ten meters, striking the bandit’s chest and piercing through—half its shaft protruded from his back.

A gush of blood, and the thief fell from his horse, dead beyond hope.

The twenty assembled militiamen then hurled their short spears in unison.