Chapter 158. Are You Here, You Fool? (1)
On a distant sand dune overlooking Prince Samir's tent, a group of desert bandits sat atop their horses, silently observing their target.
The leader, holding a brass telescope, scanned the banners fluttering around the tent's perimeter. A wicked grin spread across his face as he lowered the instrument and muttered with satisfaction, "Heh, it really is the Fourth Prince"
Turning to the man standing silently beside him, he asked, "Now, I don't mind losing a few men—they're cheap as dirt—but are you sure you can handle the prince's guards?"
"Of course. Leave the guards to us," the man replied calmly.
A raspy laugh escaped the bandit leader's lips, then he said, "Giving me money and even taking care of annoying obstacles! Even if this delicious rice cake is poisoned, there's no reason not to eat it!"
He let out a boisterous laugh before signaling to his men with a sharp nod, saying, "Get ready, boys. These fine gentlemen will take care of the guards, so all you have to do is grab the good stuff. Don't bother with the rest, got it?"
"Aye, boss!"
"Understood!"
Over fifty bandit members erupted into motion. They were from the Talys Bandits, a notorious group that ruled the western deserts of the Pajar Sultanate with cruelty and bloodshed.
Their leader, Talys, lifted a leather pouch from his belt, brought it to his mouth, and gulped down a fiery swig. He offered the pouch to the man beside him with a grin and asked, "Care for a drink before the action?"
The masked man gave him a cold, disdainful glance and answered, "We do not drink."
Talys chuckled, shaking his head as he said, "I'll never understand that. In Pajar, we share a cup before working together—it's tradition. But I won't force you."
He glanced past the man to the group of fifteen cloaked figures behind him. Despite their shabby robes, Talys had already noticed the glint of armor beneath their disguises.
Just yesterday, this enigmatic group had appeared at the bandits' hideout without a sound, offering a simple but dangerous proposal:
"We will help you attack the Fourth Prince. Leave the guards to us."
At first, Talys had dismissed it as nonsense. But when his refusal had been met with twenty dead men in under three minutes, he realized they weren't bluffing. If these strangers had wanted to, they could have wiped out the entire bandit group on the spot.
The fact that they spared us means they need us, Talys had concluded.
Their only demand had been for his bandits to participate in the attack. Talys wasn't a fool, so he could see their strategy.
They want this to look like a raid, nothing more, Talys thought.
He knew all too well how the Sultanate had descended into chaos after the Crown Prince's collapse. In such times, it wasn't hard to guess who would want the Fourth Prince dead.
Second Prince? Third Prince? Probably someone from their faction without a doubt.
There was no need to overthink it. This wasn't a problem—it was an opportunity, his one chance to escape the wretched life of a desert bandit.
"You'll stick to the deal, right? All the treasure over there goes to us," Talys said, eyeing the man.
"Of course. We have no interest in gold," the man confirmed.
"Good. That's all I need to hear," Talys said, a grin spreading across his face.
He knew some of his men would die tonight—perhaps most of them. But that didn't matter.
All I have to do is grab my share and run off.
The moment these strangers had approached, Talys had already resigned himself to the inevitable. The life of a bandit was a dead end. But here, at the end of that road, lay a chance to change his fortune forever.
And besides, Talys had insurance.
In the worst case scenario, I can use this scroll to escape.
The scroll was engraved with a spell that summoned a ghost horse for three minutes. This ghost horse, renowned for its incredible speed, would ensure his survival even in the direst of situations.
The Fourth Prince's tribute to the capital whenever he visits is said to be massive, Talys thought.
Even a fraction of it would be enough to start fresh—perhaps in the Orias Empire, or the northern Free City League. With enough gold, he would be able to buy a new life anywhere he wanted.
With a wide, toothy grin, Talys bellowed to his men, "How many chances like this do you think we'll ever get? Everything you grab tonight is yours! Fill your bellies and end this miserable life!"
Pure and endless greed was the only force that drove them.
A roar of triumph erupted from the bandits, their fists raised high. Moments later, the ground shook beneath the pounding of hooves.
***
Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud.
The ground trembled as the desert sand shifted under the weight of approaching riders.
"It was real," Caron muttered as he slowly rose from his bed. His hand moved lazily to grasp Guillotine, which rested beside him.
"Is it snack time already? It's been a while, and I'm feeling excited." The voice of Guillotine carried a hint of eager anticipation. Even the sword could sense the enemies closing in from afar.
Saintess Seria's warning had proven accurate.
"There are people chasing me down."
Caron hadn't believed all her words. To him, she was just a figurehead of the Holy Kingdom, a saintess burdened with divine mandates and political intrigue. But as he watched the approaching bandits, he had to admit she had been telling the truth.
And if her first warning had been true, then so was the second:
"...This mission was carried out without His Holiness' blessing. The Pope opposed my coming here until the very end. I defied his orders, and that is why the Paladins were sent after me."
She had claimed that meeting the Crown Prince was her divine mission, but something about her explanation had unsettled Caron.
Seria was a Saintess of the Holy Kingdom. Thus, Caron wondered: If the Holy Kingdom was involved in this attack, why would there be any reason for them to resort to such a method? Especially when they had the better option of dialogue and persuasion?
"It doesn't make sense," Caron muttered. He thought there had to be another reason they were going this far.
No rational kingdom would send a force such as the Paladins into enemy territory for a violent assault without cause.
"Even madness has its limits. Don't you think, Guillotine?" Caron asked.
"Owner, those words really don't suit you. You have no sense of moderation, after all," Guillotine answered.
"I don't need one," Caron replied.
His voice dropped to a murmur as he stepped outside the tent. Darkness hung heavy over the camp, and the faint hum of tension filled the night air. The bandits crept closer, their presence unmistakable, yet no one in the camp lit a single torch.
It seemed like a situation ready to explode, but Caron's lips curled into a faint smile. He muttered, "It's a good thing the prince is someone you can communicate well with."
He had warned Prince Samir beforehand: No matter what happened tonight, every soldier was to remain inside their tents, waiting quietly. The reason was simple—more people meant more confusion.
Exhaling deeply, Caron closed his eyes and shared his sight with Pluto. The creature's dark, obsidian-like eyes gleamed as it materialized silently beside him, its vision cutting effortlessly through the shadows. Caron rested his hand lightly on Pluto's head, giving it a brief pat before shifting his gaze toward the sand dune in the distance.
The bandits were approaching, their horses galloping at full speed. Around fifty men—more than a mere nuisance, but hardly a threat worth fretting over. There was no need to draw a sword against such people.
"Pluto, eat them all," Caron ordered.
Meow.
As soon as Caron gave the command, Pluto sank into the sands, vanishing without a trace.
Moments later...
Neighhh!
Terrified cries of horses filled the night as the bandits were dragged down one by one into the shifting ground.
The darkness that blanketed the desert was Pluto's domain, a realm where shadows reigned supreme.
Caron smirked, idly twitching his fingers.
A few of the bandit members managed to escape Pluto's grasp, stumbling away from the unseen menace. But even that was part of Caron's plan.
"Watching worms squirm is always the most fun," Caron remarked with a smirk.
Panic rippled through the survivors like wildfire. Madness took root as desperation claimed their minds, and they turned their weapons on one another, howling like rabid dogs. Soon, chaos descended into carnage.
None of them could resist Pluto's influence. It was only a matter of time before they fell.
Before the bandit members could even reach the encampment—
"They're coming," Guillotine's warning echoed, just as a new force slashed through the night.
Soldiers cut the raiders down with swift, precise strikes, their swords glowing with brilliant white light.
Caron let out a quiet chuckle, watching the carnage unfold as he remarked, "They're not even trying to hide their identity."
There was only one group capable of wielding such radiant power: the Paladins. With grim resolve, they hacked through Pluto's creeping shadows and charged straight toward the campsite.
Caron's lips twitched into a faint smile before he melded into the darkness, becoming one with the night.
"Remember your orders!"
"Advance! Everyone, forward!"
The Paladins reached the camp's threshold, having closed the distance in mere heartbeats.
As the lead Paladin stepped forward, crossing into the encampment—
Slash!
His head was severed cleanly from his body, the silent stroke leaving only a brief spray of blood before his decapitated form crumpled to the ground.
But then—
Boom!
A blinding white explosion erupted from the fallen Paladin's corpse. The blast illuminated the entire encampment in a searing light that banished every shadow.
Crouching in the darkness, Caron found himself exposed, his position betrayed by the dazzling flare. He let out a dry laugh, blinking rapidly to clear the spots from his eyes. If he had been even a fraction slower in shutting them, the flash would have left him completely blinded.
"These bastards are acting like dark mages," Caron remarked.
"Owner, this is ancient magic. The structure uses divine power, but it's unmistakable," Guillotine informed Caron.
"Paladins using ancient magic?" Caron narrowed his eyes. "That's a new one."
These weren't ordinary Paladins. They were warriors ready to die—prepared to detonate themselves if needed. That made them fundamentally different from the ones he had encountered before.
Flash!
Two Paladins charged at him without hesitation, their bodies aglow with the same radiant power. The brilliance they emitted scoured away every shadow, leaving no place for Caron to hide.
But that was all it did. If there were no shadows to conceal him, he would simply have to kill them.
Whoosh.
A thick mist seeped from Caron's body, his mana swirling into a hazy shroud that veiled the air around him. He had no intention of hiding his power either.
Whoosh.
In the ghostly fog, Guillotine's dark blade gleamed ominously. The eerie sight made the Paladins flinch for a heartbeat, but they forced themselves forward, thrusting their swords straight at Caron.
Clang!
The tips of their blades stopped just short of his body. The sea fog, an impenetrable barrier of countless mana fragments, blocked their strikes before they could reach him.
Caron's lips curled into a grin as he locked eyes with them. With a flick of his wrist, he swung Guillotine.
Slash!
A dark blue line of light sliced through the mist. The Paladins who had charged at Caron glanced down at the line that now crossed their torsos. Their eyes widened, but no cry of defiance came.
That was because—
Thud.
That line was the last thing they ever saw. Their heads fell, and their bodies collapsed in silence.
The moment they hit the ground, a familiar blinding radiance erupted from the corpses. But Caron had no intention of falling for the same trick twice.
"Do you think I'd be caught again?" he muttered.
Ssshhh.
Pluto's darkness surged forward, devouring the light as it engulfed the two dead bodies. Caron spat on the corpses and shifted his gaze toward the battlefield.
Three were down, so that meant twelve more Paladins remained. Every one of them was now clearly in his sights, and they were moving in three distinct groups. Oddly, none of them headed for Prince Samir's tent.
A dry chuckle escaped Caron's lips and he muttered, "Look at these bastards."
It was clear now. Their target wasn't Prince Samir. It was the Saintess, Seria.
Caron's eyes narrowed. The murderous intent emanating from the Paladins was unmistakable. They weren't here to escort her back to the Holy Kingdom. They had come to kill her.
"So they're after her life," he murmured, the truth sliding into place.
With their objective laid bare, there was only one thing left to do.
"Looks like I'll have to charge extra for this, dear client," Caron said with a smirk.
It was time to reel in the gullible fools of the Holy Kingdom.