On the edge of the muddy swamp northeast of the Forest of Gloom, the fetid moisture mixed with the sour smell of wild vegetable soup permeated the damp air.
The camp of the Defias Brotherhood was scattered across the clearing beside the swamp, resembling a pile of discarded rags. The low tents were mostly patched together from moldy burlap and bark; some were just frames built from branches covered with a few tattered animal hides.
Campfires burned sporadically among the tents. Wild vegetable soup bubbled on the fires, with a few unidentified roots floating inside. Several ragged bandits huddled around a fire, staring eagerly at the pot, occasionally scooping up some soup with a wooden ladle, blowing on it to cool it, and putting it into their mouths.
Nearly a thousand bandits were squeezed into this small clearing, mostly gaunt men with sallow complexions. Some wore patched burlap clothes, while others were bare-chested, their bodies covered in grime and bloodstains.
Their weapons were even more varied—short knives rusted beyond recognition, sharpened wooden sticks, and some even carried smoothed stones. Only a few people who looked like minor leaders wore crude leather armor, carried scimitars tucked into their belts, and leaned against the tent poles, staring fiercely at the people around them.
In the center of the camp, a dozen bandits were shoving each other around a pile of stolen goods.
A faded piece of silk had been ripped in half, and two bandits clung tightly to their respective pieces, their faces flushed red as they cursed and looked ready to fight.
Nearby, several bandits squatted on the ground, rummaging through the contents of a wooden box—which held a few bags of moldy bread, a small jar of honey, and some copper coins. They stuffed the items into their arms like hungry wolves, terrified that if they were slow, others would snatch everything.
"I saw this jar of honey first!" roared a bearded rogue, smashing his fist into the face of the person next to him.
"Bullshit! Whoever grabs it keeps it!" The struck rogue was not slow to react, picking up a wooden stick from the ground and swinging it at the bearded man's head.
Far from breaking up the fight, the surrounding bandits gathered around, clapping and shouting encouragement: "Fight! Kill him!" "Grab the honey and give me a share!"
The chaotic noise rose and fell, and the entire camp was like a boiling cesspool, full of greed, vulgarity, and despair.
Most of these bandits were desperate refugees forced into destitution, or deserters who had fled the army. They gathered only to snatch a meal, and discipline was nonexistent—those who won got to eat a little more, while those who lost could only starve, curled up trembling in a corner of a tent.
In the middle of this chaotic camp, however, stood a particularly conspicuous tent. It was three times larger than the surrounding ones, made of black coarse burlap, with patches of worn leather sewn along the edges. Although still crude, it exuded the aura of a "leader."
At the entrance of the tent stood two bandits wearing leather armor, holding scimitars and vigilantly watching the people around them. Anyone who approached within half a step would be fiercely driven away.
Inside the tent, a crackling campfire illuminated the man sitting on a beast-hide cushion. He was about forty years old, with a fleshy face and a long, hideous scar running from his forehead to his chin on his left cheek.
He wore a relatively intact piece of leather armor, and a rusty longsword was tucked into his belt. This was the leader of the Defias Brotherhood, Edward Vancleef.
(Ha! He's merely an OC!)
Standing in front of him was a Man in Gray Cloak. The hood of the cloak was pulled low, obscuring most of his face; only the stubble on his chin and a pair of emotionless eyes could be seen.
Edward clutched a ceramic cup in his hand, his knuckles white from the force, his tone filled with indignation: "The people from Prince Patton's Fiefdom promised me that as long as I led my brothers in an uprising to overthrow the nobles of Katushir, they would immediately send troops to respond and coordinate the attack!
But what now? I led my brothers, fleeing from the Northern Gate to this damned place, chased like dogs by the people of Katushir, and they haven't even shown a shadow! Why is that?"
The cloaked man coughed lightly, his voice as flat as stagnant water: "Plans change. The nobles of Katushir suddenly reinforced their defenses and hired Imperial mercenaries. If we rashly send troops, it would only be a net loss."
"A net loss?" Edward suddenly stood up and kicked over the wooden table in front of him. The ceramic cup on the table smashed onto the ground, scattering fragments everywhere. "Do you know how I managed to evade Katushir's search?
To avoid their triple checkpoints, over a dozen of my brothers fell to their deaths off cliffs! To evade their mountain search teams, we hid in the swamp for three days and three nights, nearly eaten alive by mosquitoes! And now you tell me plans change?"
The more he spoke, the more agitated he became, and the scar on his face twisted with rage: "For the past few months, we've robbed caravans, killed guards, and thrown the Khyprian road into chaos—wasn't all that meant to draw attention away for Prince Patton's Fiefdom?
And what did you do? You hid behind the scenes and watched the show! My brothers are starving. If this continues, we won't need Katushir's people to wipe us out; we'll starve to death right here by the swamp!"
The cloaked man remained expressionless, as if Edward's anger had nothing to do with him.
He slowly raised his hand, took a heavy cloth bag from his chest, and threw it onto the ground in front of Edward—the bag hit the floor with a clatter, clearly full of gold coins.
"We will triple the payment we previously promised you," his voice remained calm but carried undeniable authority. "Furthermore, we will send you fifty sacks of grain, twenty scimitars, and one hundred spears every month. That should be enough for your brothers to survive."
Edward's gaze was instantly drawn to the bag on the ground, and his expression of anger slowly deflated like a punctured balloon.
He squatted down, picked up the cloth bag, weighed it in his hand, and a greedy smile appeared on his face: "Now that's more like it. If you had said that earlier, would I have needed to get so angry?"
The cloaked man nodded slightly: "Next, you will continue to occupy the Forest of Gloom. The Khyprian road is the lifeblood of Katushir Hold. The more tightly you block the trade route, the greater Katushir's economic difficulties will be. At that time, we in Prince Patton's Fiefdom can seize the opportunity to intervene and take control of the route.
When the time is right, we will support you in returning to overthrow the nobles of Kabsanake Territory and make you the Lord of Kabsanake Territory."
"Good! We'll do it!" Edward's eyes narrowed with laughter, as if he could already see himself as the Lord. He picked up the ceramic cup from the ground, poured some water into it, and handed it to the cloaked man: "Here, have a drink, and let's discuss the specifics of blocking the trade route..."
The two men inside the tent talked in low voices, completely unaware that outside the tent, in the forest, a silent hunt had already begun.
In the dense woods east of the camp, three lookouts from the Defias Brotherhood were leaning against tree trunks, smoking.
They wore ragged burlap clothes, held sharpened wooden sticks, and stared vaguely in the direction of the camp, chatting idly.
"Damn it, standing guard here every day, I don't even see a woman," a short rogue spat out his cigarette butt and cursed. "That human girl we snatched from the last caravan was really pretty, but too bad the boss' men took her. We didn't even get a taste."
"Tell me about it!" sighed a tall rogue next to him, his eyes full of lust. "Next time we raid a caravan, we have to move first and grab a couple of women to have some fun, instead of looking at these stinking men every day."
"Hahaha! You wish..."
Before he could finish, a faint rustling sound came from behind the trees.
Before the three bandits could react, three dark figures suddenly darted out of the dense woods—they were three night hobgoblins riding three-meter-tall Death Crawlers!
The black spiders silently crept to the base of the trees. The night hobgoblins leaped from the spiders' backs, their bone daggers flashing cold light, and immediately covered the bandits' mouths.
"Mph! Mph!" The bandits struggled desperately but were held firmly against the trees by the night hobgoblins.
The sharp blades of the bone daggers sliced across their throats. Blood instantly spurted out, splashing onto the tree trunks and leaving dark red streaks.
In just a moment, the three bandits slumped to the ground, their eyes wide open, clearly dying with grievances.
The night hobgoblins skillfully dragged the bodies behind the trees, covered them with leaves, then remounted their Death Crawlers and vanished into the dense woods like ghosts, leaving only a faint smell of blood in the air.
By the swamp on the west side of the camp, two bandits acting as hidden sentries were crouching in the grass, watching the direction of the swamp vigilantly.
They thought no one could find them hiding there, but they failed to notice that in the dense woods behind them, several hobgoblins were silently approaching, crouching low. The hobgoblins held hemp ropes and bone daggers, their footsteps as light as a cat's, making even the rustling of the grass imperceptible.
"How much benefit do you think the boss will get this time?" one sentry whispered.
"Who knows..."
Before the other sentry could finish speaking, he suddenly felt a rough hand cover his mouth, and his body was violently pulled backward.
He tried to struggle but was held down firmly by the hobgoblins. A cold bone dagger was plunged into his back, instantly piercing his heart.
The nearby sentry was not spared either. Just as he tried to shout, a hemp rope tightened around his neck, strangling him to death in the grass.
In just half an hour, the dozen or so overt and hidden sentries placed by the Defias Brotherhood on the camp's periphery were silently eliminated.
Not a single scream was heard, and no one was alerted, as if these bandits had never existed.
Meanwhile, in the dense woods surrounding the camp, more and more Death Crawlers emerged from the shadows.
The three-meter-tall spiders were pitch black, their carapaces gleaming coldly in the moonlight. Their eight barbed legs stepped on the fallen leaves without making a sound.
The night hobgoblins on their backs were hunched over, their poisoned arrows nocked on their bows. The arrowheads, smeared with dark purple poisonous mushroom powder, shone with an eerie luster in the darkness.
A large number of Death Crawlers, like a massive black net, silently surrounded the entire camp of the Defias Brotherhood.
They hid behind tree trunks, in the grass, and on the slopes by the swamp, their black eyes fixed on the chaotic bandits in the camp, their weapons ready.
With a single command, the poisoned arrows would rain down upon the camp, turning these defenseless bandits into pincushions.
Inside the tent, Edward was still chatting with the cloaked man about their future "Great ambitions," completely oblivious that the shadow of death had already enveloped the entire camp.
The bandits in the camp were still fighting over scraps of food , their shouts and laughter rising and falling, yet not a single person noticed that the surrounding forest had become unnaturally quiet—even the chirping of insects and the calls of birds had vanished, leaving only their own voices sounding particularly harsh in the silent night.
The night wind blew across the swamp, carrying the fetid moisture and stirring the black cloaks of the night hobgoblins in the dense woods.
Like patient hunters, they waited for their leader, Keziaz, to give the signal to attack, waiting for a baptism of blood and fire that would completely erase this chaotic camp from the Forest of Gloom.