Sebastian did not hesitate for a single moment.
The instant his feet touched solid ground, he rushed forward. His sword cut a silver arc through the air, followed by a sharp howl of wind. Air magic moved with every motion he made, strengthening his steps, accelerating his attack.
The first bandit didn't even have time to react.
Lares stepped out of the carriage behind him.
"Disarm them!" he called calmly, but with a firm voice.
"Gag them. Killing is pointless. We will need workers soon."
A brief glance toward Sebastian.
"If you break something, that's fine. It will heal."
Sebastian gave a short nod and continued forward.
Lares turned to the men standing before them, hesitating. There was no discipline in their faces. No order. Only fear, anger, and desperation.
He took a step forward.
"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "But this will not end well for you."
His golden eyes passed over them.
"Surrender. It would be better for you."
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then they attacked.
Stones, the size of fists, tore themselves from the ground. They shot forward, fast and precise. Bones cracked. A scream tore through the group as one man's leg broke beneath him. Another dropped his weapon when a stone struck his fingers.
Some managed to dodge.
Hoping the young prince was truly as clumsy as the rumors claimed, they rushed him.
Lares moved.
Every step looked calm. Almost elegant.
But beneath the surface, his anger burned.
He avoided their attacks without stumbling, without swaying. His movements were controlled, clear, as if he could see the entire battlefield at once.
His sword drew a short, clean arc through the air.
Not deadly.
Never deadly.
He knocked blades aside.
Drove men to the ground.
Disarmed them with precise, hard movements.
The earth itself helped him. It lifted beneath feet, threw attackers off balance, dragged them down.
Beside him, Sebastian raged like a storm.
The wind howled around him, cut and pressed. One bandit suddenly lost the air from his lungs as a vacuum formed around his face. He gasped, staggered—and collapsed unconscious.
Another was hurled to the ground by an invisible force.
Yet neither Lares nor Sebastian killed anyone.
They broke arms.
Shattered weapons.
Forced men to the ground.
Within minutes, it was over.
The men lay groaning in the dust, disarmed, overwhelmed, unable to continue fighting.
Lares stood still in the middle of it all.
His breathing was calm.
His teeth were clenched.
The volcano inside him had erupted for a moment.
Now it was quiet again.
"Bind them," he said softly.
The driver looked uncertainly toward Sebastian, as if unsure where to begin. Sebastian had already sheathed his sword, but before either of them could kneel down, Lares let out a quiet sigh.
The earth beneath the bandits began to move.
Fine strands of compacted soil rose from the ground, forming into rough, solid ropes. One by one, they wrapped around the men's wrists, pulling their arms behind their backs. The knots held as if they had grown from stone itself.
The men whose legs were broken or badly injured were lifted gently from the ground by the rising earth and placed carefully on the roof of the carriage. More earthen ropes wrapped around their bodies, holding them securely in place so they would not fall.
Lares let his gaze pass over them once more.
"I think we'll make a stop in the poor district," he said calmly.
Sebastian stepped beside him.
"When we reach the city, gather the soldiers. Today, we clean up."
His voice remained calm. Almost matter-of-fact.
"Anyone who has done even the smallest wrong will be taken in."
He briefly glanced north, toward the mountains.
"After that, we move on. To the old mines."
For a moment, no one spoke.
"From today on, there will be a lot of work," Lares continued. "And nothing is more valuable than hands that can work."
His teeth pressed together briefly.
"There should still be some of the old miners in the poor districts. My father treated them badly. Many lost everything."
He took a slow breath.
"We need them again."
Then he gave a slight nod toward the road.
"Let's go."