The afternoon sun blazed mercilessly, baking the earth beneath it. Dust drifted in the dry air, carrying with it a faint, almost imperceptible scent of blood.
At the gates of Blackstone Town, the mood was anything but peaceful.
Bolin returned, his clothes caked in dust, leading a weary line of refugees. Their faces were hollow, eyes dull and sunken. Their ragged clothes fluttered weakly in the wind, and every step looked like it might be their last. Yet, when they finally saw the sturdy wooden walls of Blackstone and the faint signs of order within, a glimmer of life flickered in their numb eyes.
"My Lord," Bolin said, hurrying up to Robert, fatigue and worry etched into his face. "All the refugees have been brought back and settled. But…"
He hesitated, lowering his voice. "On our way back, near the western edge of Deadwood Forest, one of my men discovered a large temporary camp. Judging from the bonfire traces, there are at least a hundred people there."
Robert's brow furrowed. Bandits.
He had been expecting them eventually—but not this soon.
Before he could speak, a sudden burst of galloping hooves thundered toward the town. The noise broke the tense silence like a whip crack.
A burly man, his face marred by a jagged scar, rode a gaunt horse straight through the town gates. He yanked on the reins so violently that the animal reared and snorted, hooves striking sparks from the dirt road.
The man's eyes were narrow and full of cruelty. He scanned the townsfolk with open disdain before his gaze landed on Robert—the only one standing calmly amid the tension.
"Who's in charge here?" he bellowed, his voice harsh and full of arrogance.
"I'm an envoy from the Blood Wolf Band!" he announced proudly. "Our leader says that from today onward, Blackstone Territory is under the protection of the Blood Wolf Band. The annual tribute is one thousand gold dragons. If you know what's good for you, bring it to the Deadwood Forest camp within three days. Otherwise…"
He drew his thumb slowly across his throat and grinned. "Don't blame us when we paint your little town red."
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
One thousand gold dragons—nearly the entire annual revenue of the Blackstone Territory! It was pure extortion.
Several knights' hands went instinctively to their sword hilts, faces pale with anger.
Robert, however, remained perfectly calm. His expression didn't so much as flicker. He looked at the scar-faced man as though observing a corpse that hadn't yet realized it was dead.
"Aid," Robert said quietly. "Cut off one of his hands."
"Yes, my Lord."
Aid stepped forward. Though his aura was restrained, the ground seemed to sink slightly beneath his step. He didn't even draw his sword. Bringing his fingers together like a blade, he summoned a gleam of earthen-yellow battle qi that solidified along the edge.
There was a flash—too fast for the eye to follow.
The next instant, the messenger's right hand, still gripping the reins, was severed cleanly at the wrist. The wound was so smooth it gleamed like polished glass before blood erupted, splattering the ground in crimson arcs.
The bandit's scream tore through the stunned silence. He toppled from his horse, clutching his bleeding wrist, writhing in agony.
Robert's voice cut coldly through the commotion. "Go back and tell your master this: If he wants gold dragons, he can come trade his life for them."
Though his tone was soft, the chilling authority in it made every listener's spine tighten.
The bandit, pale as a sheet and half-conscious from pain, stared up at Robert in terror. Then, with his remaining hand, he scrambled away like a frightened dog, leaving a trail of blood across the road as he fled into the distance.
For a long moment, no one spoke. The townspeople stared at the bloodstained ground, then at Robert, who stood calm and motionless. Relief flickered through their fear—relief that someone had finally stood up to the bandits—but it was mixed with awe and uncertainty. They had not expected their young new lord to be so ruthless.
"Mayor Buck," Robert said, turning toward the old man who had been silent until now. "How much do you know about this Blood Wolf Band?"
The old mayor shuddered, finally recovering from the shock. He hunched slightly, wrinkles deepening around his eyes. "My Lord," he began in a trembling voice, "the Blood Wolf Band… they've been operating in these parts for years. At first, they were just scattered brigands. But in recent times, their strength has grown quickly. They've absorbed smaller groups and—"
He hesitated. "There are even rumors that they're supported by certain nobles."
Robert's eyes narrowed slightly. "Noble support? Which noble?"
Old Buck shook his head. "I can't say for certain. I've only heard traveling merchants mention it in whispers. They say the Blood Wolf Band always finds a way to sell their stolen goods easily. And the lords' efforts to suppress them have been suspiciously half-hearted. Their leader, Karl—people call him the Blood Wolf—is a ruthless and cunning man. He commands a pack of cutthroats who would rather die than surrender."
Robert fell silent for a moment, thoughtful.
Ordinary bandits weren't worth worrying about. What truly mattered was the power behind them. A rabble could be crushed with ease, but if noble influence was involved… the situation became much more complicated.
"My Lord," Bolin ventured, anxiety lacing his voice. "What should we do now?"
Robert's gaze swept across everyone present. His expression remained composed, but his words carried an unmistakable authority.
"Do what must be done," he said. "Resettle the refugees as quickly as possible. Strengthen the town's defenses. As for the Blood Wolf Band…"
A faint, cold smile curved his lips. "I already have a plan. All of you—just follow orders."
His tone hardened. "They think they can take Blackstone's gold. But they don't yet realize—I'll be taking their gold… and their lives."
The quiet confidence in his voice rippled through the crowd. The knights straightened unconsciously, their morale lifted.
"Aid," Robert called again.
"Yes, my Lord!"
"From today on, you'll take personal command of Blackstone's defenses. Double the patrols. Keep a close watch on the Blood Wolf Band's movements, and report immediately if anything unusual occurs."
Aid's reply was firm. "Understood!"
Robert nodded, satisfied. Then, without another word, he turned toward the Lord's Manor, leaving the others to carry out his orders.
Soon the town came alive with motion. Aid gathered the knights, organizing them into patrol units. Bolin oversaw the placement of refugees, ensuring they had food and shelter. Mayor Buck did his best to calm the anxious townspeople, reassuring them that their new lord had everything under control.
As the day waned, the setting sun painted the sky in crimson hues. The long shadows of the newly built wooden palisades stretched across the ground, jagged and sharp, like the open fangs of some massive beast waiting to strike.
From the manor's upper window, Robert stood alone, gazing toward the horizon where the sun dipped below the trees. The dying light glinted in his eyes like molten gold.
The faint rustle of movement caught his attention.
A small silver-furred creature leapt lightly onto the windowsill—Moonlight, the town's so-called Minister of Rat Catching. Its sleek body and keen eyes gleamed in the dim light.
Robert smiled faintly and extended his hand. The creature rubbed affectionately against his arm before curling up beside him.
In the past few days, Moonlight had proven astonishingly effective, slaughtering hundreds of sand rats that plagued the town's granaries.
Outside, the last rays of sunlight bled away, and the first whispers of night crept over Blackstone.
Robert stood in silence, his mind turning like a whetstone.
The Blood Wolf Band had shown their teeth. They thought they could bully him like they had every other lord in the region. But they had no idea who they were dealing with.
Soon enough, they would learn.
He turned from the window, his expression calm once more, and the faint glimmer of moonlight followed him into the darkened hall.