I’m a Rebel in Another World

Chapter 38: Night Battle with Bandits

Henwil held his breath, listening carefully to the movements outside.

"Pah! Thought this would be some big score! Just another bunch of paupers! Damn luck!"

"Enough! Clean up and let's move out! The heavy rain will wash away all traces!"

"Irontop, check if there are any survivors inside. Finish them if there are! If not, burn this place down!"

Then, the carriage door swung open, and a burly figure squeezed inside, using his longsword to stab each of the still-moaning children.

The child who had seen Henwil climb to the roof earlier wasn't dead yet, reaching out toward Henwil and pleading: "Save... save... me..."

Following the child's pointing finger, the intruder turned back in confusion.

What he saw was Henwil already pouncing down from above.

Crouched on the man's back, Henwil drove his steel spike precisely into the attacker's temple.

The man's body stiffened instantly before collapsing face-first into the pile of corpses.Meanwhile, the man standing at the carriage doorway stared at Henwil with shocked disbelief.

Just as he started to open his mouth, Henwil caught the steel spike he'd been holding in his teeth with his left hand and hurled it directly at the man.

The spike plunged straight into the man's mouth with such force that it pierced completely through the back of his skull.

Henwil pulled the spike from his right hand free and leaped out of the carriage just as the outside man fell backward.

Upon landing, Henwil didn't immediately rise but instead rolled underneath the large wagon.

Quickly scanning his surroundings, he counted over ten enemies. Only two had spotted him so far—the others were busy looting the spoils.

These men wore leather armor, carried longswords, and had bows and arrows slung across their backs.

But they weren't mercenaries, nor were they ordinary bandits. They were deserters who had turned to banditry.

The standardized leather armor and longswords were equipment Henwil had seen on the battlefield.

After a quick assessment, Henwil decided to make a break for the small grove of trees.

Without any armor protection, a single arrow hitting a vital spot would finish him.

Even a non-fatal hit would bring him closer to certain death.

Besides, he hadn't fully recovered from the effects of the debilitating potion yet.

Direct confrontation with these fully armed deserter-bandits was clearly unwise.

Having formed his plan, Henwil avoided running upright—that would make him too visible.

Instead, he dropped to all fours and began crawling rapidly across the ground.

Before the two bandits who had spotted him could react, he had already reached one bandit who had his back turned.

Driving his steel spike into the man's neck, Henwil simultaneously shifted around to the front, snatching the man's longsword from his grasp.

After transferring the sword to his right hand, he pulled the spike free with his left and drove it into the man's jaw, using the body as a shield as he moved toward another position.

Blocking two incoming arrows with the corpse, Henwil charged toward another bandit.

With a twist of his sword, he sliced through the man's wrist.

As the bandit's sword fell, Henwil pulled the spike from his left hand and stepped forward to thrust it into the man's neck.

Again using the corpse as a shield, Henwil this time discarded the sword in his hand and drew the longsword from the dead man's back.

It was his Dawnbreaker sword, which this bandit had claimed as loot.

Henwil moved quickly, circling behind a tent to break the bandits' line of sight.

After planting the sword in the ground and tucking the spike at his waist, Henwil picked up a military longbow from the ground.

Gripping the bow with his left hand while also holding an arrow, he nocked the arrow with his right hand and drew the string.

Kicking the corpse propped against his shoulder outward, he emerged from the left side, released the string, and shot down the archer who had been aiming at him.

Two other archers had fired their arrows at the distracting corpse, and the remaining archer was now drawing another arrow.

But he was too slow. After firing his first shot, Henwil's left hand deftly positioned the arrow he'd been holding onto the bowstring.

The archer had just raised his bow again, not yet drawn, when an arrow pierced through his neck.

Henwil discarded the longbow, ducked back behind the tent, grabbed the sword planted in the ground, and charged out from the right side.

Before the bandits could react, Henwil had already circled behind another tent.

But now two bandits rushed forward, attempting to block Henwil's path.

Henwil stopped abruptly, kicking up a cloud of dirt with his right foot toward the enemy on his right.

As the man turned his head to avoid the dust, Henwil's sword clashed with the left bandit's blade.

Before the man could exert force, Henwil drove his right knee upward, connecting solidly with the bandit's groin.

As the man doubled over in pain, Henwil's left hand already held the waist spike, driving it through the bandit's neck.

Meanwhile, Henwil's descending right foot swung sideways into the right enemy's knee hollow in a fluid motion.

Struck by this kick, the dust-blinded bandit dropped to one knee. Henwil twisted his torso, bringing his sword down in a sweeping arc that severed the man's head.

By now, Henwil was very close to the small grove. Once he reached it, their numerical advantage would diminish, and he wouldn't fear them anymore.

Henwil sheathed his spike, gripped his sword, and charged toward the woods.

The bandits behind saw him but could hardly catch up to Henwil now.

But sometimes, when luck turns against you, even farting will hit your own heel.

Just as Henwil was about to burst into the woods, he suddenly saw a bandit emerging from the trees while pulling up his pants.

Henwil cursed under his breath, lunging forward and thrusting his sword through the man's chest.

But this momentary delay cost him—Henwil heard the distinct sound of bowstrings being released.

With no choice, Henwil used the equally unfortunate bandit as a shield, twisting the body in front of him to block the volley of arrows.

Now two more bandits closed in, cutting off any chance of retreat into the woods.

Henwil swung his greatsword, engaging them in fierce combat.

In terms of swordsmanship and combat experience, Henwil held the advantage.

But due to the lingering effects of the weakening potion, Henwil couldn't quickly finish these two.

Soon, more bandits surrounded him.

Several minutes later, Henwil stood panting heavily, leaning on his sword. Several new bloody wounds marked his body, and four additional corpses lay around him.

Three remaining bandits each bore injuries of their own, temporarily hesitant to press the attack.

The remaining bandits held crossbows, watching Henwil from over ten meters away.

A man wearing metal armor called out: "Little guy, you must come from some noble family! How did you end up sold as a slave? Was your house destroyed?

I see you've got skill. Why not join up with me? You could even inherit my position someday. Wouldn't a free and easy life be much better!"

Inherit your position? As a mountain bandit?

Henwil spat out a mouthful of blood, raising his hand to gesture at the man: "Come fight me!"

Knowing escape was impossible, Henwil displayed a fiercely courageous front.

If he had to die, he'd take someone with him!

A bandit holding a crossbow said: "Boss, let's just shoot this brat full of arrows! He's killed so many of our brothers—we can't let him live!"

The leader frowned, slapping the man instantly: "Since when do you tell me how to do things?

Killing him would make this whole operation a loss! Capture him alive! There's a place that pays top coin for noble-born youngsters like him!"

When Henwil saw them throwing a fishing net toward him, he knew he'd lost even the chance to take one more with him.

After being subdued, the bandits swarmed over him, raining down kicks and punches.

Having lost too much blood already, Henwil soon lost consciousness amid the beating.