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Goblin Chapter 266: Bandits and Rescue
🕑 Added 2025-10-10 14:46:00 +0000 UTCThe scar-faced man hauled on the reins, his greedy gaze sweeping over the trembling villagers.
“Today’s the day you pay protection. My boys should’ve told you last time. The grain’s ready, right?
“Ugly truth up front: if there isn’t enough grain, we make up the difference with people.
“And you lot…”
His eyes finally settled on Gauss’s party, so out of place amid the scene—lingering a moment on Alia and Shadow.
Gauss had already had his teammates quietly remove their adventurer badges, to avoid spooking the quarry. He wanted to see these bandits’ real intent without them changing faces at the sight of his rank. He couldn’t judge solely by the villagers’ word either.
But now—whether because there were no badges to read or they hadn’t noticed—the scarred man had publicly declared his intent to rob. Gauss was satisfied.
“You…”
Ordinarily a bandit chief who saw women that pretty would drag them back to his lair. But when he opened his mouth to spew filth, a nameless dread clutched his throat like an invisible hand, and the words stuck.
“You… you’re adventurers, aren’t you?
“Stay out of this and I’ll let you walk.”
Something felt wrong, but the twenty-odd men with him—iron in hand—gave him courage. Two dozen armed, drilled, coordinated thugs are no joke. That’s why he swaggered even into villages with larger head counts.
Bandits outfight common villagers: the villagers have worse gear and also farm; bandits only raid and hone their craft. The gap in ruthlessness and skill is greater than the gap in muscle.
He thought he’d offered a generous choice. Badge-less adventurers might be stronger one-on-one, but in a brawl his side would likely grin last. He’d seen plenty of bottom-rung adventurers before—outnumbered, they weren’t so terrifying.
And yet… something about this group was off. He’d hesitated before speaking, weighing a rich haul against casualties versus avoiding trouble. Instinct won.
Behind his back his hand flashed a signal; his crew fanned into a loose half-ring, ready to swarm Gauss’s team at the first twitch.
Seeing the subtle encirclement and the chief’s hard, hungry eyes raking over Alia, Gauss’s last bit of hesitation vanished. These weren’t hard-up unfortunates—they were bandits through and through. Whatever their beginnings, they’d become a weight on others’ necks.
“Alia—protect the villagers,” Gauss said softly. He had no intention of talking.
The bandit chief’s face went dark. Ignored—but the meaning was clear. And… why send the women to guard the villagers? Did this man think he could handle all of them alone? Rage and worry both rose. That bad feeling swelled. Only fools or masters speak so lightly.
No more time to think. Gauss moved.
The chief saw the black-robed man flicker—and pain exploded in his gut before he could react. He flew like he’d been hit by a battering ram.
Thud!!!
He arced through the air and crashed neatly into a haystack. “Urgh!” He sank into the straw; blood sprayed from his mouth.
Gauss stood where he’d been, slowly retracting his leg, and looked at the twenty-odd men who’d ringed them.
Gulp.
A loud, dry swallow went around. When the black-robed man’s gaze touched them, some bandits’ knees went weak. A dragonlike ferocity rolled off him, cowing everyone; those he focused on felt like prey under a beast’s stare.
“M-milord, we’ll go. We’re going now.”
“Don’t! Don’t!”
“We swear—we’ll never come back!”
Don’t expect spine from men who rob villages. They fear the hard and bully the weak. Gauss even suspected that if the village had fought back once—fought with the crazy resolve to take a pound of flesh even in death—these men might not have dared to press it.
He shook his head. He didn’t believe a word. They were meek because he was here; he wouldn’t be here forever. After he left, they’d scout, confirm he was gone, and return worse than before—venting the humiliation they’d swallowed today. Even if the villagers had his training by then, why leave the hazard?
He moved again.
Too fast. No one but his teammates could track him—just a sweep of black like a squall across the ground—and bodies went flying, thudding down to moan and writhe. He tossed the bandits’ rusted weapons into a heap and turned to the stunned villagers.
“What’s your name?” he asked the middle-aged man at the front.
“M-my lord, I’m Bruno. The… the village chief.”
He knew the man before him had fought for them—but still trembled out of instinct. In truth, Gauss and ordinary people were no longer the same kind of creature.
Gauss damped his aura a notch. “Village Chief Bruno—lead your people. Take up your weapons.”
He glanced at the pile of captured blades. A brand-new village couldn’t survive on him alone; they had to wake their own blood. Otherwise, even if they learned to fight goblins and such, some would still flinch at human predators.
From the moment he arrived he’d watched: at the whistle alarm they’d tensed—then sagged into reliance once they learned who he was. Understandable—but to live in a wild land, you need fire and steel in your bones.
“Us…?” Bruno pointed at himself.
“Yes. Kill them,” Gauss said, smiling gently. “From here on out, my team and I won’t lift a hand. If you can’t do it, let them go.”
He’d left them breathing for this. Their combat strength was broken, their weapons stripped; aside from the villagers’ fear, the shape of the fight had flipped. This was a lesson he’d built.
Murmurs rippled. Not everyone can put a blade into another human being—even a bandit.
“M-milord… maybe you… should kill them for us,” a woman said. They hated the men—but couldn’t move. With a strong man here, dependence rose up.
Gauss sighed; disappointment flickered in his eyes. He turned as if to leave with his team. Bruno saw the look, the motion; he swallowed and found his voice.
“Vann! Kalanka! Mike! Connie…!”
He called names like mustering troops. “With me. Take up your weapons.”
Gauss slowed, and with a hidden nod saw them hesitating—then reaching for the blades. “Leave the head in the haystack. I’ve questions for him.”
“Understood, my lord.”
The bandits, struggling up, stared blankly as lambs picked up knives. For a heartbeat, faces went slack.
“Y-you… you…”
Gauss had measured his blows perfectly—enough to cripple, not enough to kill. A few quick ones dropped to their knees, knocking heads on the dirt till skin split and blood ran.
“Spare us—we’re poor too—we only came to beg a little food—our families are on the mountain—”
“My child’s only three—let me go—please—”
Some villagers wavered; Bruno did not. Letting them go meant ruin later. They had to be ended here.
“Do it!” he rasped—and went first. He wasn’t trained; the slash was crooked. It didn’t matter.
“Aaaah!!”
Ssshhk!
A blade sank into flesh with a sickening sound. One stroke wasn’t enough—killing cleanly takes skill. He hauled the knife free, heat and tremor racing through him, and hacked again, and again. Blood sprayed, soaking his roughspun. He heaved, stomach rolling at the sight of a pleading face a moment before—then forced it down. He looked up, red and grim.
“What are you waiting for? Think of our children. If no men were here today, who would suffer? Pick up your weapons—cut them down!”
One by one they moved, copying him, falling on the crawling bandits. Blades rose and fell; blood flew. With leaders, courage spread; fear and hunger for life boiled over the top.
It was chaotic and brutal—no technique, no elegance, only primal killing.
Gauss hovered above, eyes on all of it. He’d intervene if anything went wrong; he wanted a baptism, not casualties. Twice, he flicked a hand—unseen rescues.
When the dust settled, he dropped from the sky and landed beside Bruno, who looked like he’d bathed in a vat of blood. Respect deepened in the man’s eyes.
“My lord… as you ordered—aside from the one in the haystack, the rest are… dealt with.” His body still shook, but his gaze was firmer than before.
“Good,” Gauss said, sweeping the hardened faces. Some of the numbness had fallen away. People change slowly—and in an instant.
“Remember how this feels,” he said, still smiling. “Remember: you, with your own hands, protected your village and your families. Even after I leave, if you don’t forget today’s courage, you can still keep them safe.”
“M-milord… it was with your help. Otherwise…” Bruno said soberly. He knew today’s quick slaughter was built on Gauss having broken the bandits’ strength first; their own fighting was raw.
“That’s fine. In the next few days, I’ll teach you how to use those weapons,” Gauss said with a wave. He dragged the bandit leader out of the hay, a lump of mud-limbed fear. Mana flowed; he cast Friends.
Ordinarily, Friends needs a “non-hostile creature.” But dazed as the man was, and given the chasm between their stats and power, the bandit couldn’t resist. Terror glazed over; his awareness slipped, and he sagged like a puppet on strings.
“I ask, you answer.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Which way to your mountain?”
He lifted an arm and pointed.
“How many men are left up there?”
…
Under the spell, the leader babbled truth like he’d drunk veritaserum. Gauss had the picture in minutes: a younger brother, ten-some brigands, and a camp of slaves—men and women—forced to grow vegetables, labor, and serve as outlets for “needs.”
When it was done, he released the charm. The man’s awareness snapped back—fear and hatred flaring. “Don’t—”
Snap.
Gauss twisted; the neck broke. He flung the head aside like trash.
“Clean the field,” he told the villagers. “Keep any useful cloth; strip the bodies and burn them.”
He didn’t care for the spoils—but those dirty rags meant much to the poor. Wash and stitch, and you have clothes.
“Yes, my lord,” Bruno said, relief flickering.
“Alia, watch the village. I’ll be right back.”
She knew without asking. “I’m coming too,” she said. “I’m a woman—you going alone isn’t convenient.”
Gauss met her eyes—thinking of the women up there—and nodded. “Captain, I’ll go as well,” Serandur said. “I’m a healer.”
“Alright.” Gauss turned to Ying with a rueful look. “Shadow—please stay.”
“Go. I’ve got them,” Shadow nodded. With her there—second only to Gauss in strength—he felt easier. The blood-scent might draw monsters; better to leave a teammate than just Ulfen, Echo, and clay construct.
A few quick orders, and Gauss, Alia, and Serandur loped out of the village.
“If there’s danger, call me,” Shadow said, glancing at the busy square.
“Understood, my lady,” Bruno replied respectfully. He’d seen their badges before they hid them; one of them bore five stars. He didn’t know what that meant exactly—only that these adventurers were terrifying.
And compared to Gauss’s brutal gentleness, this cold woman looked even harder to approach. When she vanished into thin air, the villagers all let out the breath they’d been holding.
Truly—monsters, the lot of them.
…
The stench of blood soaked the mountain. Bodies lay at Gauss’s feet; he gazed without change at faces still twisted in ultimate terror—and sighed.
He couldn’t understand such cruelty to one’s own kind. He looked at the captives—men and women, naked, black-and-blue, some maimed—and felt heavier.
Alia and Serandur worked, healing where they could. Lost arms and fingers wouldn’t grow back—not at Serandur’s level.
“Bear with it—it’ll hurt.”
“O-okay…”
They flinched and watched with furtive eyes; long enslavement and abuse had baked a reflexive fear into them. It would take a long time to come back from this. Handsome faces and kind voices didn’t matter here.
After Alia gave them magic berries, their condition improved. Gauss gathered the camp’s supplies. He had left none of the culprits alive.
When Serandur finished first aid, Gauss conjured rough handcarts. Dressed in pulled-together clothes, the former slaves climbed on, and clay constructs and mounts hauled them down the mountain.
Out of the trees and into an open field, the first bright light of afternoon fell on their faces. Some finally lifted their heads, dazed—reborn. The time before felt like a long, bad dream.
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