Watching the old strategist trying to sneak away in the chaos, Jack Young flung a plate at him—CRASH! Missed. Sigh, people who’ve never trained with throwing weapons really have no aim. Still, it wasn’t far off. The old man was so startled by the plate exploding nearby that he fell to the ground, trembling as he crawled backwards.
Jack strode over, making sure to stab every fallen bandit along the way—each step splashing blood, quick and efficient. Only when passing by the second-in-command, who seemed tougher than the rest, did the guy try to get back up. Jack kicked him in the face, then plunged both hands and his blade into the man’s chest.
Jack hopped aside to dodge the spray of blood, grinning with excitement: "Stabbing someone with a blade feels pretty legit! I'm starting to really enjoy this dream!" The look on Jack’s face seemed to terrify the strategist, who collapsed and couldn’t move.
With the bloody blade pressed to the old man’s neck, Jack taunted: "Run, go on, keep running!" His expression? Peak villain mode.
The old man shuddered and instantly wailed, "Mercy, ma’am! Mercy! I’ve never disrespected you, ma’am! If you have any orders, I’ll do whatever you ask—just spare me, please!"
"Enough! Stop howling!" Jack grabbed the old man and yanked him to his feet. The sound of frantic footsteps echoed through the cave—clearly, more bandits were on their way.
Jack wiped the blade on the old man’s neck and grinned: "Now let’s see how much sway you have as their strategist."
A wave of Blackridge Bandits rushed in, ready to shout and charge—when suddenly the strategist shrieked: "Stop! Nobody move!"
The bandits froze, staring in shock. There sat The Peach Bandit, legs spread, sword across her lap, right at the cave entrance—looking every bit like a one-woman blockade. The strategist knelt at her feet, shaking all over.
"Drop your weapons," Jack said coolly. "Or I’ll gut this old man right here."
The bandits glanced at each other, all hesitating.
"Are you all deaf or what?" Feeling the blade pressing harder against his neck, the old man wailed, "Drop your damn weapons, all of you! You trying to get me killed?"
The bandits hesitated, then one with a wicked look spoke up: "Wally Stratton, you’re just a dog-faced strategist. If you die, you die—why should we listen to you? Been putting up with you long enough. If you croak today, at least it’s clean!"
Wally’s face turned green. "You—you rotten bastards!"
"Guys, the one who knows martial arts is busy fighting the boss. There’s only one little chick left—let’s get her!" Thirty-plus bandits shouted and charged in a swarm, and Jack’s face grew serious. Even with an athlete’s body, there’s no way to win against thirty guys in close combat.
Jack kicked Wally Stratton out toward the bandits, sending him sprawling and screeching into their midst. Wally barely had time to feel relieved before the lead bandit chopped down at him—might as well finish him off, no point letting him stick around to cause trouble.
The bandits were distracted by Wally, buying Jack a moment. He reached for his waist pouch, ready to pull out some powder to stall for time.
Just then—BANG! Someone went flying and crashed to the ground, groaning and unable to get up. Everyone looked—who else could it be but Victor Blackridge?
This little lady’s got guts! When it matters most, she really delivers!
Jack quickly turned the blade and pressed it to Victor Blackridge’s neck—the bandits’ charge stopped dead.
"Looks like you’ve trained your men well—at least better than your strategist ever did." Jack was in a great mood, laughing as he praised them, while Victor Blackridge just spat blood, unable to say a word.
The little lady landed beside Jack with a swish—breathing a bit hard, but not hurt. Looks like Victor Blackridge’s defeat was well deserved.
"I-Ironhand Technique!" Victor Blackridge clutched his chest, finally managing to speak: "I didn’t expect you to know Ironhand Technique! I underestimated you!" Then he turned to Jack: "Wh-why?"
The little lady didn’t bother with him, demanding harshly: "Speak! Where are the women you kidnapped?"
"So it really is about that! Ha, I figured The Peach Bandit was different, but turns out it was just a disguise to lower my guard!" Victor Blackridge spat bitterly, "If you hadn’t ambushed me, my Ironhide Technique would’ve kept you at bay!"
Jack cut in impatiently: "Enough talk—let’s just kill him, then wipe out the rest of these punks. How big can Blackridge Bandits’ hideout be? We’ll find the place ourselves."
The little lady paused, about to respond, when Victor Blackridge burst out laughing: "This cave is a maze—Blackridge Bandits have only explored a tiny part. Even we get lost sometimes!"
Jack pointed at the bandits: "There’s plenty of people here—whoever leads the way gets to live. I don’t believe nobody values their life!"
Victor Blackridge chuckled darkly: "The women are locked up with cold iron chains—swords can’t break them. And only I know where the key is. If you want those women alive, you can’t kill me."
Jack sighed: "Victor, if you’re going to lie, at least make it believable. Not to diss your Blackridge Bandits, but I doubt your dump even has cold iron chains. And the women’s cell being that fancy? Plus, there were girls serving food and dancing earlier—I don’t buy that opening a door is so hard. Enough talk, let’s send you off first."
Victor Blackridge finally started to panic: "W-wait! I get it, you’re doing this for the anti-Mongol cause, right? From now on, whether it’s The Fellowship or any other resistance, if it’s about fighting the Mongols, Blackridge Bandits are in—no questions asked!" He finished, staring at them with the sincerest look he could muster.
But Jack just sneered. Anti-Mongol? Yeah, right! That kind of speech only works on those truly patriotic, hopelessly idealistic heroes. Me? I just want to finish this quest and wake up—got work tomorrow, and it’s Friday!
With that, Jack raised his blade, ready to strike.
Just then, the little lady spoke up: "Wait, sister—Victor Blackridge, do you swear to fight the Mongols?"
Victor Blackridge immediately raised three fingers to the sky, solemn as ever: "I, Victor Blackridge, swear to all the gods and my ancestors! If I don’t kill Mongol invaders, may lightning strike me, may I die childless, my soul scattered and never reborn!"
Guess even a half-literate can bust out some fancy words when their life’s on the line.
The little lady stared at Victor for a moment, then turned to Jack and whispered, "Sister, better safe than sorry. Victor Blackridge’s lost all his martial power—he’s no threat. Let’s rescue the women first."
Jack slapped his forehead. Great, turns out we do have an idealistic hero!
This adorable airhead’s been reliable all along—why pick now to complicate things?