Chapter 103: Stirring up Trouble

The cold gleam reflecting off the arrowheads barely caused Arthur any psychological pressure. He pointed to the medallion on his chest and sternly rebuked:

"Who are you? How dare you obstruct a Temerian Knight of the Royal Bench!"

The soldiers wore tall, conical iron helmets and were clad in chainmail and surcoats. An ordinary lord could not afford to equip his men with gear of such uniform quality; they must be subordinates of a Prince or even a King. To deal with such official figures, it was obviously more convenient to engage in negotiation using an equivalent status.

Arthur's reasoning was sound, but he overlooked one crucial detail: after ascending to the rank of Ancient Nord, the red fox-pelt cloak no longer fit, leaving him in a simple rough-spun tunic. Furthermore, he had given his warhorse to Maria, whose leg was healing, and was following on foot—in this guise, he looked less like a knight and more like an itinerant merchant.

"Knight of the Royal Bench?" Just as he suspected, the stout man's eyes flickered with suspicion, and his voice dripped with sarcasm:

"That's rich. Just recently, I heard about a female swindler in the Mayena region calling herself a Baroness, and now a beggar-like Knight of the Royal Bench pops up."

"Tell me, did you carve that medallion yourself, or did you buy it on the black market?"

The stout man turned to Maria, asking respectfully: "Honored Lady, is this man your retainer, or did he just join your party halfway through, hoping to freeload?"

As he spoke, he signaled his men to aim their arrows farther away from Maria. This woman looked familiar; she wore an outrageously expensive red fox cloak, the warhorse beneath her looked highly unusual, and she was accompanied by a flamboyantly dressed troubadour—she was most likely a noblewoman seeking thrills. Such ladies were usually naive, their minds filled with adventure poems. If he could impress her, he might even get a taste of a noblewoman.

The stout man sidled closer to Maria, flattering her:

"You must be extra careful. This area is remote, and full of ruffians and charlatans."

Maria was momentarily stunned by the stout man's respectful attitude. His name was Iorveth—Jeeves Hance, a Verden Royal Forester, known for his violent temper and arrogance. He had organized four of the five expeditions against Brokilon, meaning they had met four times… In short, they were old acquaintances.

Seeing the man's face, Maria nearly shot him with an arrow. But why did it seem he hadn't recognized her?

Maria fought the urge to touch her face and managed to reply:

"No, Mister Arthur is my friend. He is indeed a Knight of the Royal Bench from Temeria."

Jeeves Hance was not deterred, continuing with a fawning smile:

"Since he's your friend, then I'm relieved. But you really shouldn't go any further. A passing merchant caravan was attacked by dryads. The scene… you definitely wouldn't want to see it."

"Dryads… attacked a caravan?" Maria's voice was like a dream. She remembered the dryads hadn't fought the Brugge people for many years.

"Where is the attack site? Take me to see it." Arthur put away his fireballs, but without waiting for Jeeves Hance to lead the way, he followed the scent of blood in the air and walked forward.

The attack site wasn't far. Turning a corner, they saw a fallen tree blocking the road. It was a large tree with dense foliage, its severed stump standing bleakly amidst the roadside shrubs. In front of the tree was an oil-cloth covered wagon. Several small horses lay dead in front of it, covered in arrows. One of them wasn't quite dead, kicking its long legs in agony. About a dozen soldiers on horseback were gathered in a circle, doing something unclear.

The corpses of the merchants were scattered across the blood-soaked sand. Their final postures showed that some had tried to dive under the wagon, others had struggled to crawl away, but all had ultimately died in despair.

"The dryads did this?"

Arthur tried not to let his voice tremble, but fury was already rising within him. If combat were to break out now, he could initiate a Battle Shout without any preparation.

A less informed person might have been fooled by the soldiers' claims. But Arthur, having just returned from Brokilon, knew that dryads absolutely, positively, would not cut down trees.

The atrocity before his eyes was clearly the handiwork of these very soldiers!

Arthur, while calling the Treants via the psychic network, feigned an expression of reluctant belief.

A squint-eyed soldier dismounted and walked over:

"Don't you have eyes? These poor bastards... they were shot full of arrows like hedgehogs, and right on the main road! You should speak to King Foltest about this. If he continues to indulge the dryads, they'll start murdering people in Temeria too!"

The Treants responded to the summons in the psychic network. Arthur pursed his lips:

"I will mention this to the King, but I still don't know who you are."

"We are soldiers under King Ervy. Viscount Fesnet was our commander, but he died in Brokilon." Saying this, the squint-eyed man suddenly shouted:

"Blood must be paid for with blood! The dryads are going too far! First Viscount Fesnet, then the Princess of Cintra, and now Brugge merchants! We should burn that rotten wood to the ground!"

The soldiers surrounding the wagon offered a sparse and disorganized chorus of agreement. Arthur watched the clumsy performance with cold eyes.

"Speaking of which, are you truly a Knight of the Royal Bench? Why are you on the Brugge border?"

The squint-eyed soldier seemed entirely oblivious to Arthur's detached attitude. With every word, he moved closer. By the end, he was practically pressing against Arthur:

"Hey, tell a buddy, how did you manage to become a Knight of the Royal Bench at your age? I heard everyone who gets that badge is either a cripple or an old man."

Arthur, while mentally querying the Treants for their location, gave a vague reply:

"Ah, that's easy. All you have to do is break a curse on a princess."

"How did you break it? Can you tell a brother? Maybe I can use that trick to secure myself an office one day…"

The squint-eyed man continued to close the distance, even stretching out an arm, attempting to embrace Arthur's shoulder.

"Of course."

Arthur suddenly grabbed the squint-eyed man's hand. The fireball in his left palm was pressed almost against the man's face:

"But first, you have to tell those crossbowmen hiding in the trees to come out."

The squint-eyed man struggled desperately, but he couldn't break free from Arthur's grasp. Whether from fear or the heat of the fireball, large beads of sweat quickly broke out on his forehead:

"What's wrong with you, sir? I don't know what you're talking about."

Watching the mounted soldiers near the wagon draw their swords and charge, Arthur remained unhurried, thrusting the man's bloody hand in front of his face:

"Look here. Your hand is still stained with the blood of those merchants!"