As the carriage and its guards slowly moved onto the island, the scouts breathed a sigh of relief when they realized that they had not been spotted. From their vantage point overlooking the entrance, the ambushers had a clear view of the mostly flat island and the road crossing it. Yet if they had looked slightly past their intended target, they would have noticed that roughly half of the guards had already disappeared from sight.
The other half remained visible, but even they were difficult to notice unless someone deliberately focused on them. The recruits had apparently begun paying close attention to their surroundings and were moving with far more awareness than the attackers had expected. What was even more damning was the fact that arrows were already appearing in the guards' hands and being placed onto their bows. That was an extremely strange sight for anyone who understood how cumbersome it was to move while holding a drawn bow.
Walking around with an arrow already nocked was tiring because the bow had to remain upright rather than being carried however the user preferred. Most bows were nearly as long as the people carrying them, making it difficult to simply hang one over a shoulder while moving. During ordinary marches, the guards would carry their bows in whatever position was most comfortable, but keeping an arrow ready on the string required constant attention. The fact that these guards were doing so without hesitation should have been a warning to anyone watching them.
Unfortunately, the attackers were too confident to recognize the warning.
"How can it be this easy?" Morgan thought as he received the signal to attack the convoy. From his position, the group appeared surprisingly small, and that seemed to have convinced the others that they had chosen the perfect target. Morgan, however, had spent the last three hours lying in wait among the reeds near the water's edge. The island was far too flat and small to provide many places to hide, so most of the attackers had been forced into the water.
Morgan had spent so long sitting in the cold water that he could barely feel his legs anymore. As he slowly rose from the reeds and prepared himself to move, he was not actually preparing to attack. He was preparing to surrender. The entire plan had felt wrong from the beginning, and now that he was finally looking at their target, every instinct he possessed was screaming that this was a terrible idea.
Their brilliant boss had apparently decided that the best strategy was simply to run toward the target and hack everyone to death. It was a tactic that had worked for them many times before, but Morgan understood why it had worked. Previously, they had possessed the element of surprise, while their targets had usually been merchants or poorly equipped guards. They had also enjoyed overwhelming numerical superiority, allowing them to cut through their enemies before anyone could properly react.
This time was different.
The guards they were attacking might look like ordinary escorts, but Morgan knew better. Their target was connected to the Sonnenbergs, and those people had a reputation for producing fighters who were far more dangerous than ordinary merchants. The recruits accompanying the convoy might have experience fighting goblins, but Morgan knew that fighting humans was an entirely different matter. Goblins were predictable compared with trained human opponents who understood how to use formations, terrain, and ranged weapons.
Morgan had fought on the front before, and he had seen what happened when people underestimated experienced archers. He had also heard stories about the archers attached to Legion 23. He had no desire to discover whether those stories were exaggerated. Unfortunately, his boss had never bothered to listen to him, and now they were standing thirty meters away from exactly the kind of people Morgan had spent years learning to fear.
Then the signal came.
The attackers surged forward.
For a single moment, Morgan wondered whether he had misjudged everything. Then a hundred arrows filled the air.
The distance between the attackers and the convoy was roughly thirty meters, which meant that anyone trying to cross the open ground had only a few seconds before reaching the road. It should have been enough time for a determined group to close the distance. Instead, the first wave of attackers barely managed to take a few steps.
The first sixty men fell before many of them even had a chance to understand what was happening. Some were struck by single arrows, while others collapsed with multiple shafts sticking from their bodies. Several had been hit directly in the head, their deaths so sudden that they never even had the opportunity to raise their weapons. The sound of bodies hitting the ground spread across the island almost as quickly as the arrows themselves.
Morgan froze.
He watched one of his friends take an arrow, then another, and then several more. At least five arrows struck the man before he collapsed, leaving Morgan staring at him in disbelief. There was no time to help him, no time to shout his name, and certainly no time to think about saving himself. Something suddenly passed beside Morgan's neck.
He felt a brief flash of pain.
Then his body stopped responding.
As he collapsed onto the battlefield, Morgan's final thought was painfully simple.
Why didn't I try harder to convince my boss that this was a stupid target?
The battle was effectively over before it had truly begun.
"That is everything," Arin said calmly as he looked over the battlefield. He had already lowered his bow, knowing that there was no reason to waste another arrow. "Now let's go home." His expression remained serious as he turned toward the recruits.
"You will receive counseling when we return," Arin continued. "After today, every one of you will need it." He gave Bertho a signal to start moving the carriage again. The recruits remained quiet as they climbed back aboard, still trying to process what they had just witnessed.
Arin understood that the scene would stay with them for a long time. Killing monsters was one thing, especially when those monsters were trying to tear humans apart. Killing another human being was different, and no amount of training could completely erase that distinction. He had experienced it himself years ago, and he knew that pretending it was nothing would only make the problem worse.
As the carriage began moving again, Arin blended back into the surroundings. He knew someone from the family would handle the bodies and clean up whatever evidence needed to be dealt with. Their actions had been legitimate self-defense, so they had no reason to fear the police. What they did have was a complete lack of interest in spending weeks dealing with an investigation.
There was no point creating unnecessary paperwork when the entire incident could simply disappear into the swamp.
Back in town, Bastijn Wittenberg sat behind his desk at the local police station with a cup of coffee in his hand. The police chief wore a satisfied smile as he leaned back in his chair. As far as he was concerned, one of the largest headaches hanging over the town had just solved itself. The suspected gang had disappeared into the swamp, and Bastijn had no intention of asking too many questions about where they had gone.
A knock sounded at the door.
"Come in," Bastijn called.
The door opened, and his apprentice entered while clutching a stack of papers. Kees Loobers looked nervous, but there was also a clear sense of indignation in his expression. Bastijn immediately recognized the look. His apprentice had come to complain about something.
"Sir, why aren't we going to look for evidence out there?" Kees asked. "They should have run into each other, right?" He tightened his grip on the papers. "If we find the scene, we can investigate what happened and determine exactly who attacked whom."
Bastijn sighed.
"You know, Kees, that is your problem," he said. "You are far too focused on the letter of the law." He raised a hand before Kees could interrupt. "That is not necessarily a bad thing. In fact, it is usually a very good quality for a police officer to have."
"But this situation is different," Bastijn continued. "We all know that a fight happened somewhere out there. We also know that the robbers are probably as dead as doornails." He took another sip of his coffee. "So tell me, what exactly do we gain by going into the swamp?"
"But, sir, they are killing each other!" Kees protested. "Even if the Sonnenbergs claim self-defense, we need to investigate and determine what actually happened." His voice became sharper with frustration. "That is what the police are supposed to do."
"Those are fine ideals," Bastijn replied, "but they will not work the way you think they will." He placed his cup down and looked directly at his apprentice. "If I send officers out there now to investigate the road leading deeper into the swamp, do you honestly think we will be welcomed?"
Kees hesitated.
"The road will suddenly become inaccessible," Bastijn continued. "There will be a dozen perfectly reasonable excuses explaining why we cannot pass. Maybe the road is damaged. Maybe there is a dangerous creature nearby. Maybe there is some environmental problem. There will always be something."
"And even if we overcome that obstacle, what happens if we find nothing?" Bastijn asked. His voice had become completely serious. "Do you think they will appreciate us digging around their territory looking for evidence?" He shook his head. "They will see it as us stepping onto their turf."
Kees slowly lowered the papers.
"And then what?" Bastijn asked. "Tomorrow, every officer involved in the investigation will suddenly have accusations hanging over them. We will be accused of corruption, misconduct, incompetence, or whatever else someone decides is useful." He leaned back in his chair. "Then we will be removed from our positions, and after that, who knows what happens?"
"You think they would actually kill police officers?" Kees asked quietly.
"I think I want to live long enough to collect my pension," Bastijn replied. "I also have a responsibility to protect my officers, and sending them into a situation like this would be suicide." He shook his head. "There is no evidence, no surviving suspect, and no crime scene that we can safely reach."
"But that means the criminals get away with it," Kees said.
"No," Bastijn answered. "It means the criminals are dead."
He picked up his coffee again and took another sip.
"They asked for it," Bastijn said with a dismissive scoff. "Our job is to protect the people of this town, not to throw away good officers trying to avenge a group of criminals who were stupid enough to attack the wrong people." He watched as the reality of his words finally settled over Kees.
For a long moment, his apprentice said nothing.
Then Kees slowly looked down at the papers in his hands.