Hawke's heart pounded heavily in his chest, and he forced himself to calm down as much as possible, striving to keep his voice steady: "Warriors of the Gray Forest Thieves, we are a caravan under the protection of the Leighton family, carrying only some worthless goods. We kindly ask you to allow us passage, we are willing to offer a toll in return for our peaceful passage."

His voice echoed in the narrow gorge, marked with evident humility and compromise.

The caravan guards gripped their weapons tightly, holding their breath in anticipation of the response from the rocks above.

A burst of coarse laughter and mocking whistles descended from above.

Immediately after, a huge figure, as robust as a bear standing on its hind legs, slowly emerged from behind a protruding rock and stood on the edge of the rock wall, looking down upon the entire caravan, as if examining a flock of lambs to be slaughtered.

That person was none other than Marcus, the leader of the Gray Forest Thieves.

He wore a half-old chain armor, casually draped with a leather shoulder stained with grime and blood.

A thick brown beard almost obscured half of his face, and a hideous scar crossed his forehead over his left eye, which was now just a murky white; the other intact eye gleamed with a cruel and greedy light, much like a vulture eyeing carrion.

In his hand was a menacingly heavy two-handed warhammer, its head encrusted with dark red grime. Merely leaning it against the ground exuded an intangible pressure, as if the earth itself groaned under its weight.

"The Leighton family?" Marcus' voice grated like sandpaper against rock, hoarse and full of blatant contempt, "In this wilderness, Master Marcus' hammer is the law! The crest of Leighton? Too rough even to wipe my ass!"

His lone eye scanned the caravan, pausing briefly on Bal's massive tower shield and Finn's meditative form, before breaking into a disdainful sneer.

"Toll? Oh, you bet! But…" he deliberately drew out his words, a cruel smile of a cat playing with a mouse on his face, "I'm in a good mood today, and my appetite is hearty. I want eighty percent of the goods in this caravan, and moreover…"

Marcus suddenly raised his voice, roaring like a beast: "Every man capable of wielding a weapon in your caravan! Leave them all behind to be my slaves and laborers!"

"What?!" Hawke's face turned as pale as paper in an instant, his body swaying slightly, "Chief Marcus, this… this is not consistent with the way things are done. We are willing to offer thirty percent of the goods, that is our utmost sincerity. Take eighty percent of our goods and our men, this caravan will be finished!"

Hawke's voice wavered in despair, losing eighty percent of their goods was tantamount to the death of the caravan.

Not only would there be no profit, but the caravan would also be saddled with enormous debt, with almost no hope of recovery.

Losing thirty percent of the goods still allowed them to break even, avoiding too much loss, but losing eighty percent…

More importantly, Marcus wanted not only the goods but also the men. If the able-bodied men from the caravan were all taken away, the caravan couldn't continue to operate afterward.

Marcus was very aware of the importance of young labor, the growth and strength of the Gray Forest Thieves were dependent on the influx of fresh blood. As long as the manpower increased, he was even confident of taking down Lord Leighton.

Marcus suddenly raised his warhammer high; a fierce aura like a tangible chill erupted instantly, enveloping the entire gorge, freezing the air, making even breathing difficult.

"Either do as I say, leave the money, the goods, and the men, and you managers can scram! Or…" His lone eye blazed fiercely, the warhammer pointing directly downward, "I'll come down myself, and smash you all into mince with this hammer, then rob everything you have! Not a single copper left!"

The icy killing intent of a Level One Awakened swept over like a chill tide, making the cohorts tremble, and even the guards felt immense pressure.

Bal grunted, the earth-toned glow on the tower shield flared suddenly; this was an instinctive defensive reaction to great pressure.

Finn's eyes flew open, sharp as knives, fingers tightly gripping the hilt of the curved blade at his waist.

Hawke felt icy all over as if plunged into an ice cellar.

He realized this was not a negotiation at all but blatant plunder and annihilation.

Not only did Marcus want to drain the caravan of its value, but he also intended to abduct the labor to replenish his bandit crew, leaving no chance of survival, fear and anger intertwined in him.

"Chief… I implore you…" Hawke tried one last plea.

"Kill them all! Wealth and slaves are ours!" Marcus wasted no more words, his eyes flaring wickedly, and he swung the warhammer forward harshly, issuing a fatal declaration of attack.

Since this caravan failed to appreciate his kindness, he would simply have to eliminate them. Patience was never Marcus' strong suit; opportunities were offered only once.

The Gray Forest Thieves on the rocks let out bloodthirsty howls, with arrows poised to rain down like a storm of death once more.

Meanwhile, from the cracks in the rock walls and behind the boulders on both sides, dozens of grim-faced bandits brandishing rusty axes and spears charged down like hyenas scenting blood, lunging madly at the caravan's wagons and guards.

"Shield wall!" Bal bellowed like a wounded beast, his massive tower shield slammed into the ground with a thud, the earthen glow flared sharply, forming a heavy, semi-transparent wall of light, shielding him, Hawke, and several nearby wagons from behind.

The dense arrows hammered against the Shield of Light like a hailstorm, resounding with crisp clashes, most being deflected, but the shield rippled violently, its glow flickering uncertainly.

The other guards also utilized the wagons and terrain to mount resistance, the piercing clash of blades, the dying screams, and the terrified wails of beasts of burden erupted intensely, the scent of blood rapidly permeating the narrow space.

The combat transitioned into savage close-quarter fighting almost immediately upon engagement.

Finn moved with ghostly swiftness, weaving silently through the wind.

Among this group of Gray Forest Thieves, there were not many Awakened, perhaps only seven or eight Apprentice Awakened, most were ordinary men.

These ordinary bandits posed no threat to Finn; he could easily harvest their lives with ease, a chasm unbridgeable between ordinary humans and an Awakened.

No matter how much ordinary people train or strive, their life level remains that of an ordinary human, unable to break through the physical limits of humanity.

"Hold the line! Protect the wagons!" shouted Hawke, his eyes red with determination, struggling to hold on with the guards.

Though well-trained, the guards of the caravan were weary from the long journey, lagging both mentally and physically against the bandits before them.

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.