plumnovel #304 - I'll kill you!
#304 - I'll kill you!
Rain fell steadily on the rooftops of Tata Village, sliding down the logs and thatch from the eaves.
At the entrance of a spacious wooden house in the center of the village, Grush shook his wet poncho, scattering a spray of water.
Pushing open the door, 'Bloodfoot' DeFord, the chief, was sitting by the fireplace, warming himself, his messy beard still sticky with grease from last night's meal.
'Black Scar' Blackscar, another chief, stood by the window, his high cheekbones almost sharp enough to balance a kettle, his hair plastered to his pale forehead by the rain.
"Grush, my brother, you've arrived. I've just warmed some butter beer. Come, have some," Bloodfoot said, raising the iron pot in his hand as if he couldn't feel the scalding heat.
The "Orc" Grush didn't refuse, removing his leather gloves and taking the butter beer from Bloodfoot, drinking it down in one gulp.
His body immediately warmed up.
Grush found a spot to sit down and, seeing that all the big and small leaders from the cave thicket were present, began to speak:
"Now that everyone's here, let's not waste time and get down to business."
The rain pattered softly outside the window. Several minor leaders looked at each other, but no one spoke.
"I know you're embarrassed to say it, so I'll take the hit," Grush said, turning to face DeFord. "DeFord, we'd like to ask you to lend us some money and food."
"Yes, yes..."
"The damned Salvation Army is forcing the church to close the roads and imposing martial law everywhere. No one is paying us tribute anymore."
Contrary to what most Imperials believe, bandits don't usually camp in their strongholds, descending the mountains to plunder whenever they feel like it.
They do have strongholds and hideouts in the mountains, but most of them don't live there.
These bandits are mostly local ruffians and thugs from the surrounding villages within a ten-mile radius of the cave thicket. They go down the mountain when they have money and up the mountain when they don't.
Their main business is setting up illegal checkpoints, robbing merchants, raiding shops and workshops, extorting villages, smuggling, and kidnapping.
They gather every year, distribute the loot in late autumn, and after dividing the money, except for a few who stay to guard the stronghold, the rest return to their villages and towns.
That's why the lords can't eradicate them no matter how many times they try; the cave thicket is surrounded by their eyes and ears.
Some desperate displaced people who can't find work will ask someone to introduce them to the gang.
In a way, being a bandit is like taking on temporary work.
At its peak, the cave thicket hid nearly a thousand bandits, but the money they stole was barely enough to keep them fed. Only the bandit leaders and a few core fighters had a good life.
But since the rise of the Salvation Army, life has become difficult.
Because they can distribute land, many displaced people directly become law-abiding citizens. Even those who don't get land can go to the Saint Hoe Monastery or work as helpers in workshops.
The Papal Palace has issued a large number of orders, and workshops everywhere finally have money to hire displaced laborers.
This has led to a significant reduction in the number of bandits. Only about five hundred people remain in Kasha County and Lower River County; almost everyone else has fled.
Similarly, due to the emergence of the Salvation Army, the bandits in the cave thicket have also been economically blockaded.
Having lost their source of income, they are quickly running out of resources, which is why they are eager to hold this meeting.
"Although I have some food and money stored, it's not much," DeFord said, his voice slurred with drunkenness. "Why don't we kidnap a female relative of the Salvation Army? They destroyed so many monasteries; they must have money."
"DeFord, this..." Grush looked astonished. "We've already tried that. The Salvation Army's cavalry uses magic; they can kill people from twenty meters away."
"They're not angels descended from heaven," DeFord said, pointing his thumb back. "Their monks—haven't we killed a few of them?"
Grush didn't know what to say. The army that could defeat the Edict Legion—how could they contend with that?
Sure enough, before Grush could speak, the minor leaders began to grumble.
"If it weren't for Grush saving you last time, you would have been knocked down by the Salvation Army's knights."
"All you can do is bully unarmed monks."
"Hey, hey, hey, what are you whispering about? Do you think I can't hear you?" Perhaps seeing that he couldn't control the situation, DeFord paused for a few seconds before saying, "Alright, I can provide 1200 dinars. That can buy 1000 gallons of grain. Is that generous enough?"
Generous enough? Even the good-tempered Grush almost cursed aloud.
1200 dinars for 1000 gallons of grain is the normal price, and there's a famine going on!
"Bang!"
Suddenly turning around, Black Scar Blackscar raised his fist, his face contorted, and slammed it down on the table.
The people next to him were startled, and the tableware, pottery pots, oil lamps, and candlesticks on the table jumped and rolled to the ground.
"What are you doing?" DeFord shouted, startled and enraged, slapping the table and standing up. "Are you possessed by a demon?!"
"I'll possess your dead mother!" Blackscar's lips curled back, revealing his blood-red gums. "Selecting targets, settling accounts, handling stolen goods—isn't that all I do!
Risking life and limb, raiding merchants—isn't that all Grush does!
What do you do every day besides sitting in your house drinking beer? What else do you have besides a good papa who recognized a bishop as his grandfather?"
"Are you going to challenge me?" DeFord went around the table and pointed his finger directly at Blackscar's nose.
Blackscar slapped his hand away, raised his chin, and sneered, "Now that the Bishop is gone, we have to find a new backer.
I have a way to get in touch with the Earl of Lower River, but it takes money to grease the wheels.
When we divided the money, you took so much. At a time like this, you won't even give a copper coin?"
"Is money enough to guarantee anything? I'm not like you. My daughter is 16 this year and just right to send to the Bishop of Golden River as a mistress. We'll have preparations on both sides."
"The Bishop of Golden River is 70 years old. You're really willing to part with her," Blackscar said sarcastically.
DeFord said shamelessly, "Do you have a daughter? Your old hen doesn't even lay eggs. What do you have?"
"Brother DeFord, don't say anymore." Grush immediately wanted to run up and stop Blackscar, but he was still a step too slow.
Hearing DeFord's words, Blackscar was stunned for a moment, and then his entire head instantly turned red to the roots of his hair.
He looked left and right, picked up the iron candlestick on the table, aimed it at DeFord's head, and smashed it down.
"Ouch! Ouch!"
DeFord was, after all, a bandit. He dodged clumsily, tilting his head back.
"You dare to hit me?!"
He looked at Blackscar in disbelief, turned and rushed to the wall, pulled out a machete from the hanging weapons: "I'll kill you!"
"Stop him, stop him!" Over Blackscar, Grush pressed his head against DeFord's chest, hugged his waist, and shouted with difficulty.
Several bewildered bandit leaders hurriedly stepped forward, one on the left and one on the right, pulling the two bandit leaders who were about to start fighting apart.
After a few more pottery fragments and wood chips on the floor, everyone calmed down and sat down.
Distressedly touching the missing corner of the tapestry, DeFord stuffed a handkerchief into his bleeding nostril: "I know you want money and food, but I'm telling you, I have money, but the food is only enough for my own use.
If not, see how much grain I'm worth. Cut off my head and take it to the Salvation Army to exchange for grain."
"Tch!" Blackscar snorted and turned his head to look at the rain outside the window.
DeFord coughed lightly: "You, don't think the Salvation Army is too strong. I've investigated, and they only won against the Edict Legion by trickery.
I got news that they are recently mobilizing carriages and oxcarts, most likely to exchange grain from the Elgu Road in the cave thicket.
Let's first think of a way to see who is in charge of this matter.
I'll pay to grease the wheels and have them allocate some to us. That shouldn't be called stingy, right?"
"What if they don't agree? Or if they demand an exorbitant price?" Blackscar asked.
DeFord sneered: "Are the knives in your hands just for show? The thicket is so big, we'll harass them every day. Can they defend every day?
If all else fails, we'll just go home. At that time, those bastards going home shouldn't have any complaints, right?"
The organizational model between bandit leaders and bandits is somewhat similar to the Five Dynasties and Ten Kingdoms.
Most of the time, bandit leaders are very satisfied with the benefits they receive; it is the 'soldiers' who are dissatisfied.
If the bandit leaders cannot satisfy the interests of the 'soldiers', they will also be replaced by their subordinates.
The big and small leaders looked at each other, feeling that it seemed to make sense.
Moreover, DeFord had already said he would pay, so they naturally wouldn't force him anymore. So, they said some nice words and left.
Watching Blackscar walk out the door first, and then looking at DeFord sitting alone in the room sulking, Grush sighed deeply.
He picked up his poncho and was about to put it on when his gaze suddenly focused on the edge of a deserted hut not far away.
Without an umbrella, he walked over in the rain, looked at a puddle of water on the wall, and frowned.
He put his nose close to smell it, confirmed it wasn't urine, and then groped around on the ground nearby.
Soon, he found a twisted footprint near the bushes, but it didn't look like an adult's foot.
Looking at the depth of the footprint, the method of hiding footprints...
"A Witcher?" Grush muttered to himself, uncertain.