Our Family Has Fallen-Chapter 557 - 344: Bloodlines are Mutually Attractive_1

"Hey, have you guys heard?"

"Spit it out already. Are you just going to stop halfway and fart?"

"Haven't you heard what those refugees are saying? About that place, Hamlet. They say it's rich and fertile, you get paid for work. If things don't work out here, maybe we should head over there too."

"Damn, you believe that crap? I could claim I'm the Emperor of the Empire. Lend me fifty Gold Coins now, and when I defeat the Rebels, I'll make you a noble."

"Exactly. Those bastards promised food and pay when they recruited us too, and in the end, what did we get? Nothing!"

"I heard that place is a port. I bet they're luring people there to make them Slaves, then ship them straight out to sea. You won't even have tears left to cry."

"That's right. Do you really think you can put down your musket and pick up farm tools? You're better off living it up here."

The one who started this topic actually still clung to a sliver of hope. He was originally an ordinary villager, conscripted out of nowhere, then inexplicably thrown onto the battlefield, and finally, just as inexplicably, became a deserter.

He still yearned for a peaceful life, but his companions' constant sarcasm and mockery had shattered his fantasy.

They weren't destitute refugees driven to a dead end. They were bandits who could use their weapons and force to exploit ordinary people. Naturally, they wouldn't choose to seek refuge in an unknown place like Hamlet.

Besides, as the others said, once you've tasted the 'freedom' of being a bandit, you can't adapt to a normal life.

Their lives of reckless pillaging had indeed allowed them to fully enjoy that freedom.

But unfortunately for them, they weren't the ones who would be enjoying freedom today.

Suddenly, with a WHOOSH, an arrow struck the lookout, who struggled for a moment before collapsing.

Having survived the battlefield, these bandits reacted instantly.

"Enemy in the woods!"

"Watch out for arrows!"

In the midst of the chaotic shouting, they grabbed their weapons and scrambled for cover. At the same time, a dense volley of arrows shot out from the woods, felling several of the scattered bandits.

Fortunately, their makeshift camp offered some cover. Arrows piercing the tattered fabric lost much of their force and accuracy.

Archery was one of the few long-range attack methods of the Mountain Barbarian Tribe. In fact, Warwolf's original group had nearly half its members as Shooters.

However, arrows were consumables. Without resupply, their stock dwindled with every use. Their supply had been completely depleted after being scattered by the Cavalry and crossing the Mountains.

These arrows were spoils taken from the Eagle Flock members they had killed. That was why Warwolf only ordered a single volley, primarily to suppress the enemy and cover the advancing warriors.

Warwolf, brandishing a giant axe, charged fiercely forward. The Wolf King loped beside him, and the other warriors surged forward as well.

They bellowed in strange tones, a language different from the Empire's common tongue and utterly indecipherable, but it was clearly not a friendly greeting.

The battle ignited instantly. The sheer ferocity of the attack stunned the bandits. These men were used to bullying ordinary folk; faced with truly ruthless opponents, they immediately faltered.

"Fuck! What are Barbarians doing here?"

"They won't spare us!"

"Damn it! We'll fight them!"

Against anyone else, they might have surrendered. After all, as deserters, they had no psychological burden preventing it.

But upon realizing their attackers were from the Barbarian Tribes, they immediately showed a fierce will to resist.

It was simple: from the Empire's long history of conflict with the Barbarian Tribes, they knew the Barbarians were extremely xenophobic and would never accept their surrender.

The Barbarians' methods were also notorious. Falling into their hands alive was considered a fate worse than death.

Warwolf's great axe cleaved through tents and men alike. The Wolf King charged in like a whirlwind, ripping and tearing with bloody ferocity, while the other Barbarian warriors' weapons rained down on the bandits.

It was an unequal struggle. Despite the bandits' desperate resistance, the battle was instantly one-sided.

Outnumbered and outmatched in strength, most were slaughtered in moments.

However, there were some hardened veterans among these deserters. Faced with a desperate situation, they unleashed an unexpected burst of ferocity.

One Barbarian warrior had lime thrown in his eyes and was skewered by a spear the next second.

Another bandit somehow found a short-barreled musket. He waited until a Barbarian was close, then whipped it out and fired at point-blank range. There was no chance of missing. The lead bullet devastated the Barbarian's body, leaving him dead or crippled.

But these counter-attacking bandits were quickly cut down by other Barbarian warriors. The bloody, brutal scene utterly broke the spirit of the few remaining bandits. They dropped their weapons and cried out their surrender.

"I surrender! Don't kill me."

The battle was quickly over. Of the more than twenty bandits, only five survived. They were disarmed, bound, and taken captive by the warriors. Among them was the man who had suggested going to Hamlet.

The battle was a complete rout, the bandits crushed with overwhelming ease in an instant.

But Warwolf was far from satisfied. He gazed at his two warriors, critically wounded but not yet dead. He snarled something in a language incomprehensible to Imperial People, yet his fury was palpable.

Damn it! We lost two warriors taking down a den of bandits? We have so few to begin with!

Previously, he hadn't cared in the slightest about death—not his own, his comrades', or his enemies'. To him, death was merely a return to the Wolf God. If a comrade fell, he would simply recruit another from the tribe, where every member was a warrior.