That high and mighty attitude is unbearable not just for the bandits, even Gene couldn't withstand it.

But what really put Gene on edge was Michelle's next line.

"Then why don't you hurry up and make them act?"

Gene's flattering smile stiffened at those words.

Send him to negotiate with those ruthless bandits?

Damn! Had I known, I wouldn't have said so much.

"What? Is there a problem?"

"I'll go right away."

Gene definitely didn't want to go, but the only thing scarier than the bandits was Michelle, so he had no choice but to grit his teeth and agree.

Lance casually sat atop his horse, looking at the ordinary people driving the carts, sensing their undisguisable fear, and at the same time noticing a young man walking up not far away.

"Do you know who we are?" Although Gene hadn't dealt much with bandits, he'd heard enough to know he needed to appear tough.

But before he could talk nonsense, the next second that horseman pointed a gun at him with one hand.

"I don't care who you are, this is my territory, I call the shots."

"Big Brother! Let's talk this out." Gene instantly softened at the sight of the dark gun barrel, immediately changing his tone.

Lance couldn't help but tease with a chuckle: "What's the matter? Calling me Big Brother makes you feel wronged?"

"Not wronged! It's my pleasure." Gene shook his head quickly, even though he wished he could kill the man in front of him, he showed no sign of it, his acting skills as good as an award-winning actor.

But the reason he got this far wasn't just because he kneeled quickly, but because he could kneel and get things done, quickly following up, "We're all just here for the money, no need to get unpleasant. I have a profitable path for Big Brother, guarantee it's..."

"Cut the nonsense, speak quickly."

Lance didn't mind hearing him out, but he didn't want to hear nonsense, swiftly cutting him off, forcing Gene to swallow back his prepared boasting.

He could withstand Michelle, how could he not withstand this pressure, so he immediately introduced Michelle with a smile.

"That man behind is the son of an Empire Marquis, he's out here gaining experience, wanting to take the heads of those barbarians..."

Although they were actually tangled with Barbarian Plunderers, Gene made it sound like they had easily defeated the barbarians and were now chasing them.

Not only reversing the roles of attacker and defender, but Gene constantly hinted that the barbarians weren't strong, only escaping by relying on the environment.

While warning Lance with Michelle's identity, he also offered extremely generous rewards, even promising to use Michelle's power to help them abandon their bandit status.

Within these sentences, Gene was using both threats and allure.

Why do people become bandits?

Isn't it just for money?

But bandits face difficulties too, like the bounties from nearby towns, or if some strong Lord sent troops to wipe them out like Count Bastia.

No one wants to stay in the wilderness, plundering and living a precarious life, so Gene targeted everything a bandit desires.

If Lance hadn't already understood the situation between them and the Barbarian Plunderers, he might truly have been deceived by Gene's cleverness.

But the problem is, Lance isn't a bandit; those benefits he offered are useless.

"Gene, right? Who doesn't know the strength of those Mountain Barbarian Tribes in the wilderness, you think a few words will make my men risk their lives with them, you swallowed all of Michelle's benefits, didn't you?"

"You know me? Who are you?" Gene's face changed instantly upon hearing this, exclaiming in surprise.

He hadn't mentioned his name, nor Michelle's name.

"Don't underestimate my intelligence network." Lance grinned, "You still plan to attack Hamlet, right?"

"Who exactly are you?" Gene was even more shocked at these words, the man's gaze seemingly penetrating his thoughts, his steps unconsciously retreating.

But before Gene could say too much, Lance removed his musket and raised another hand to his ear.

"Did you hear that?"

This sudden sentence made Gene instinctively pay attention to the surrounding noises, though he didn't hear anything...

But at that moment, for some reason, the Personal Guard at the rear started to grow restless.

Gene was initially confused, but he quickly understood when he felt the ground shaking.

Those seasoned soldiers were more sensitive than others to the approaching vibrations; it was the precursor to a knight charge.

"I'm waiting for the cavalry, what are you waiting for?"

With that sentence, Lance turned his head and saw dust rising at the edge of his view, a large, well-armed cavalry appearing.

These were definitely not bandit robbers!

Gene only had time to form that thought before Lance's words dragged his attention back.

"If you want to live, stand still; if you want to die, flee back."

Gene snapped to attention, his whole body—and even his soul—trembling, as he shouted out in a nearly wailing voice.

"Stop! Do you know whose son Michelle is?"

"Do you know who I am?" Lance didn't even have any intention of acting personally, merely raising his hand and firing a shot into the air.

"Bang!"

Lance's blockade was originally meant to draw their attention and buy time for others.

Now with everyone in position, the gunshot rang out instantly like a starter gun, causing countless gun barrels to appear on either side of the road aimed at the convoy; over a hundred additional people had somehow managed to circle behind them, forming three overlapping rows that sealed off their escape.

"It's over... over..."

Faced with cavalry ahead and gunners behind, Gene dumbfoundedly stood still, staring blankly.

But meanwhile, the battle in the rear had already begun.

The Personal Guard had realized something was wrong when they felt the ground shaking, but the gunfire quickly revealed they had fallen into a trap.

"Turn around fast! We have to fight our way out!" The leader of the Personal Guard yelled with a fierce expression, knowing that if something happened to Michelle here, their entire families would face death.

The Personal Guard showed some capability; they quickly reacted, charging back to try and break through the encirclement.

But they faced nearly two hundred musketeers, even though divided into three advancing rows, the formed barrage was enough to cover the old road.

"First row! Ready!"

A soldier shouted, and then that row raised their guns to aim, although accuracy wasn't emphasized, appearance needed maintaining.

"Don't be afraid! Raise shields to withstand a volley."

"Rush through before they reload!"

"..."

The Personal Guard, having encountered musketeers on battlefields before, raised their shields and pushed forward; even if the shields were pierced, the residual power wouldn't penetrate the armor worn on their bodies.

Unless they were truly unlucky enough to be hit in a vital spot, then they'd have only themselves to blame for bad luck.

"One hundred yards, fire!"

A volley of gunshots rang out like firecrackers, but only a few Personal Guards fell; indeed, at this distance, penetrating two layers of armor was difficult.

But contrary to suppressing the Personal Guard's morale, the shots sparked a surge of spirit.

Because they knew that once a gun was fired, it became a useless stick, and their distance to the enemy was closing fast.

Meanwhile, those hidden behind the Shieldbearers were Crossbowmen, who had already released arrows flying towards the musket array.

Frankly speaking, at a hundred-yard distance, muskets were weak, let alone crossbow bolts, but their main purpose was to cover the charge; coordinated alternating movements displayed their elite status, if they had more numbers, they would be even harder to handle.

Hamlet's musketeers were equipped well, though the armor rate wasn't impressive; they took a wave of arrows, still some unlucky ones got hit.

If it were ordinary serf soldiers, they might have been frightened by these men's vicious counterattacks and fired prematurely, but Hamlet's forces were hardened elites too, little pressure couldn't shake their loyalty!

The wounded were quickly pulled to the rear by teammates, barely disturbing the formation.

These people were as coldly rational as machines, sending chills down one's spine—though only if you're the enemy.

The first round of exchange made both sides aware of each other's strengths, however neither had the excuse to evade, and a more intense battle commenced...