Our Family Has Fallen

But the cowardly scavenger and the retreating Mercenary Corps inexplicably gave them confidence, the boastful words just now even deceived themselves, and the leader seeing someone coming over wasn’t afraid at all.

"Hahaha! You’re all by yourself, huh? Look at how many brothers I’ve got."

That instantly made those underlings react; yeah, just one person, what’s there to be afraid of.

"Want to save these guys? Do you really think you’re a hero?"

"I think he’s here to get his ass kicked."

"Hahaha!"

The man didn’t react much to their foul insults, he kept walking slowly, yet the sense of oppression brought by each step inexplicably filled them with dread.

If it were before, he might have been influenced, but now he’s as calm as hearing a few dogs barking, having reached a new stage, worthy of being called Master.

"Hamlet must not be insulted lightly!"

A deep voice interrupted the looters’ celebration, and they couldn’t help but look back, only to see three people had appeared behind them at some point.

A fully armed Knight, a nun in a simple habit but clad in Heavy Armor, and a cloaked figure whose situation wasn’t visible.

This sight instantly threw those looters into a panic, armor isn’t something an ordinary person can afford, let alone a nun in armor.

No doubt Dismas was the one blocking the way, responsible for attracting the looters’ attention, giving Reynard, Junia, and Laura time to circle around.

Now the encirclement was complete, not a single one would escape, no need to waste words anymore.

Dismas took action, but he didn’t draw his musket; instead, he pulled out a short sword for close combat, using it for parrying while delivering punches and kicks to the enemies’ weak spots: head, chin, abdomen, lower body... Those good-for-nothings couldn’t withstand a few blows in front of him, dropping their weapons and falling to the ground.

This move already signaled the start of battle.

The looters panicked from such a sudden assault; the leader hastily drew his musket to shoot, reckless of his comrades.

He had barely pulled it out when a Feather Arrow pierced through his hand, causing him to drop the pistol, and he let out a miserable wail.

This scene terrified those bullies; compared to fighting, the looters thought about running first.

Deeply implementing the "Attack me first if I run, run first if I attack" guideline, they scattered like mice stirred from hiding.

But surely they know what a blockade is, right?

Turning around, they ran into Reynard blocking the road, the Longsword’s intimidating swipes more terrifying than punches and kicks.

He didn’t intend to kill them directly either, but used the Longsword to parry their weapons and then struck them down with the flat of the blade or the sword hilt’s pommel.

Two looters holding up the young man threw him down in fear and tried to slip away.

But a lightning-like flash suddenly surged into his body, like being struck by lightning, he stiffened and collapsed.

A cry echoed from the sky for some reason, one fellow instinctively looked up, only to see a shadow flash by.

The next second, he shrieked, desperately flailing his hands to fend off, but his face had been slashed by sharp claws, disoriented with blood streaming down.

The leader with the pierced hand had no intention to retaliate, he attempted to flee but stumbled after a few steps.

No one attacked him; he’d forgotten he loosened his belt, his pants slipping down and tripping him comically.

Amidst the chaos, the youth struggled to stand, hesitated slightly when seeing the blood-stained musket on the ground, and tucked it into his jacket. He planned to take advantage of the chaos to escape, only to realize it was already over.

A group of looters entirely unequal in strength to Reynard and his ruthless comrades, taken down as effortlessly as drinking tea.

Within just a few minutes, ten or so looters were all lying on the ground, constant wailing, even with deliberate restraint; otherwise, leaving one breathing would disrespect the Lord.

The scavengers, frightened like quail, dared not move, not suffering any accidental attack injuries.

Controlling emotions didn’t mean Dismas’s anger subsided; he directly went up to the pretending dead leader, grabbed his hair, lifted his head, and slammed it onto the ground, delivering blow after blow to his head.

"What the hell did you say just now!"

"Now tell me whose territory this is? Huh!"

"Who the hell do you think you are? Daring to insult My Lord!"

In a few moves, the leader’s face was damaged from intimate contact with the ground, one One-Eye squeezed out; Dismas kindly punched it back in, causing a scream.

"Shut the hell up!"

The leader paused slightly, Dismas directly grabbed the Feather Arrow through the hand and brutally pulled it out.

"Ah!"

A more intense scream instantly echoed around, but Dismas’s actions were even more terrifying, reversed the Feather Arrow right back in, while shouting over his sorrowful cries.

"Stick out your tongue... I said stick it out!"

Extreme fear overpowered pain, even amidst the searing agony and bewildered consciousness, instinctively complying, sticking out his tongue.

Dismas had long been waiting for this, slammed the chin down hard, causing him to bite off his own tongue.

Though the throat is the vocal part, losing the tongue only affects clarity, not his screams.

"Ah!!!"

An even more intense scream arose, plunging everyone into terror.

Earlier the perpetrator, now the leader being ruthlessly tortured, only proves when oppressing the weak, you also face oppression by the stronger.

Unlike the leader’s seemingly baseless viciousness, Dismas exhibited a completely different aura, the ruthlessness as natural as instinct—the real hardcore villain.

Perhaps only Hamlet could control this "beast."

After quite an ordeal, Dismas lost interest, pulled out a musket intending to end the guy’s life, scaring the leader into begging desperately for mercy.

"Abba Abba!"

That indifference to life’s gaze clearly intended not to spare him, but at this moment Reynard raised his hand to lower Dismas’s gun.

"My Lord doesn’t like seeing blood."

This phrase unexpectedly sparked hope in the leader’s heart, immensely grateful.

Yet Reynard’s next words cast him into a fate even more terrifying than death.

"Better suspend him outside for a night and see what happens. We need the experimental data; can’t have our own trying it."

"Killing him is too easy..." Laura appeared, her hooded eyes seemed to look at a dead man.

Those daring to offend the Lord deserve thorough torment.

Finished talking, she pulled out the Feather Arrow again, causing another scream.

"I have a better idea." Dismas suddenly grinned, his menacing face like the devil.

"Bang!"

A gunshot echoed through the ruins, Dismas fired after all.

Only he didn’t kill the leader, instead shot his leg, the bullet instantly tearing away flesh, a blur.

"Hanging him means he can’t escape, I decided to give him some hope, let’s see if he can walk out of the ruins this way."

Speaking, Dismas turned back laughing towards his comrades, "How about it, my idea’s better, huh."

The leader now wishes he’d die; Brother, playing like this isn’t fair, you’re better off shooting me dead.

"If only the Lord would say you messed this place up, wasted a person." Reynard sighed helplessly.

"There are plenty here, just pick another one, right?" Dismas didn’t care, then turned to Junia for help, "Hey! Miss, help me, don’t let him die."