Round 16: A Tough Fight

Roy, the deputy leader of the White Beard Thieves’ Gang, was sweating profusely. His thin yet iron-strong body pressed down on the plump, snow-white female body beneath him as he moved vigorously, his sharp gaze fixed on the night elves inside the iron cell, who had closed their eyes in humiliation and disgust.
Look at that skin! Look at those cheeks! Look at that figure!
Roy began to tremble with excitement—as if the woman beneath him were a real night elf.
“Mmm… Lord Roy…”
The woman’s flattering moans, her slightly hoarse voice, pulled Roy back from his fantasies. He opened his mouth, pressing her down tightly, his eyes still fixed on the most beautiful face among the night elves. After a moment, he stood up irritably, pulled up his pants, and didn’t even glance at the woman on the table.
Damn it… I brought these elves here by force… Why can’t I just enjoy myself?
Roy stepped closer to the iron cell, his gaze falling on the delicate feet of the elves, causing him to feel restless again.
The elves seemed to sense Roy’s lecherous gaze. The only male night elf opened his eyes, glaring at Roy, and tried to shield his female companions with his body. But as he moved slightly too forcefully, blue electricity surged from the shackles on his wrists, spreading throughout his body and causing him to curl in pain.
Hmph. Roy smirked and chuckled maliciously, but fortunately, he managed to control his desires and didn’t touch the night elves beyond looking at them.
The bid they offered was quite high. Leader Hoffman had issued strict orders—Roy didn’t dare provoke that pervert who cared nothing but for gold and himself.
A robber who had just escaped from Hoffman rushed into the dungeon to report the situation to Roy.
A female paladin? Deal with her however you want?
Roy’s eyes turned fanatical.
“Damn! Why didn’t you say earlier! Let’s go!” Roy cursed as he stepped up the stairs, with the robber following behind, covering his face—he still couldn’t avoid getting slapped. Thankfully, Deputy Roy wasn’t as violent as Leader Hoffman.
Kastor sidestepped, catching an arrow that had come from somewhere unknown, nocking it back on his bow, and shooting it back—although the arrow was neither long nor heavy enough for his longbow, a short, pained scream came from afar as the robber hiding behind the wall collapsed, the arrow piercing his left eye and reaching his brain.
It seemed the type of arrow did make a difference—this was the first robber to still make a sound after being hit.
“Something seems off.”
The three of them had now rushed onto an open area resembling a training ground. Milia stopped her frenzied attacks, holding her sword with both hands and trying to calm her breathing. Josen and Kastor stopped as well, forming a triangular formation.
“With their combat strength, even if everyone here attacked the stronghold, they’d suffer heavy losses…” Kastor said doubtfully. “But they not only wiped out everyone in the stronghold but also captured my compatriots—how is that possible?”

“Anyway, be careful…” Jason watched the surroundings warily. No bandits dared to come and die in vain anymore. Most of the bandits around them were humans; the meretons and ogres like cannon fodder had been nearly exhausted from recklessly attacking. It seemed the real battle was yet to come.
“It’s really a female paladin…” A voice filled with obvious malice came from behind the wall of bandits. The bandits immediately stepped aside respectfully, revealing Roy, the deputy leader of the White Beard Thieves’ Gang, emerging from among a group of scoundrels who were all at least half a head taller than him.
Roy was also a scoundrel, and calling him that was probably an insult to the scoundrels around him. He wore loose pants so dirty that their original color could no longer be seen, stained with unknown liquids. His face was lewd, his gaze evil, but what angered Milia the most was his half-body leather armor—covered with strange, twisted ornaments made of thin nails. It seemed to be some kind of leather, but upon closer inspection, it turned out to be peeled human faces!
“You don’t deserve to live under the light of the Glorious Lord!”
A bright light surged around Milia—as did the faint humming sound from her giant sword, as if declaring war on such unforgivable evil.
“Hehe…” Roy stroked the human-face decorations on his armor. “All the women I sewed them on were quite notable—look, this one was sewn on just last month, but I toyed with her for half a year… Who gave her the audacity to look at me with that so-called noble gaze? Baby, I’ll save you a spot—Competitor Roy, ready!”
He took the small sphere handed to him by one of his men; several of his underlings also held similar objects.
As Roy moved, the small spheres were thrown into the arena by the bandits—
“No! Get out of the way!” Castor reacted fastest. As soon as those objects, which looked like ceramic, were thrown, he stepped back while drawing his bow and shooting—shattering one of them in midair!
It seemed the bandits had put a lot of effort into crafting these objects. They flew in varying heights and distances, covering all possible evasion angles for the three of them, and exploded upon hitting the ground. Their power wasn’t great—the flying shards and shockwaves had little lethal effect—but something worse followed—along with the flying dust and sharp noises, a strange smell filled the air, like evaporated kerosene, making people feel dizzy as soon as they inhaled it.
What is this? Jason’s knees weakened, and he almost fell. He quickly used his sword to brace himself, but the scene before him distorted, as if through a layer of ripples, constantly stretching and changing. His ears also buzzed, and he couldn’t hear anything clearly.
Carlos was even worse off. Although he managed to stay out of the range of most of the bombs, at least three bombs were aimed directly at him, and he was severely affected—he covered his ears, his face twisted in pain. That shrill, grating sound seemed to have a severe impact on his hearing, far beyond that of a human.

Roy satisfactorily drew his dagger, his gaze fixed on Milia. The four gold-plated iron fingers on his left hand clanked as he fiddled with them, showing no concern for the bandit subordinates injured by the bomb: “This thing is fucking useful! Grab that woman!”
47 learned from Alexander that this little device was called a Doubt Bomb—at least that’s how the White Beard Bandit Gang called it. The leader of the Wandering Bandit Gang led the way with a gloomy expression, a rope tied around his thin neck with the other end in 47’s hand.
“I heard they got this from Agus… seems to be a new product! Who knows what terms they offered? Maybe the price is to help Agus crush all caravans involved with elves on the Gold Road, and then sell the loot and captured living elves to Agus… In any case, with this in White Beard’s hands, life will get tough for us little bandit gangs…”
Agus? Again Agus.
47 tossed the Doubt Bomb in his hands. The familiar feeling grew stronger, as if it were part of him—
How ridiculous. 47 shook his head self-mockingly. It wasn’t me who created this thing!
He pulled the rope, making Alexander cough: “How much further?”
“Cough… almost there, right away…”
“You’ve said ‘right away’ over ten times already.”
“If you ask less, I’ll say it less—cough! cough! cough!”