I Am Not The Duke's Evil Son
Chapter 58: The Wolfclaw Bandits

Chapter 58: The Wolfclaw Bandits

Silence fell for a moment as the knight in the lead — a Boundless at D-rank — stared at the bandit leader: a muscular man radiating an overwhelmingly strong presence.

He furrowed his brow in anger and cursed internally,

’Damn it, he’s strong. He’s at the same rank as me, but I’m sensing a much greater threat from him.’

His gaze then shifted to the imposing woman beside the bandit leader, and he let out a frustrated sigh.

’That woman’s no pushover either. If we fight them, we’re not getting out unscathed. Damn it! If only I were allowed to raise the Baron’s banner, they wouldn’t have dared to attack us in the first place.’

Inside the white carriage sat the true Arvan. Unfortunately, due to his punishment, he was forbidden from bearing his family’s crest. All noble families — except for the baronies — had unique heraldic emblems, often symbolizing their strength, domain, or history. House Ravenshade’s crest, for instance, was a raven. The Ironhart family, which ruled over the Ironlands Duchy, bore a flaming sword.

The reason baronial families had no crests was simple: they were weak, and more importantly, far too numerous.

A noble crest signified identity and rank. For that reason, bandits and highwaymen typically avoided attacking caravans flying noble banners. Only lunatics would challenge such targets. But this particular caravan bore no insignia, so the bandits assumed it was merely a wealthy merchant convoy, despite a few contradictions, like the strength of its escorts.

After analyzing the situation in his head, the knight commander raised his hand and closed his fist. At that signal, all those around him moved into a defensive formation. The two official mages and the healer stood at the rear by the carriage doors. The sniper took position where the driver should have been, notching three arrows into his bow. The shieldbearer stood at the front, and behind him, ten E-rank knights formed a protective circle around the carriage. Even the servants some of whom were also E-rank picked up weapons, prepared to defend themselves.

The first to act was the healer. He quickly cast a wide-range buff and barrier spell, increasing the strength of everyone around him by roughly ten percent.

The bandits mirrored the preparation. They adjusted their stances and assumed a simple attack formation, with shieldbearers up front to guard the archers behind. Meanwhile, the bandit leader Thorne and his companion Thalia, who was also his sister, remained motionless, observing the situation with cold eyes.

Something was off. Their sharp senses, far beyond human told them there was real danger lurking. It wasn’t just suspicion or hesitation; it was instinct.

After a brief silence, Thorne muttered to his sister,

"You might be right. These people aren’t some trade caravan... something’s wrong."

Thalia sighed and shook her head in frustration.

"You always act rashly, but it’s too late to back down now."

She went quiet for a moment, sniffed the air, and then frowned in disgust as her gaze locked onto the white carriage.

"The one inside... stinks. He’s dangerous."

"I noticed," Thorne replied coldly. "He doesn’t just reek his stench is unbearable. Looks like he’s sleeping, though."

His killing intent leaked out instinctively.

To them, the word "stench" wasn’t about literal smell. It referred to a person’s essence — filth, depravity, tyranny, and cruelty. Sadly, the man inside that carriage radiated all four in abundance.

Realizing that, they both knew they’d made a grave mistake. But it was too late to retreat. With icy composure, Thorne shouted,

"Hand over everything you have and you’ll be allowed to leave in peace!"

The knight commander responded calmly,

"I’m afraid I can’t do that. It’d be best for both of us if you just walk away. We’re not the kind of people you can cross and live to tell the tale."

"He’s telling the truth."

Both Thalia and Thorne possessed the ability to sense a person’s emotional state and identity from their scent — an ability no ordinary human had. That’s how they knew the knight wasn’t bluffing.

Their unease grew. They instinctively decided not to escalate things too far. Thorne spoke again, this time with feigned indifference, his voice laced with a hint of negotiation:

"Unfortunately, that’s not how things work out here. You know that better than anyone."

The knight commander paused in thought. He understood what the bandits were after. So he replied,

"I’ve heard that this road comes with... tolls. Remind me, how much is it again?"

When their leader said that, all the knights around him breathed a sigh of relief, it meant they might avoid a fight. In contrast, the bandits were irritated. From their perspective, they had the upper hand, and it was clear the caravan carried valuable cargo. A mere road toll would be nothing but pocket change compared to that.

Thorne noticed the discontent in his men’s eyes but didn’t care. He was glad things were going smoothly. He opened his mouth and replied calmly,

"Ten gold coins..."

But suddenly, he felt a powerful surge of danger. He cut himself off and tensed, ready to fight. His sister mirrored him.

Their reaction instantly tensed the air. Everyone prepared for battle even the knight commander, who didn’t yet understand why.

Then, he heard a faint creaking sound. A shiver ran down his spine.

He turned and looked at the carriage door, which had just opened. His expression twisted as he cursed,

’Damn it... why the hell is that bastard awake now?!’

Neigh!

His fury flared so hard it triggered a forceful release of his energy, pressing down on his horse, which reared and neighed violently. He quickly calmed it, then turned toward the young man stepping out of the carriage.

The young man looked to be in his early twenties. He had longish black hair, brown eyes, and clean white skin with traces of sleep on his face. His expression was drowsy and relaxed — no doubt from the excessive drinking he’d done just hours earlier. He wore fine, silky clothes: a shirt and trousers.

Inside the carriage sat three women dressed provocatively. Though beautiful, their bodies and faces were covered in bruises from abuse.

The young man lifted his head and lazily scanned the knights surrounding him. His gaze then landed on the group of bandits. A flicker of surprise crossed his face, then he yawned.

His nonchalant behavior was so ridiculous that some bandits couldn’t help but smirk mockingly, while others felt insulted. But unlike them, Thorne and Thalia’s expressions stiffened. They noticed his distinct black hair a trait of House Ravenshade. Based on what they knew of that family’s members, one disturbing name came to mind: Arvan.

A few moments after stepping out and regaining clarity, Arvan raised his hand and pointed toward Thorne and Thalia, who were standing in his way. Then he spoke in a bored tone to the knights around him:

"What the hell are you all staring at, you bunch of trash? ? Move these pigs out of my path."

At the sound of his orders, the knights’ bodies trembled. Their refusal would have meant rebellion, and at the same time, the idea of confronting the bandits with such few numbers was sheer madness.

"Did you not hear me?"

The laziness vanished from Arvan’s face, replaced by a biting cold. He swiftly raised his right hand, adorned with several rings one of which was a magical storage ring and pulled out a magical scroll.

"You pack of mutts... since when did you become so insolent? Did you think stripping me of my title made you my equal?"

His words were aimed at his own guards. Without the slightest hesitation, he unfurled the C-rank scroll.

Instantly, dozens of icy blades materialized around him and shot out in every direction heedless of whether they struck friend or foe.