The Grand Duke's Son Is A Heretic
Chapter 273

Chapter 273: 273

In the depths of a dense forest where moonlight barely pierced through the thickets, a ragged group of men huddled behind thick tree trunks, whispering curses and chuckling among themselves.

"It’s been so damn boring lately," one of them grunted, scratching his bearded chin.

"Yeah," another with a crooked nose spat to the side. "Can’t even loot like before. Security’s tighter than a nun’s cunt—"

"Shhh! Look!" someone hissed, pointing toward the distant dirt path.

A caravan of two creaky merchant wagons trudged through the muddy trail, guarded by a couple of nervous men with short swords.

The bandits exchanged grins like starving wolves seeing prey.

"The fools actually came through the forest," the one-eyed leader muttered with a grin, gripping his axe. "Alright boys, you know what to do. Leave nothing behind!"

"Wait..Is this a trap..Who travels at night.."

"Shut up and attack.. These are just other idiots..Did you forget how people are traveling at night instead of day."

Due to frequent bandit assault,few people instead of day,use the night cover to escape.The successful strategy allowed many to pass through but their luck ends here.

"Now go..."

With a howl, the bandits charged.

Chaos erupted.

Screams tore through the quiet forest as the bandits fell upon the merchants like beasts. One smashed the guard’s face with a mace. Another stabbed a blade through a man’s back as he tried to flee.

"Please! Spare us—!"

A boot slammed into the merchant’s face, cutting off his plea. Another was thrown off the wagon and trampled.

Bags were ripped open, crates smashed. Gold coins scattered across the ground. The leader stepped forward, his single eye gleaming as he cracked open a wooden chest filled with silverware and silks.

"Heh... jackpot."

Soon after, the ragged crew dragged their loot up into a nearby mountain ridge where flickering firelight bathed the cave’s mouth.

A campfire blazed at the center, and raucous laughter echoed as several bandits danced with meat in their hands and mugs sloshing ale. Skewers of roasted meat turned over the flame, and smoke filled the cold air with the scent of seared flesh.

The one-eyed leader lounged on a flat rock like a throne, watching his men bring in another chest.

"It seems we have a huge haul!" he bellowed with a greedy grin.

"Yeah boss, today’s a good day!" one of the younger men replied, tossing a pouch of gemstones at his feet.

The leader caught it, felt the weight, and smirked. Then he turned to another and licked his lips.

"And what about the women, huh? Found anything worth warming the bed tonight?"

The man hesitated and scratched the back of his neck.

"Uh... sorry boss. There weren’t any females in the caravan."

A moment of silence fell.

Then—

"FUCK!"

"Damnit, what kind of merchant doesn’t bring wenches?"

"They couldn’t even bring one tavern girl?!"

"Even a toothless old hag would’ve been something!"

"Goddamn cheap bastards!"

They grumbled and cursed, kicking the dirt and tossing bones into the fire in frustration.

But the irritation was short-lived. As the scent of roasted meat filled the air, the mood shifted. Bottles clinked, laughter resumed, and the bandits fell back into their drunken joy.

Until... a figure struck.

Darkness.

Not the simple creeping of night, but an unnatural, suffocating blackness that poured into the area like a spreading oil slick. The fire flickered—then died without warning.

The air turned cold.

The leader’s brows furrowed as he stood, his instincts screaming.

"The hell is this?"

He turned—

A scream tore through the night.

"ANHHHH!"

It was from behind. A man’s gurgled cry, followed by a wet thump—as if something heavy had hit the ground.

The camp fell silent.Then another scream erupted followed by another.

The shadows danced. Something moved through the darkness.

And the bandits realized... There was no

celebration tonight.

It was a hunt. _{free\we\bnov(e)(l).com}

Screams tore through the mountain camp as chaos descended.

"AAAAHHHHH!!"

"WHAT IS THIS?!"

"RUNNN—"

But those who turned their backs to flee were the first to be cleaved. Limbs flew. Heads rolled. Blood sprayed like a fountain as shadows slithered through the camp, faster than the eye could track.

One bandit tripped over a crate, only to feel cold steel rip through his throat.

Another tried climbing a rock, scrambling for higher ground, but a sharp object impaled his spine, lifting him midair before hurling him down with a sickening crunch.

"NOOO! NO—STAY AWAY FROM MEEE!"

"HELP—HELP M—"

A blade tore through his chest before he could finish.

Within seconds, what had once been a celebratory camp had turned into a slaughterhouse.

The crackling fire now only lit dismembered bodies and blood-splattered stones.

In the center, the leader stood rigid, face pale but eyes alert.

He was an A-rank fighter—an exile from a fallen noble house, known once as Velron the Butcher. Dozens had fallen to his blade before he vanished into the criminal underworld.

He gritted his teeth, sensing the air.

Twinge.

He caught the faint movement. A shadow leaped from behind a rock—silent, ruthless—slashing another of his men in half.

Velron’s eyes flared in rage.

"BASTARD!" he roared. "If you’ve got strength, come fight me square and fair!"

"STOP HIDING LIKE YOUR HAG OF A MOTHER! DIDN’T SHE TEACH YOU TO BE BRAVE?!"

But just as he finished shouting, his senses screamed.

He leapt back on instinct.

At that exact moment, a scream rang behind him, close—too close—and hot blood splattered across his face. He looked to see one of his last men bisected from shoulder to waist.

A voice came from his flank.

"Hmph. A bandit talking about fairness and bravery?"

Velron snarled and spun, slashing his sword wildly toward the sound—but struck nothing.

"BASTARDD! SHOW YOURSELF! WHO ARE YOU?!"

The air grew colder.

The mist-like darkness that had filled the camp condensed, retreating toward the center of the clearing. There, stepping forth through blood-slicked mud and corpses, stood a man.

Bluish hair clung to his face, drenched in blood.

His eyes glowed faintly crimson in the firelight, and he held a short dagger casually at his side, like it was an extension of his arm.