Chapter 6: Down the Mountain × First Battle × Bandits
Crack! Crack! Crack!
The sharp sound of the whip echoed through the quiet valley. Alistair wiped the sweat from his nose and looked around at all the shattered rocks—wearing the smug look of someone who thought he was king of the world.
Kite's face showed no emotion. "That's enough for today. Let's head down the mountain."
Though Kite always acted calm, Alistair knew he had to be pretty satisfied with his progress.
After more than two months of brutal training, Alistair was not only skilled with the whip but could use it fluidly in real combat—his strength had improved dramatically.
Now, even the Shadowfang Beast that once seemed unbeatable could be taken down easily, with no need to rely on the environment at all.
Kite was likewise pleased with his gifted disciple. Whether it was potential for Nen or raw talent, Kite had full confidence Alistair would become an outstanding Hunter.
As they left the forest, a commotion ahead caught their attention—shouting, laughter, and cries for help.
In a flash, Alistair dashed toward the sound.
Not far ahead, a group of over ten burly men had surrounded a cart.
Two villagers, unarmed and terrified, pleaded for mercy, trembling and unable to resist.
It was a robbery.
A one-eyed bandit grabbed a watermelon from the cart and smashed it on the ground.
"What's this junk? A whole cart of watermelons? Hand over the valuables!"
An old man trembled, pleading, "We're just delivering goods to the market—there's no money. If you want, take the cargo."
The bandit spat in disgust. "Who wants your stupid watermelons? No money, huh? No money means a knife to the leg!"
With that, he slashed the old man's leg—blood spurting everywhere.
A younger villager rushed forward, shielding the old man with his body. "Please, we really have no money! I can go home and get something for you!"
The bandit sneered. "You'll just go get help."
"I won't, I swear! My father's in your hands. I won't do anything."
The bandit considered. "Fine, but if you're not back in half an hour, your old man's dead."
Alistair's hand tightened on his whip.
Since learning to use it, he'd been dying to test it in real combat.
Hunting animals was nothing like fighting people.
He glanced at Kite, who remained expressionless.
That was all the signal he needed. Alistair gripped his whip, body blurring as he shot toward the lead bandit.
The whip flashed, snapping at the one-eyed bandit—
Clang!
The bandit's machete was knocked flying. He stared at his empty hand, baffled and wary.
"What the—?"
The strike had come so fast, he hadn't even seen it. He thought it was some kind of freak accident.
The other bandits saw a small, good-looking boy glaring at them.
Alistair pointed at the bleeding old man. "Let him go. Now. And all of you, get lost."
The bandits froze—then burst into laughter.
A kid threatening a dozen big men? Ridiculous.
Alistair shrugged and sneered, "Laugh while you can. You'll be crying soon."
The one-eyed bandit pushed through, clutching his belly as he laughed. "Hahaha! This little brat thinks he can play hero? Go home and suck your mom's milk!"
Alistair grinned, firing back, "Milk? Careful. I drink dragon's milk—one spark and you're ashes!"
The bandits, already laughing, cracked up even harder at his comeback.
"Kid, get lost. This isn't a place for you. Go home to your mommy!" one of the younger bandits said.
The one-eyed bandit, still snickering, slapped Alistair's shoulder. "You've got guts, but you'd better—AAAH!!!"
He screamed, clutching his hand in agony.
Alistair smiled innocently. "Your hand's just broken, don't worry. Still on your arm. But if you make another sound…"
He flicked his whip around the man's neck. "Your head won't be on your shoulders. Hehe."
The bandit froze in terror—face covered in sweat, holding his mouth shut, eyes filled with mortal fear.
The rest of the bandits murmured, "Let's rush him—no way he can take us all at once."
With that, they charged.
Alistair kicked the one-eyed bandit aside, then grinned as he faced the mob.
The whip whistled through the air.
Each strike brought a fresh scream.
In under a minute, Alistair had tied up the entire gang, then called out, "Master, I'm done here! I'll go check the old man's wounds!"
"Go ahead," Kite replied.
Alistair ran to the unconscious elder and examined the wound.
It wasn't too deep, but still needed urgent treatment.
He dug through his bag, pulled out a red velvet rose, crushed it, and carefully packed the wound with the paste.
Red velvet rose was excellent for clotting and stopping bleeding—an essential in Alistair's bag ever since he'd started getting banged up during training.
He gave the old man some water, and as the breathing calmed, figured there was no danger.
Alistair dusted off his hands and called out, "Master! I'm done here!"
Kite had already gagged all the bandits and hung them from a roadside tree for the authorities to find.
"Let's go," Kite said.
"Master, would you have been mad if I'd killed that one-eyed guy?"
"No. But you'd lose your free time for a month."
"WHAT? Why?!"
"Because you were too slow."
"…"
---
"I'm back!" The young villager ran back, clutching a pouch of Jennies,
—but stopped in shock.
His father was alive and well, sitting on the cart and tending his leg,
while the bandits hung from a tree,
their mouths stuffed with their own stinky socks, able only to whimper faintly.
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