To you, the one outside the monitor, the battle against the bandits felt like a thrilling action game.
Strike, block, create distance, or roll on the ground to evade an attack.
There was no particular tension.
For you, who had faced a greatsword-wielding dog, a monkey that casually revived after being decapitated, and a charcoal king who cheated with his stats and attack patterns, a gang of human traffickers was hardly a formidable opponent.
Of course, you couldn't let your guard down completely; the trope of a mob-like enemy turning out to be incredibly strong was surprisingly common.
However, the perspective of 'you' fighting on the front lines was a little different.
There was a vast chasm between clicking a mouse button from beyond a screen and actually swinging a sword.
Your position. The opponent's position. The surrounding obstacles.
The trajectory of your sword had to constantly change according to these variables. The shield wasn't a convenient barrier that simply blocked attacks when held forward; it required the skill to precisely receive and deflect the enemy's blows.
Stepping inside an opponent's leg to throw them off balance, or using walls and furniture to deny them space to swing their weapon—these were the finer techniques only possible on the scene. Not 'fine' as in trivial, but as in too delicate to be controlled one by one with a keyboard and mouse.
Furthermore, unlike you outside the monitor, who habitually tried to dodge or block every single enemy attack, the you on the scene knew it was more efficient to take minor hits and keep fighting.
The vast combat experience etched into the Tin Knight's body served as a seasoned guide, telling you what was acceptable and what was not.
This didn't mean you were two different people, of course. You were both the player and the player character.
Some might call that a contradiction, but it was the truth, and there was no other way to put it.
And you were the type of person who would rather fight one more enemy than waste time agonizing over philosophical problems.
"S-Save me—kegh!"
The battle was soon over.
Instead of killing every one of the dozens of enemies, you focused on severing their arms or legs. The incapacitated bandits were then killed by the allies following you.
"Die! Die! Because of you, my family…!"
The women, who had been timid at first, their courage only a flicker, grew bolder and more ferocious. The men, who had been cautiously watching from the sidelines, eventually joined the fight with vigor.
It was clear that your display of effortlessly slaughtering dozens of bandits had ignited a fire in them.
Perhaps in the sense that if they didn't fight properly, their own necks might be on the line later.
"What the hell are you people?!"
After most of the bandits occupying the tavern had been wiped out, the few who remained seemed to be in a complete panic.
It was no wonder they were in a state of extreme terror and confusion, seeing that their companions, with whom they had been drinking and chatting just moments ago, were now all corpses.
Of course, you had no reason to show them any consideration. If they didn't like it, they shouldn't have committed a crime as vile as human trafficking.
You beat the remaining bandits into submission and then signaled to Ronnie.
She seemed flustered at first, not understanding your intent, but after you made a few gestures, she quickly nodded.
"Answer my questions honestly. Where are the people you kidnapped from the Friedel domain?"
At Ronnie's question, the bandit's eyes darted around.
"K-Kidnapped? What are you talking about! I think you've got the wrong people—"
The bandit never finished his sentence.
You swung your sword and brought it down on his head.
Red blood and gray brain matter spurted out. Everyone but you flinched, their bodies trembling.
The reaction from the surviving bandits, who had just witnessed their comrade's head split in two, was particularly violent.
You pointed your sword at the next bandit.
Ronnie spoke, her voice slightly hesitant.
"Where are the people you kidnapped from the Friedel domain? Or the location of your leader will do. Tell us anything you know. Otherwise, well…"
Ronnie swallowed the rest of her words, but the implication was obvious.
To help the bandit understand, you flicked the sword in your hand up and down.
The bandit, his face pale, stammered, "H-How we dispose of the merchandise is up to the leader, so we don't know! Same for his location. He barely gives us any information."
A thoroughly unsatisfactory answer.
You turned your gaze to another remaining bandit.
Interpreting your action, the bandit's tongue began to move at high speed.
"But I know where the second-in-command is! He'll know where the leader is, what he plans to do with the slaves, all of it! So!"
This answer was quite useful.
You nodded, then pulled the surviving bandits to their feet.
And you patted them firmly on their backs.
"Urp."
The man with the large bruise on his face looked nauseous, as if remembering what had happened to him a few hours ago.
This was a good thing.
It meant your intentions had been clearly conveyed.
It was always easier to repeat a previous instruction than to issue a completely new one.
"S-Sir Knight. Are you perhaps thinking of having them guide us immediately?"
When you nodded, Ronnie's gaze shifted from the darkening sky to the chaotic tavern (or rather, the inn's first floor), and then to her companions around her.
You had a rough idea of what she wanted to say.
Thus, you fell into thought.
Your body was mostly unscathed, and the mana you'd received from Dorothea was still plentiful. You had more than enough energy left.
More than anything, you wanted to fight more.
Your hands, which moved the keyboard and mouse, and your body, which swung the sword and shield, were just starting to warm up. You didn't want to end the battle here.
But that was a sentiment born from the fact that you felt no pain or fatigue, nor did you face any real threat to your life.
Forcing the same standards on ordinary people would be incredibly cruel. You did not ignore that fact.
Of course, if you only thought about 'fighting,' you could just go on a rampage by yourself without needing to move with the group, but then you wouldn't have anyone to interpret for you.
The same went for rescuing the 'young lady' and the other slaves.
"I understand. Let's hurry."
It was a single sentence from Ronnie that pulled you from your thoughts.
"After a rampage this spectacular, word will soon reach the Colombo gang—no, the bandit group. If they have time to prepare properly and gather in one place to fight, we'll be at an even greater disadvantage."
You briefly thought, 'Huh? Doesn't that mean I can wipe them all out at once? Isn't that more efficient?' but since you had no vocal cords, you didn't say it.
Thanks to that, the image Ronnie had of you—a righteous knight who was merciless to the wicked but fought tirelessly for the sake of innocent people—was preserved.
Silence was truly a virtue.
"We'll strike fast and finish this before the bandits have time to prepare. If that is your will, Sir Knight, then I shall follow."
It felt like she was giving you far too much credit, but you didn't bother to correct her.
She was willing to follow, and she seemed full of motivation. You figured that was enough.
"We've come this far, we can't turn back now!"
"U-Um. I think our part is done, so would it be alright if we left—I mean, it's nothing."
The women's fighting spirit was rekindled, and the men also pledged to willingly join this righteous journey.
The remaining bandits, desperate to live, began to guide the way. And so, a strange group that grew in number with every battle was formed.
*
There are fundamentally two types of villains.
Those who are aware of their own wickedness, and those who are not.
Vesparo, the second-in-command of the Colombo bandit group, was the former.
He knew his actions were evil, and he was aware that he was what the world would call a villain.
'Hey, Ves. Lighten up! We've got gold and silver, fine liquor, and gorgeous women. Why the long face?'
Unlike his leader, Colombo, who acted as if there was no one more righteous under the sun, Vesparo was always cautious and careful.
He was a bandit.
He was a villain.
His life had earned him countless grudges. It was a life where, if he were to be suddenly stabbed while walking down the street, he would have to accept it as karma catching up to him.
That was why, even as his subordinates, fresh off a big score, indulged in drink, gambling, and women, Vesparo kept a gloomy expression and watched his surroundings.
Albert, the City of Pleasure.
A city that gladly welcomed even the most reviled criminals as 'guests.' To the bandits, it was a paradise where they could spend their plundered money freely, but it was also an equally dangerous place.
The adversary of evil is good.
But it was also a plain fact that more evil is devoured by other evil than is vanquished by good.
The Colombo bandit group was infamous in the area, but this city was home to no small number of villains who were their equals, or even worse.
To let one's guard down and relax in a place like this was, in Vesparo's opinion, as foolish and stupid as holding a feast in a wild forest without a single watchman.
'…Should I have gathered them all nearby? They are following my orders to stick together in groups of at least ten, right?'
In a room on the second floor of the inn rented out entirely in the bandit group's name, Vesparo looked down at the city's nightscape outside the window and clicked his tongue.
If he had his way, he would have summoned all his men who were out carousing around the city and put them on standby in a semi-wartime state. But Vesparo knew well that such an order was not feasible.
It was a great misconception to think that just because they were a single organization, subordinates would unconditionally obey the orders of their superiors.
Even in the military, where the chain of command was strictest, insubordination was frequent in extreme situations. It was nonsensical to expect unwavering loyalty and discipline from a mere band of thieves.
To skillfully handle a pack of beasts that knew neither gratitude nor rules, one needed the technique of tossing them a proper amount of meat.
The story might have been different if their charismatic leader, Colombo, who could command his subordinates without such rewards, were present. But he was currently at the lord's castle for a crucial deal.
Protecting the bandit group until the leader's return was Vesparo's responsibility alone.
Vesparo prayed to the heavens.
Please, let today pass safely, without any incident.
"S-Second-in-command! Our boys were attacked! According to the guys nearby, they were almost wiped out…!"
"Dammit."
In response to the heavens' fiery reply, Vesparo spat out a curse.
Then again, if he were in the heavens' shoes and some bandit offered a prayer, he'd probably think, 'Has this bastard lost his mind?' and just ignore it.
"Where were they?"
"The Black Boar Inn!"
"Given the size of that place, there must have been at least twenty of them. And they were all taken down? Did you identify the enemy?"
"They say it was one knight in full plate armor, five women, and four men!"
Had the Tin Knight heard this, he would have been puzzled as to why a bunch of bandits had such a specific reporting system.
It was the result of Vesparo's constant nagging and drilling of his subordinates.
It was also proof that even bandits needed to be this competent to raid a noble's domain.
Vesparo fell into thought for a moment. Deducing the enemy's identity from the composition of the attackers, he soon gave an order.
"Gather all the men here right now. And drag a few slaves up from the basement. Get them ready to be used as shields at any moment."
At Vesparo's command, his subordinate asked with a bewildered expression.
"Weren't the slaves for the deal with the lord? If we dispose of them without permission…"
"The most important merchandise was taken by the leader anyway. The rest are just extras. Now just do as I say!"
The timid and cautious Vesparo had a habit of always assuming the worst-case scenario.
Considering the nature of the 'merchandise' the Colombo bandit group was currently trying to trade, it was entirely plausible that pursuers from the outside would come to retrieve it.
'A knight in full plate armor. Could they have been dispatched from the main line of the Lion Duke's bloodline? And more than half of the attackers were women… We lost contact with one of the groups we were supposed to meet in the city. Could it be related to that? It's entirely possible the Mark guys sold our information. I need to gather the men as quickly as possible and contact the leader—'
CRASH!
The sound of something toppling over and shattering came from below.
A sense of foreboding washed over him. Vesparo urgently threw open the door and rushed down the stairs.
And then he saw it.
Slice! Thud! CRACK!
"Kegh!"
The shattered main entrance. The chaotic first floor. His men being cut down like straw.
And the one responsible for it all—a knight drenched in blood.
The knight's head turned toward Vesparo.
「──」
The moment the phantom-like blue flames in its eyes stared at him, Vesparo realized.
His life, lived as a villain.
The calamity that would herald its end had now arrived.