Medieval: Kingdom Come: Deliverance

Nearly a hundred villagers spontaneously gathered, carrying iron hoes, sickles, and other implements.

Tom recognized the lame old Mark, his father's drinking buddy; he saw Aunt Mary wiping away tears, her son having his winter grain stolen last year; and a dozen or so emaciated farmers, clutching not farm tools, but sharpened sticks.

The lead hunter pointed ahead: "Lord Peter, I can lead you to Casper's lair! He comes every month to collect 'protection money,' and if you don't pay, he burns down your house! Last month, old Marta's grandson was beaten to death by them! I've followed them before and know their hideout."

Previously, the castle steward Ulrich colluded with Kasper, and even though there were many of them, no one dared to rebel. Now, with Peter backing them up, the usually timid villagers have become brave.

"Bandits rule by fear. When fear disappears, they are nothing more than rats hiding in their holes. Today, the griffin's claws will tear the shadows away for you."

Peter's voice had a peculiar calming power.

Tom and Jerry stood beside Peter, their fists clenched, their nails digging into their palms, clearly suppressing their anger.

“My father… was also the guardian of this forest.” His voice was low and hoarse. “Kasper was his most prized apprentice. But in the end, he was the one who killed my father with his own hands.”

Peter slowly drew a sword and handed it to Tom.

"You'll lead the charge in this battle."

Tom looked up, his eyes already glistening with tears, but he stubbornly bit his lip.

"I don't deserve it. I've only been running away these past two years. I've let down my father and the villagers and neighbors."

Peter stared at him. "No, this battle is your revenge as a son, and your honor as a villager of Takhov. Take my sword, cut off Kaspar's head, and go back to pay tribute to your father."

"I...yes, sir! Thank you for giving me this opportunity!"

Tom took the sword from Peter and raised it high. Peter, Jerry, Martin, Carter, and Conrad surrounded him.

The group charged into the forest together.

............

Caspar Camp.

A hideout nestled in a mountain valley, its wooden fence crooked and askew, with bandits yawning from the watchtower. Ragged tents, piles of rotting flesh, and rusty knives strewn haphazardly in the ground.

When hundreds of villagers carrying farm tools rushed forward with Tom and his six men, who were brandishing swords, a burly man was sitting on a leather chair drinking, completely unaware of the danger.

Only then did the lazy bandits realize that they had been attacked.

"Anyone who dares to step into my territory! I'll chop off their heads and kick them around like a football!"

The burly man with a fierce face suddenly stood up, drew his double axes, and roared. Behind him, a dozen or so bandits also grabbed their weapons, each wearing decent chainmail.

The bandit leader was none other than Casper. He was tall, with a scar across his face, and his leather armor was deliberately splattered with dark red stains. But his knuckles, gripping the axe, were white, and his stance was slightly unsteady—a cowardly fellow with a fierce exterior but a weak heart.

"The Red Griffin Banner? I didn't provoke you at all, why are you picking on me!" Casper also saw the tomcat carrying the Griffin Banner in front of the villagers, and Peter and the others in full heavy armor.

"Those who harm civilians are my enemies!" Peter shouted.

Kasper spat. "Don't think I'm afraid of you. You think you can just lead a bunch of useless jackals with hoes..."

Peter didn't let him finish speaking; the griffin banner tilted forward—a signal to attack.

Conrad's arrow struck first, felling the sentry on the watchtower. Jerry slipped into the gap in the fence like a shadow, the cold glint of his short blade flashing in the morning mist. Carter the tomcat, brandishing a large banner, charged towards the left flank, laughing as the banner was raised high, causing two bandits' weapons to fly from their hands.

Every time Martin and Conrad thrust their swords, a bandit would fall.

Tom's archery skills were divine; every arrow was a fatal blow.

But what truly shattered the bandits' morale was the villagers' roar.

Old Mark's hoe smashed the wine barrels; Aunt Mary's sickle cut the ropes drying the meat; the fat aunt wielding the rolling pin slammed the knee of a bandit trying to sneak out the back door, her movements so practiced one might suspect she practiced at home often.

Casper swung his axe at Peter, his movements wide and unpredictable, full of openings. Peter parried, deflected the blow, and sidestepped, the hilt of his sword slamming into Peter's ribs. As the bandit leader fell to his knees, his face remained frozen in disbelief.

The entire bandit camp was quickly filled with angry villagers, and the battle was over in the time it takes for a pot of water to boil.

Of the sixteen bandits, eleven died, four surrendered, and one, Casper, was kneeling on the ground begging for mercy in a sorry state.

"Have mercy! I beg you to treat me with mercy! I am also a villager of Takhov!"

Faced with the villagers who were eyeing him menacingly, Casper racked his brains to beg for mercy.

"Snapped!"

Tom slapped him across the face, knocking him to the ground, then ripped off his armor visor and roared, "Casper, look who I am?!"

"Tom, brother, we used to be very close brothers, didn't we? Please put in a good word for me."

Kasper raised his head, his fierce face displaying a complex mix of fear and annoyance, before he began to feign pitifulness.

"Snapped!"

Another slap landed. Jerry removed his mask, glaring angrily at him. "You dare call yourself brothers! When you framed us, did you ever think of brotherhood? When you killed my father, did you ever think of his kindness?"

"No, I didn't want to either. It's all Ulrich's fault, he forced me to do it!"

Kasper still tried to argue.

Tom kicked him to the ground. "So, you were forced by Ulrich to rob, kidnap, and extort villagers, burn down houses, and commit murder and robbery? You're a villain who willingly fell into the abyss of hell!"

The surrounding villagers also angrily condemned the act, wishing they could tear Casper to pieces.

Facing the siege, Kasper's pleading expression vanished, replaced by a sudden outburst as he pointed at the crowd and roared, "You think I really wanted to turn bad? You forced me into it! Why have I been an orphan since childhood? Why should I be looked down upon? Why can only one hunter per village? When Ulrich found me, I finally understood how to live in this world: the weak suffer, the strong feast! Even as a lackey of a lord, I can still rise above you commoners. I am now the king of this forest, able to drink and eat meat every day! And you are still just peasants who can't even afford meat! Hahaha!"

Kasper's desperate madness left everyone speechless for a moment. Is it really true that bad people eat meat while good people suffer?

Tom sighed and stepped forward, saying, "Do you remember? The winter your father taught you to recognize animal tracks. Your feet were frostbitten, and he carried you back to the cabin and rubbed them with snow for a whole hour."

Kasper paused, seemingly lost in memories as well.

Tom continued slowly, "Seven years ago, you carried a fawn that was trapped in a snare on your back for ten miles to the herbalist for treatment. Your eyes shone then."

Kasper collapsed to the ground, the madness in his eyes gone.

Tom's voice grew colder. "You changed later. For money, for wealth, you murdered your father, colluded with the steward, and became a lackey. Now, all you see is greed. Where did that senior brother with the light in his eyes go?"

Kaspar's eyes filled with tears.

"Look at me, Casper, look me in the eyes! How dare you beg for our forgiveness after all this!"

"I......"

Kasper was utterly speechless. He lowered his head and said, "If I could, I would only want to die at the hands of you brothers. Not to atone for my sins, but just to make myself feel a little better before I die..."

Tom looked up at Peter. Peter, however, looked at the crowd and asked, "What do you all say?"

"Kill him!"

"Burn him!"

"Pay for Martha's grandson's life!"

The villagers waved their farm tools and shouted.

Peter surveyed the crowd and declared in a booming voice, "Casper is guilty of heinous crimes. In the name of Peter Griffin, I sentence him to death. Tom, you carry out the execution. This is not an act of revenge, but a way to let everyone know—evil will be punished, and guardians will be forever respected."

"Yes!" Tom responded, turned around, and slashed down with his sword. Sunlight flowed across the blade like a dazzling stream.

The villagers quieted down, and even the wind seemed to stop blowing.

"Bravo Peter!"

"Thank you, Tom!"

"Glory belongs to the Red Griffin!"

Then came continuous cheers. The mountain that had been weighing on their heads had finally been lifted.

An hour later, the excited villagers carried the spoils of the bandit camp and brought the four prisoners back to Takhov village, where they were in a frenzy of celebration, preparing to hold another "May Flower Festival" to mark the occasion.

Meanwhile, in the cemetery in a corner of the village, Tom and Jerry paid their respects at their father's grave.

Tom stroked the hunting whistle his father had left him.

It was blown slowly.