Super Righteous Player

Hearing Annan's voice, the battle quickly came to a halt.

Not only did the militia from Frostwater Harbor subconsciously stop what they were doing and look over,

but even the bandits didn't take the opportunity to launch an attack, instead turning around with faces full of surprise—

In front of them stood a noble youth dressed in formal attire.

He was very young, appearing to be only twelve or thirteen years old, with shoulder-length black hair. His figure was slender, his skin pale and clean, and on his delicate fingers, he wore a sapphire ring.

He wore a deep blue coat with many rows of buttons on the front. The coat was decorated with many fine gold ornaments and gemstones and a gathered waist, adorned with black patterns everywhere. Only from the back could one see the black three-eyed crow embroidered onto his short cloak.

The black patterns on his clothes were that of sword-like crow feathers.

The blue-black velvet top hat was also adorned with a crystal-clear black feather, shining like a gem.

But what was most striking were the clear, clean ice-blue pupils beneath the top hat, chilling to one's core.

They were like the emotionless eyes of a doll, or those of a deity's image, entrancing to anyone who caught sight of them.

"I'll ask you again, gentlemen."

Annan calmly spoke, "Are you plundering my citizens?"

After he spoke a second time, it was then that the bandits came to their senses.

They had a brief, low discussion, and one of them inquired,

"...Are you Lord Tan Juan Geraint?"

"It seems you recognize me and know to whom this land belongs."

Annan's voice was proud and cold, "So, do you admit it? You are plundering my territory, harming my citizens—"

"No, we're just mercenaries passing through."

Seeing Annan's unfavorable expression, another bandit quickly spoke up, "This is a personal grudge among us, all a misunderstanding... it's over now."

"A personal grudge, I see."

Annan repeated slowly.

He looked up at the house recently extinguished, with some embers still remaining, and spoke in a detached, cold voice, "Good, I'll consider you just passing mercenaries. Then, mercenaries, let's deal with another matter—"

"You should be clear on how the kingdom's laws punish arsonists, right?"

Anyway, I have no clue.

Annan added in his mind.

But just from glancing, one could infer that the cost of arson, especially for large structures made of wood like those houses, was definitely not small—likely capital punishment. These types of dwellings and architectural layouts, if not promptly extinguished, could easily result in an entire street burning down.

However, what happened next was somewhat beyond Annan's expectations.

One of the bandits quickly spoke up, "No, Lord Geraint. I started the fire, and they were just covering for me while shooting arrows. You can check my quiver if you don't believe me; only mine has the enchanted fire arrows... so please arrest me."

...So straightforward?

Annan was taken aback, but then he quickly realized something was amiss.

The man responded too quickly.

It was unnatural.

If he truly was trying to deal with just a twelve or thirteen-year-old boy, maybe Annan would have been fooled...

But considering that he knew he could be sentenced to death, yet he responded so swiftly, showing little fear in his voice... was he sure he wouldn't die, or had he already prepared himself to take the blame?

Annan had seen it clear from behind earlier; the bandits had fired the arrows together. Seeing him appear from behind, the bandits should have been prepared for "Tan Juan Geraint saw everything."

But since the man dared to say that, it was likely that the others had already removed any arrows from their packs, not afraid of being searched at all.

This was strange indeed.

...Was someone targeting Tan Juan Geraint?

Annan narrowed his eyes slightly.

"My lord, The Lord Viscount!"

Just then, a young man lying on the ground suddenly called out loudly, "I have something to say!"

It was the young militiaman who had acted first.

Annan quickly recognized his identity and asked with a cold voice, "Start with your name, soldier."

Hearing the word soldier, the young man appeared baffled for a moment, then with the help of others, he managed to rise from the ground, bearing the pain, and said in a low voice, "My name's John, The Lord Viscount. I am the captain of the militia at Frostwater Harbor!

"I want to report to you that these people are indeed bandits! They also raided Frostwater Harbor a month ago, killed several people, and the city master can also—"

"Lord Geraint."

John hadn't finished speaking when one of the bandits wielding a pole weapon suddenly interrupted him with a raised voice, "If it pleases you, we can cease to be bandits."

Annan didn't say a word, just calmly watched him, waiting for him to say more.

"You clearly—"

"If I were you, kid, I wouldn't say a word right now."

The robber cut off John's words again without any politeness.

Seeing his unbridled attitude, the militia gradually realized something. Someone held John's shoulder, gesturing to him not to say any more.

When the militia quieted down, the man turned his head and said with a smile to Annan, "We really are mercenaries, my lord. You can ask them; not a single one of us has killed anyone on our own initiative. This is just a private feud... yes, a personal conflict. It has nothing to do with you nobles."

"Dismount."

Suddenly, Annan said.

"What?"

The man was momentarily puzzled, not having heard Annan clearly.

Annan said mercilessly, "Everyone dismount—mounting a horse while talking to an earl's son without even showing courtesy. Are you sure this is the way your master taught you to speak?"

Hearing this, the "robber" paled and hurriedly dismounted, followed by everyone else.

The lead robber quickly took off his leather cap, bowing deeply to Annan with respect. His demeanor had weakened considerably, "May the Silver Baron grant you wealth and peace, Lord Geraint."

Annan just snorted coldly, without making any response.

He strolled over to the horses, touched one on the head without looking back, and asked, "What's your name? Where do you come from?"

"Leon, my lord. Leon Coleman... We're from Roth Fort."

Leon, thinking that Annan seemed not to intend to pursue the matter further, approached with a sheepish grin, whispering, "The Lord Viscount said if you figured it out, you should come to Roth Fort as our guest."

"Oh?"

Annan didn't even lift an eyelid, "Which viscount?"

"There's only one Viscount in Roth Fort. Naturally, it's the old Barber lord, Alvin Barber... your grandfather's vassal."

Leon said, stuffing an emblem into Annan's hand with a cheeky smile.

Annan looked down, examining it closely. He noticed it was a shield crest with the pattern of an eagle and a rose.

"Quite nice."

He remarked, "So are you."

Saying that, he withdrew his hand from the horse's head, patting Leon's shoulder lightly.

"Of course, we..."

Relieved by Annan's words, Leon was about to add a few more words of agreement, when he suddenly heard a scream.

The horse that Annan had just touched suddenly let out a piercing scream, falling to the ground in convulsions, clearly about to die on the spot.

Its entire head was covered in a thick layer of frost, its eyes filled with a bloody layer of ice.

"Sorry, your horse is dead."

At this moment, Annan smiled, releasing Leon's shoulder and slowly walked toward the militia.

Leon, still not understanding what had happened, felt an intense cold on his shoulder and couldn't help but scream out, startling everyone around him.

Leon's shoulder was completely paralyzed, immovable. Terrible purplish-blue veins emerged on the left side of his neck and cheek, his lips turned cyanotic, and a dreadful chill steamed from his left shoulder.

—It was a spell!

This Tan Juan Geraint was a wizard!

"Militia, obey your lord's command. The time to defend Frostwater Harbor has come!"

Annan took a few steps into the militia, his cold, emotionless eyes examining each militiaman, "Pick up your weapons, assemble!"

The militiamen swept by his gaze involuntarily lowered their heads or averted their eyes, not daring to meet his gaze.

But the anger and hope for revenge that had originally died in them when they saw the identity of the robbers reignited.

Frostwater Harbor had been without a strong lord for far too long.

Their blood was about to freeze.

This young lord seemed so indifferent but had an upright heart.

His words were as cold as the winds of winter, yet so stirring—

Under the enthusiastic and admiring gaze of the militia, Annan turned back.

He gazed coldly at the group of panicked robbers and drew an exquisite shortsword from his waist.

He raised his sword and pointed it at the bandits in the forefront of the crowd, "Capture them, let none escape—

"Dead or alive, it doesn't matter!"