The Monster King's Legacy - Chapter 184

Chapter 184: The Mind Behind the Beasts
Laughter echoed all around as mugs clinked from bandits that lounged about without a care, drinking and feasting on stolen goods, and among them, women could be spotted, tied up, broken, or worse.

Eran’s steps halted, as he looked in shock, his eyes locking onto a horrific scene as he saw a sobbing woman pinned under a filthy bandit, her legs bend up and backwards with his trouser way below his waist, his movements shameless even out in the open.

Rage exploded in Eran’s chest as soon as he realized what was going on, and before even he knew it, his body moved. “Bastard!” he shouted.

He bolted forward towards the bandit, his shout drawing some attention to him. His sword flashed in the firelight as he unsheathed it, swing it towards the bandit who was still on top the woman once, but, he wasn’t dead with just that strike, and Eran delivered two more to do the job. The bandit atop the woman didn’t even get a chance to scream before he collapsed in a pool of blood that flowed from his head, brain matter visible almost, as all the strikes had been to his head.

Seeing what had just happened, shouts rang out, drawing even more attention, and swiftly, weapons were drawn. The nearest group of bandits, three burly men, charged Eran without hesitation with weapons in hand.

Eran managed to parry the first blow, duck under the second, and slice a deep gash across the third’s leg. But he was too slow, too unrefined. A club struck his shoulder, nearly dislocating it as the pain shot through his body, and just then, another sword grazed his side, barely missing a fatal strike, as it still inured him.

Eran grunted as he tried to fight through the pain, but then, his legs buckled under the pressure, his body refusing to follow his own commands. The man wielding the club took another swing at Eran, and for a moment, the world almost stopped for Eran, but before it could reach him, the three attackers died in less than a heartbeat. One’s skull was caved in by a backhand, another launched through a wall with a single palm thrust, the last decapitated in half by the sheer force of Lance’s kick.

Eran turned in shock as he finally regained some control of his body, a sudden chill grasping him body as he looked around.

Bodies littered the camp. Nearly two dozen men lay everywhere, all fallen before they could even cry out. Lance stood beside Eran, breathing evenly, not a single drop of blood on his clothes.

“Gather the women,” Lance said coldly. “Get them somewhere safe. Inside a building, out of sight.”

Eran hesitated. “But—”

“This was supposed to be your experience,” Lance continued, voice low. “Your first real taste of proper battle… But after seeing what these animals are doing here… I don’t have the patience.”

A chill ran down Eran’s spine as he listened to Lance. Though Lance’s expression looked rather calm and neutral, Eran could feel something else, a coldness he couldn’t describe, and that alone was enough to know what was required of him. There was no room for debate. Only obedience.

Wordlessly, Eran began gathering the women, some conscious, others catatonic, but all alive.

Lance turned and headed for the cave entrance that led into the bandit lair proper.

The deeper he went, the worse it became. The corridors were dark and narrow, lit only by dim torches. The stench of unwashed bodies, rot, and spilled blood clung to the walls. Every room he passed told its own tale of depravity, makeshift cells where captives had been locked, chambers filled with discarded clothes and belongings, and scattered bones gnawed to splinters. It was a collection of things that could have happened, and without doubt, he was sure that this used to be either a beast cave, or a monster cave, perhaps goblins… but not any longer.

In this world, goblins didn’t need to rely on kidnapping humans to breed, and they rarely did any such act as kidnapping, it was just too risky, so all arrows pointed to the bandits for that part.

Lance moved without mercy. Though there were not as many as those he encountered outside, any bandit he came across was dealt with swiftly, necks snapped, skulls crushed, bodies hurled into walls like ragdolls.

In several chambers, he found a few women asking them to leave. “Find the young man outside. He’ll help you.”

Eventually, Lance caught one of the fleeing bandits and pinned him to the wall.

“Where’s your boss?” he asked.

“C-Cave’s inner chamber! P-please—don’t kill—” the bandit screamed again. Lance already snapped his wrist.

“Lead the way.”

Trembling, the bandit obeyed.

They arrived at a large chamber, deeper underground. It was lit with stolen chandeliers that held torches, an aesthetic fitting for such an environment. At the far end, lounging on an old throne, sat the man known as the Bandit King… Varkas.

He was tall, lean, with sharp features and long black hair tied loosely behind his head. His eyes gleamed like a predator’s, confident, cold, and disinterested. Two large men flanked him, both armored and armed, and with an aura of raw power.

Varkas didn’t move as he stared at Lance, speaking in a slow unbothered manner. “You’re the one?” he said, more amused than alarmed. “Tore through my men like children. Not bad.”

The bandit who led Lance forward fell to his knees. “H-he made me—”

Lance didn’t let him finish. His hand clamped down on the man’s neck and crushed it like a twig.

Even faced with that, Varkas didn’t flinch.

Lance took a step forward, but before he could get past the corpse before him, he froze. Something unseen brushed against his mind, like a whisper trying to worm its way inside, clawing at his will.

It would have been a serious problem, but it was weak… laughably weak.

Without even needing to exert much force, he crushed the mental intrusion instantly, his eyes narrowing. “So that’s your trick.”