Turning Point

On the other side, Reese's lean face relaxed slightly. He quickly glanced at Matthew while keeping a wary eye on the horse bandits, who had temporarily pulled back.

His gaze held less of his usual scrutiny and distance, replaced by a trace of almost instinctive gratitude.

Although no one cheered, a sense of relief fell over everyone's hearts like raindrops.

Seeing the situation ease slightly, Matthew felt a brief wave of relief, but his fingers gripping the bow remained as tight as ever.

Although the gap before them was temporarily secured, the true threat lay not far away...

His peripheral vision cut through the chaotic crowd, locking onto the other side of the battlefield.

There, Porter and Nathan already stood face-to-face.

Though a small stretch of open ground separated them, an invisible aura seemed to clash between the two.

Porter's expression was calm, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword.

Nathan, on the other hand, curled his lips into a grin, his scimitar pointing diagonally at the ground as a bloodthirsty light flickered in his eyes.

Silver Rank against Silver Rank.

Their duel would truly decide the life or death of everyone present.

Meanwhile, Porter took all of this in, his heart settling slightly.

Matthew's precise archery had successfully deterred most of the ordinary horse bandits, greatly relieving the pressure on the defensive line.

But this relief was fleeting. When he turned his gaze back to Nathan, the bandit leader's nonchalant demeanor made the wariness in Porter's eyes deepen even further.

At the same time, Porter knew clearly that even if the remaining horse bandits were temporarily suppressed, as long as Nathan—their Silver Rank leader—remained, their core combat strength was still intact.

If he could not defeat or even kill Nathan here, the bandits would only need to regroup, and the scales of battle would still tip ruthlessly in their favor.

Meanwhile, Nathan's gaze swept over his subordinates, who were shrinking back at the gap in the defensive line due to Matthew's deterrent. His face remained calm, but a trace of understanding flashed in his eyes.

He knew all too well why these outlaws risked their lives and why they valued them so highly.

Driven purely by profit, they were naturally unwilling to easily throw away their lives in a desperate struggle.

It was entirely within his expectations that they would hesitate and shrink back when encountering a tough opponent.

As long as he could crush Porter—the strongest of the opponents—in one fell swoop, the battle would remain firmly in his grasp.

Withdrawing his gaze from his hesitant men, Nathan looked at Porter, who was waiting in solemn anticipation. The grin on his face widened, revealing a mouthful of yellowing teeth.

“The Vice President of the Horn Chamber of Commerce, Porter... is it?”

“You spoke quite loudly just now. What a pity, though—”

He paused deliberately, giving his scimitar a gentle flick. The blade reflected a cold gleam under the afternoon sun.

“On this grassland, no matter how loud your title is, you still have to let your blade do the talking.”

His gaze swept across the crude carriage circle behind Porter, lingering on Matthew for a fraction of a second longer, a cold and amused scrutiny flashing in his eyes.

“That kid of yours is quite the archer... Even Valentine's hawk fell to his hands.”

Nathan grinned, his tone unreadable—neither praise nor killing intent.

“But do you really think you can scare off my men with just a little brat who can shoot a bow?”

He took a slow half-step forward, his scimitar pointing diagonally at the ground. Though his posture seemed casual, his aura suddenly grew as heavy and solid as iron.

“These guys—”

Nathan tilted his head slightly, gesturing with the tip of his blade toward the hesitant horse bandits behind him.

“They are indeed afraid of death, and they indeed only fight for money. But because of that, they understand even better that as long as I am still standing here, they will still have money to make and their lives to spend it.”

His voice was not loud, yet it reached the ears of every horse bandit. The morale that had been wavering due to Matthew's threat actually began to stabilize slightly upon hearing his words.

A few horse bandits exchanged glances, their hesitant footsteps planting firmly once more as their grips on their blades tightened.

Seeing this out of the corner of his eye, Nathan curled his lips. In an instant, his entire body became like a drawn bowstring, and his tangible killing intent flooded the air.

Porter kept his eyes locked on Nathan. He had no room in his mind to care about the bandit's words or the changes among the horse bandits nearby.

A split second before Nathan's killing intent reached its peak and his body shifted, Porter dashed forward like an arrow released from a bow, suddenly drawing his sword!

A flash of sword light pierced the stagnant air, thrusting straight toward Nathan's throat.

The scimitar and the longsword clashed violently, erupting in a deafening metallic screech and a shower of sparks.

Porter felt a brutal force travel down his blade, numbing his arm and forcing him back two heavy steps.

Nathan merely swayed slightly before planting his feet firmly, the cold sneer on his face never wavering.

Giving his opponent no time to catch his breath, Nathan's offensive swept in like a tempest. His scimitar danced, each strike heavy, precise, and ruthless, carrying the raw lethality honed from countless life-and-death battles.

Porter parried desperately, his sword light weaving a dense defensive web, but his feet dragged backward across the ground, leaving deep ruts in the dirt.

Three moves.

After a mere three exchanges, the difference in their strength was starkly clear.

Nathan's momentum was like a raging torrent, his blade strikes continuous as he took absolute control of the fight.

Meanwhile, Porter's breathing had grown visibly heavy, and fine beads of cold sweat broke out on his forehead. His swordplay showed signs of strain, yet his face did not betray the panic one would expect; in fact, a trace of joy flickered in the depths of his eyes.

His gaze instinctively drifted toward the caravan.

Over by the caravan.

Seeing Nathan neutralize Porter's full-strength strike with a mere sway and then unleash a waterfall of blade strikes that instantly forced Porter back, panting and sweating, the adventurers felt their hearts tighten.

Was even Lord Porter, a Silver Rank expert, no match for this horse bandit chief?

The color drained from the faces of several adventurers, their hands trembling on their weapons. On the other side, the horse bandits' morale surged. Their shouts rose again, their eyes reigniting with ferocity and greed, and the charging momentum that Matthew's archery had suppressed showed signs of building once more.

But Matthew saw through it clearly.

He closely watched every detail of their clash. Nathan's blade was indeed heavy and ruthless, seemingly suppressing Porter entirely.

However, although Porter's swordplay seemed strained and his footsteps were retreating, his stance never broke. Every parry remained firmly positioned before his vital points, and his defense remained tight.

The gap was not as wide as it appeared.

While Nathan had certainly not exerted his full strength, Porter... was also holding back.

Understanding dawned on Matthew. Porter's apparent distress was actually a defensive war of attrition. As long as the defensive line held and Porter didn't fall, his goal was to buy time for Matthew to clear out the ordinary horse bandits so they could then team up against Nathan.

When that time came, there would be two Silver Rank combatants—one melee and one ranged.

No matter how strong Nathan was, it would be difficult for him to fight two at once, let alone slaughter them both. The crisis of this trip would naturally be resolved.

Just as these thoughts crossed his mind, his gaze happened to meet Porter's.

Matthew gave a slight nod.

In that instant, their minds were in perfect agreement.