In the center of the column, a tattered but still menacing, blood-red wolf's head banner fluttered in the wind.
Beneath the banner, a burly, bald brute with a cruel, fleshy face wearing iron-studded Leather Armor sat astride a mottled horse. It was Carl, the leader of the Blood Wolf Corps.
Carl grinned, revealing his yellowed teeth. His eyes glinted with greed as he surveyed the somewhat barren but already developing territory before him.
"Pick up the pace, lads! Take Black Stone Town, and the wenches and ale inside are all yours!"
The bandits around him let out a chorus of lewd jeers and howls, and the column's pace seemed to quicken.
Although they had suffered a loss last time, they clearly still didn't take this territory seriously.
In their minds, the last time was just an accident. This time, with their main force turned out in full, there was no way they could fail again.
