Dragon Tribulation of All Realms

Chapter 6: Adapting to Your Role
Lazard is a tiger man who was imprisoned here ten days ago.

It was the last day of the Morning Star Month when he was captured by the bandits.

Fourth Era, Year 201. Morning Star was the first month of the year. When he told the captured stranger this news, he clearly saw the joy in the stranger's eyes.

That's a strange person.

Lazard didn't see the slightly pointed ears that the man had, like those of a Breton, but he knew at first sight that he was a Breton—and people like him were not common in the eastern part of Skyrim.

Yes, this is Eastland. The land where Windhelm, the old capital of Skyrim, stands. And here is the southern part of Eastland, the southern region of the Bonespatch Ridge. It's close to Riftenland, and there's an ancient, abandoned fortress here.

Near this fortress lies a swamp perpetually shrouded in mist—earning it the name "Mist Tower." Long abandoned, it was occupied by a band of brigands. Ten days ago, while carrying goods from the Riften to Windhelm, Lazard was attacked by bandits along the road. His guards were all killed or wounded, leaving him alone, captured alive. He was then ordered to write to the Khajiit caravan demanding a ransom.

That would probably take some time. But he had faith in his greedy but united compatriots—not only him, but the bandits as well.

That was why he was able to survive here for ten days, without being tortured, without going hungry, wearing clean clothes, and watching other unlucky people who could not be ransomed lose their lives.

Until he saw that man, that stranger.

The stranger who was carried in by the robber 'Iron Axe' like a sack, wearing only a rag.

That's a strange person.

Despite being imprisoned, his tone was filled with a strange confidence. No, it couldn't be called confidence anymore, it was simply arrogance and carelessness.

"Tell me about those bandits. Are there any powerful characters among them?"

Lazard had only heard this tone from two types of people. In the academy of Riften, scholars who had just graduated, and nobles with strong backgrounds, always spoke in this tone. The former hadn't experienced the hardships of life, while the latter had people to protect them.

The Khajiit glanced at the stranger's hands. They were white and clean, without calluses, scars, or thick skin.

These weren't the hands of a farmer; they'd probably only ever held a pen and a seal. No wonder the bandit Iron Axe was so certain the leader would be interested in him—Lazard himself would have made the same assumption.

So Lazard responded patiently.

"The leader here is Mudd the Rock, who can kill a boar with a single blow of his sword. He killed my three guards in five seconds. Windhelm has a bounty of two hundred and fifty Septim."

"His second-in-command is Korlo the Skullbreaker, an exiled orc. It's said he once crushed a Wood Elf's head with his bare hands. He's responsible for at least fifteen deaths. He carries a bounty of one hundred and eighty Septim."

"Besides, there's Hammer, Sweetmouth, Sawmill, ha... including the Nord who brought you here. Everyone calls him Iron Axe. These guys are all capable of fighting three at once. It's said that among them are the city guards who were driven out of Windhelm."

"Is that so..." The stranger nodded, as if relieved. And at the same time, it seemed as if he had made a decision.

"Hey." Lazard decided to give him a warning, or perhaps an investment. "If you see 'The Rock' later, be careful what you say. Treat him as your elder. You're still young, and there are many things you can ask your family and friends to help you with. Don't lose your temper unnecessarily."

He saw the stranger froze for a moment, then a smile formed on his lips. Perhaps it was only now that this stranger had looked him in the eye.

"Thank you." He nodded to Lazard. "By the way, I haven't asked for your name yet?"

"Lazard." The tiger man suddenly felt that his luck seemed to have changed.

"Lazard... I remember that." The stranger paused, as if thinking about something. "If you don't mind, you can call me..."

"...Dust." Wu Chen nodded and said the game ID he had always used. Dust was Dust, which meant Wu Chen himself.

And the footsteps are approaching.

"Breton." A Nord bandit, an iron axe slung at his waist, appeared in the cell. A bloodthirsty smile still lingered on his lips. "Follow me. Boss Rock wants to see you."

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

Mudd, a tall Nord, lazily leaned against a chair, a well-maintained steel sword beside him. It was one and a half meters long and palm-width wide. Fifteen kilograms was a conservative estimate; wielding it required arm strength exceeding the average for ancient warriors from Wuchen's homeland.

He raised his head and glanced at Wu Chen who had been released from the cage. Beside him stood a dozen bandits, both men and women, and here was a spacious rock hall.

"Brighton people, tell me about yourself."

He looked at Wu Chen, and Wu Chen looked at him. Wu Chen felt that he should strike first. But something was preventing him from making such a decision.

It wasn't the rope around his hand. It was something more abstract that was holding him back.

His past, his education, his morals, his conscience, all prevented him from taking the life of the man before him right here and now.

You can't do this.

You cannot kill.

They haven't done anything yet, have they? They haven't attacked you yet, have they? They may be guilty, but it's the law that should punish them, not you, right?
Don't kill them, don't get your hands dirty. You're a good, law-abiding person, don't cross that line.

Don't... step casually into the abyss.

Wu Chen pursed his lips and took a deep breath. The voice in his head was inconvenient and annoying, and that voice belonged to him, a good student for over a decade, a law-abiding student who wouldn't even cross the road when a red light was on.

Sooner or later, the killing will begin. Without fighting, there is no way to survive in this world, or the world of the past. Sooner or later, one's hands will be stained with blood. At first, it may be the blood of innocent sinners, but sooner or later, the blood of innocents will also be shed by one's will.

but……

——Let’s go through the process.

Wu Chen glanced at his bound hands, raised his chin, and glanced at the bandit leader sitting in his seat.

"Is this how you entertain guests?"

"You!" A robber shouted angrily, but then calmed down when the robber leader raised his hand.

"Release it for the guest," he said.

A triangular-eyed bandit walked forward with a sinister grin and danced with his dagger. With one swipe, he precisely severed the rope on Wu Chen's hand, leaving no trace.

Very good knife skills.

It is a level that Wu Chen cannot achieve, but can see clearly.

But it doesn't matter.

He nodded and walked to the table. He picked up a glass and wanted to drink it, but he couldn't stand the sour taste of the inferior wine.

"What do you want?" he asked casually.

The robbers exchanged glances. Perhaps for a moment, they were intimidated by Wu Chen and decided not to try to extort money.

But it was only for a moment.

"One thousand...two thousand Septim." The bandit leader raised one finger, then another. "Write a letter and have your family send it over, and we'll take you home."

"that's it?"

"Then add another five hundred."

Wu Chen threw down the wine glass casually.

“I don’t want to write.”

"Then it's not up to you."

Tie Axe, who was standing behind Wu Chen, took a big step towards him.

However, the next moment, a piece of silver metal was already pressing against his brow.

"Are you satisfied?" he said to himself, to the self that was about to be killed by him.

The bandit leader suddenly stood up, and the other bandits also picked up their weapons. However, no matter how fast they were, they were no faster than the safety that was released by the finger and the trigger was pulled.

"Bang! "

(End of this chapter)