Lord: I have a Mount & Blade panel.

"Damn you, you bear panda!" A thick slang term for the panda clan poured out of West Germany's mouth.

Its black and white fur was adorned with bright red blood, which dripped from the blade of its waist knife and seeped onto the ground.

Those black eyes looked fierce and menacing, their gaze colder than a blade, sweeping over the mercenaries who were constantly swallowing their saliva.

That's incredible! With a few flashes of light, the five most skilled veteran mercenaries in the Bald Eagle Mercenary Group fell, all with just three strikes! Three strikes and five men were killed!

The mercenaries who approached the Behemoth dared not go any further, fearfully avoiding the gaze of the Panta panda warrior, their hands and feet turning cold.

"Don't be afraid!" Bazel, seeing the morale faltering, pushed aside the mercenary beside him and stepped forward.

"Even if it's a coward, it's only one person! As long as we capture Prince Richard, what are we afraid of it not kneeling down and surrendering?" Bazel shouted, encouraging the already timid mercenaries. "We just need to hold out until Dorn and the others capture Prince Richard; there's no need to fight it head-on!"

The mercenaries naturally understood this principle; otherwise, no matter how ruthless they were, they would have fled for their lives long ago when faced with such a terrifying opponent.

In the time it took to say just a few words, the two mercenaries had already rushed up to Richard.

"We got it!" The mercenaries breathed a sigh of relief, and smiles returned to their faces.

The mercenary at the front had a look of wild joy in his eyes, and he thrust his short knife straight at Richard's throat.

He was already imagining the days of lying in a pile of gold coins after receiving the final payment.

Then he realized that the hand holding the knife was gone.

No, to be precise, his hand is still there, it's just no longer attached to his wrist.

A severed hand, gripping a short knife, spun into the air, blood gushing from the clean cut.

The mercenary stared blankly at his bare wrist for a full two seconds before feeling the excruciating pain and letting out a heart-wrenching scream.

Richard had already drawn his sword from his waist without anyone noticing.

This is an elegantly designed longsword, with a faint silver sheen flowing across its blade.

This longsword was crafted by the royal blacksmith master and made of fine steel. It was a gift for Richard's fourteenth name day and was originally called "Sword of the Heart," but Richard thought it didn't sound good a couple of days ago, so he changed it to "Dragon Slayer."

The last remaining mercenary felt as if he were facing a giant dragon; an invisible sense of oppression washed over him, making it almost impossible for him to breathe.

This wasn't murderous intent, but something much purer—a kind of contempt, a calm and unhurried demeanor that arose from the other party's equal regard for everyone else as insects.

Richard's sword moved.

No one saw his movements clearly; they only saw countless silver lines flash through the air before the sword was sheathed.

The last mercenary touched the head still on his neck after a long while. Before he could even feel happy, with a "hiss," his clothes were torn into a pile of strips and fell miserably to the ground.

The night wind blew, chilling his eggs and his heart.

The simplest and purest display of skill brought the most stunning visual impact. The arena was so quiet you could hear a pin drop, and even the mercenary with the severed hand couldn't help but shut his mouth.

All eyes were fixed on the unfortunate mercenary who was naked from the waist down.

The mercenary's pleading eyes searched around, but every mercenary he saw looked away. Every mercenary felt a chill run down their spine, their buttocks clenching involuntarily from the cold.

This exquisite display of skill dazzled everyone.

Richard was thoroughly enjoying himself, basking in the other person's terrified gaze, feeling like the coolest person in the world.

He finally understood why people like to show off.

Because you can't stop someone from showing off!

Bazel's back was soaked with cold sweat.

This is not a pampered prince at all; this is a monster in human skin.

The intelligence report's claims about him being a "woman prince" and "lacking the strength to be a prostitute" are utter nonsense.

Bazel once encountered a wandering swordsmanship master who could effortlessly and gracefully stab butterflies flying in the air while blindfolded.

At the time, he felt that the other party's swordsmanship was absolutely world-class, but compared to Prince Richard now, he wasn't even worthy of carrying his shoes!

No wonder the Behemoth didn't try to stop him, no wonder Prince Richard had such an elegant and composed face, and no wonder he chose to walk into the deserted alley.

Bazel's smile was cold.

As the leader of the Vulture Mercenary Group, which has hundreds of members, his future holds unlimited possibilities. Moreover, the Kingdom of Empe has a long-standing tradition of ransoming prisoners of war, so there is no need for him to perish in a battle that has already lost all hope.

"I'll vote..."

His words came to an abrupt halt, as an extremely malicious remark emanated from Richard's handsome face.

"Slaughter them all!"

West Germany, gripping his dagger and grinning maliciously, charged forward.

Its figure weaved through the crowd, and with each flash it passed, a mercenary fell.

Blood pooled on the stone slabs of the ground, forming a small stream.

This was a one-sided massacre!

Richard witnessed the entire bloody massacre without blinking.

The alley was littered with corpses, roughly thirty in number.

The blood stained the bluestone slabs dark red, and the air was filled with a strong smell of rust.

The burly man, as the leader, was much stronger than the others. His exceptional marksmanship impressed West Germany, who decided to go all out to show his respect. In the end, seven strikes determined the winner.

The panda warrior stood amidst the pile of corpses, blood still dripping from its dagger. It looked at Richard and asked, "Sir, shouldn't we spare one of them?"

"Even a fool would know who sent these bastards," Richard sneered.

Who else in the world could be more eager to kill him than Duke Dethel Rasheed, who started his rebellion in the southern provinces?

interesting.

That's fucking hilarious!

Richard didn't know how many more waves of assassins were coming to kill him, but he knew Bai Ya definitely couldn't stay any longer.

The fact that the other party could spare the energy to find someone to deal with him from so far away suggests that the situation in the capital city of Gangdun has probably reached a very bad point.

Just then, footsteps came from the alley entrance.

Richard and West both looked up at the same time.

A tall, muscular werewolf, at least two meters tall, stood there, and the three of them exchanged glances.

Its fur is a deep gray-black, and it has a small piece missing from its left ear. What is most striking is the scar on its face that runs from its forehead along the corner of its eye to the corner of its mouth.

This strike nearly cleaved the opponent's head in two.

The other person was wearing a badly worn leather armor, with a short, unsheathed knife hanging at his waist, and his hair was greasy and matted from not being combed in a long time.