Chapter 638: These People are not Bandits

She was wrapped in a plain grey robe cinched at the waist with a simple belt.

Medium-length spiky hair showed four different colors at once, the strands catching what little light reached the narrow street.

Her dark eyes were expressionless, her face unreadable. The overall presence she had was calm and boyish, as though she preferred to observe rather than announce herself.

"At last," she said, the words flat and final, possessing no particular emotion. "Let us finish this already and head back to the old man’s house. His wife had almost finished preparing something delicious."

Another member of the group was toned and clearly fit.

Her posture was balanced and ready, the stance of someone who had trained her body for years and had learned to trust it. Her attire was cut in a style that nearly resembled the practical gear worn by the people of Palstrait.

She studied Benjamin with a measuring look, the kind that weighed possibilities rather than simply looking.

"I expected him to be more cautious, though. He seems to have some wisdom, so maybe he’s the smart, weak type—dangerous in a way that is useless in a real confrontation?"

Another of the women stood a little apart from the rest of the group.

She was muscular and clearly fit, taller than every other member present. Her frame had the kind of build that came from decades of physical work rather than casual training — broad through the shoulders, solid through the arms, with a stance that seemed rooted to the ground beneath her.

A deep brown pleated skirt moved around her legs when she shifted her weight, the fabric swaying in slow, deliberate folds.

Black tights showed beneath the hem, disappearing into boots that had been worn soft with use. A small, neat beard sat cleanly at her chin, trimmed with obvious care.

The white top garment she wore had characters written across the fabric in a style that did not belong to any common script of Elyndor.

The letters were sharp and angular, arranged in a pattern that seemed to march across the chest in a single, unbroken line.

Her voice, when she spoke, was low and even, with no particular urgency. "Are you certain that person is a man? I know they are the enemy, but their beauty is nothing to scoff at."

Benjamin’s eyes moved across the outfit.

Recognition settled into his expression almost at once.

The lines of his face tightened into something conflicted — an odd mixture of surprise and reluctant familiarity that he made no attempt to hide.

He knew the cut of that garment, the placement of the lettering, and the strange cultural weight it held from a world that should not have touched this one.

The knowledge sat in his chest like a cold stone, impossible to swallow and impossible to ignore.

The final figure in the group was smaller than the others.

She wore a dark gothic-style dress that wrapped tightly around her chest and another piece that hugged her lower half in the same close manner as the cat beastkin’s clothing.

The fabric was black and severe, unrelieved by any ornament or softening detail.

She had the same emotionless quality as the girl with the multicolored hair, but she remained completely mute.

Dark eyes watched everything without blinking, offering no word and no shift in expression.

She simply stood and watched, as patient and silent as a shadow cast by something that had already decided where it belonged.

Erica’s shoulders dropped.

She hunched her back slightly and let out a long, tired sigh, already stepping forward to place herself between Benjamin and the newcomers.

The katana that had once belonged to Katana rested at her waist, the scabbard shifting with the movement.

Her boots scraped against the packed dirt as she planted herself.

"Ugh, bandits again?" The words came out flat with resignation, the tone of someone who had already fought too many short, pointless fights that day. "Benjamin, let me handle this quickl—"

"No." Benjamin’s voice cut across hers, calm and certain.

A small smile had already begun to spread across his face.

In the afternoon light his blue eyes caught the sun and seemed almost to glitter, the expression having a subtle, dangerous amusement.

His posture remained loose. His hands stayed at his sides. "Things have changed, Erica. But we can use this."

Erica stopped mid-step.

She turned her head toward him, confusion clear in the set of her brows and the slight parting of her lips.

"What do you mean?"

"Those people are not bandits," Benjamin said, still smiling, "and you will be killed if you try to fight them. I think they are looking for me. So..."

His smile deepened as he watched her reaction.

"We are going to be messy here. Use that chance to destroy all the lairs. You can do that, right?"

Erica tilted her head, considering the request with the practical mind of someone who had already accepted that the day would not go as planned.

"Huh? Well, I suppose. I am flower-class after all. But Benjamin... what about the Rat?"

As the question left her mouth, Benjamin’s aura began to rise.

It expanded farther and more sharply than anything Erica had ever felt from him before.

The pressure of it pressed outward in a controlled but unmistakable wave, the air around him thickening as power that had been carefully locked away for so long finally uncoiled.

The dust on the ground stirred. The shadows on the walls seemed to lean away.

At the same moment the newcomers answered in kind. Their own magic swelled, each of them growing stronger in visible, measurable ways.

The space between the two sides became heavy, charged, the ordinary sounds of the street fading under the density of competing presence.

Erica’s eyes widened.

She understood at once that something destructive was about to unfold, and that she should never have implied she could face the group alone.

The six figures standing opposite them were not the desperate, barely trained attackers they had met earlier in the vegetation.

These were something else entirely. Their power sat on a level that matched Benjamin’s own, and they possessed it with the ease of people who had lived with it for a long time.

Benjamin glanced at her once more, already beginning to walk toward the six figures.

His steps were unhurried, his hands remained loose, and his eyes stayed forward.