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Prince Ba'er spurred his horse forward， its hooves thundering across the grasslands， kicking up a cloud of dust. He wore a splendid red brocade robe， its hem fluttering in the wind， and a hat made from white deerskin. A faint curiosity played on his face， tempered by an air of calm and nobility. His deep， stern eyes conveyed a cold detachment， as if any foreigner in his presence was merely a slave.
One of the bandits rode up to him， shouting a warning in a loud voice，“Who goes there?“
The young prince heard the man's words but didn't understand them， nor did he care. He continued forward， dismissing the bandit's question as irrelevant prattle.
The bandit， enraged， roared，“No one dares to ignore me! I'll show you what a bandit looks like!“
From atop a hill， the prince's teacher drew his bow with a fluid， practiced motion， his gaze sharp as an eagle's as he focused on his target. The arrow flew from the bowstring， tracing a perfect arc before piercing the bandit's throat. The bandit fell， his face frozen in shock， unable to comprehend the swift end of his life.
The prince， hearing the twang of the bowstring， recognized it as his teacher's iron-bow and did not even need to deflect or react. He leisurely continued riding forward.
As he passed the fallen bandit， he didn't spare a glance.
Two more bandits immediately mounted their horses， brandishing their scimitars like windmills， wary of the sharpshooter's potential attack. However， they were unprepared for the young prince's sudden burst of speed. He drew a heavy mace from his saddlebag and， with a fierce shout， swung it in a deadly arc that glinted menacingly in the sunlight.
The mace， with its solid iron head the size of a melon， struck one bandit with the force of a thunderbolt， sending him crashing to the ground with a horrifying scream from his horse. The weapon's momentum did not falter; it reversed direction and smashed into the second bandit's sword， driving it into his neck and chest.
These bandits， confident in their skills， thought themselves more than a match for a mere boy. But within moments， they were dead， their blood spraying like fountains.
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“Excellent!“ the prince's followers cheered loudly， boosting his pride and further fueling his disdain for the bandits. He urged his horse onward， and as he moved past， the second bandit collapsed to the ground.
Seeing this， the remaining bandits panicked， some ready to flee. But they were stopped by their leader， Wild Horse， who threw down his weapon and， with hands raised in a gesture of peace， spoke in the language of the prairie tribes，“Noble warrior， we are soldiers of the Southern Expedition Army. May I ask who you are?“
The bandit leader's words were in the Scorpion Clan's tongue， which the prince understood. He nodded curiously， recognizing them as his brother's subordinates. Without replying， he asked，“Are those your prisoners on the ox carts?“
Seeing the prince lower his weapon， the bandit leader hurriedly dismounted， bowing obsequiously as he guided the prince to the ox carts.
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Time rewound. Just as the bandits' attention was drawn to the hill， a head suddenly emerged from the grass near the ox carts. This head was smeared with soot and dirt， crowned with a tangle of weeds， looking like a ghost rising from the underworld.
The figure stealthily approached the carts， noticing that the children inside were not bound. Momentarily stunned， he quickly motioned for them to jump off and run to the nearby woods.
The children， wide-eyed with fear， stayed huddled in the corners of the cart， too terrified to move.
A small boy named Little Hong， who had been cowering with red-rimmed eyes， suddenly sprang up and jumped off the cart.
The other children shrank back even further.
The dark figure gestured frantically， but no one else moved. Only Little Hong was rescued. He grabbed the figure， urging him to hurry towards the woods. But the figure pulled him towards the tall grass， dropping severed ropes in the direction of the woods as they went.
Little Hong， his heart pounding， remembered the terrain. He knew the flat prairie offered no cover and they would be caught if chased. He whispered urgently，“We can't escape that way.“
The dark figure stopped and looked Little Hong in the eye with a reassuring confidence.“Trust me，“ he said softly， his voice steady and calming， piercing through Little Hong's fear.
He pulled Little Hong along， running low through the grass until they disappeared from view.
When Wild Horse reached the carts and saw the cut ropes， he flew into a rage， whipping the remaining children mercilessly.“They must be hiding in the woods! I'll go after them!“ Two bandits rode off in pursuit.
The children， sobbing and terrified， huddled in a corner. One older boy， his face twisted with anger， pointed in the direction Little Hong and the figure had gone.“They ran that way! Go after them!“ He hoped that by betraying them， he might earn a reward.
The Scorpion Clan noble， intrigued by the commotion， inspected the children， even pinching their skin.“So pale， and not much hair，“ he mused.
Wild Horse， embarrassed， whispered a few words to the noble， then mounted his horse and， with another bandit， galloped off in pursuit， swearing to bring back their heads.
“I'll return with those rats' heads!“ he vowed， seething with rage.