"What?! Be on guard—!" Avi exclaimed without hesitation. Drawing his weapon, he swiftly rallied his comrades, urging them to readiness. Almost as if on cue, a barrage of arrows rained down from both flanks.

"Ah—!" In the midst of it all, Manid, stalwart guardian of the merchant caravan, cried out in pain as an arrow found its mark, sending him tumbling from his mount.

"Quick, save him!" Roared Rafe from behind the protective barrier of his shield-bearing soldiers, his voice cutting through the din. "Dismount, you fools! Don't offer yourselves as easy prey atop those towering beasts!"

The piercing whistle of arrows slicing through the air filled their senses.

Avi calmed his skittish mount, his keen gaze sweeping over the battlefield, the morale indicators flickering before him: 'Our forces - in disarray due to ambush,' 'Enemy morale - emboldened.'

Yet amidst the chaos, Avi remained unflustered, his intelligence score of 16 affording him clarity amidst the turmoil. He discerned a strategic advantage in the enemy's reluctance to engage in close combat, opting instead to whittle away at their foes with a relentless barrage of arrows—a telltale sign of wavering confidence.

Meanwhile, their lackluster marksmanship had thus far resulted in only one casualty: Manid.

In essence, these were not seasoned brigands, but rather, likely novices.

As the team members shielded themselves from the onslaught, the merchants cowered behind them, beseeching Sigmar's divine intervention to deliver them from this harrowing ordeal.

"They're all greenhorns," Avi mused, his thoughts racing amidst the chaos. "Those arrows may seem menacing, but in truth, they lack precision. Most merely whiz past."

"Your Excellency," Erian's voice, a whisper amidst the tumult, reached Avi's ears. "These foes are mere common bandits. Grant me the honor to lead the charge."

"Let us strike together—your charge to the left, mine to the right," Avi commanded. "These ruffians are ill-prepared for a cavalry assault."

"As you command!"

With a swift nod, Erian veered his mount leftward, while Avi adjusted his course accordingly. Gleaming longswords in hand, they aimed their assault towards the thicket from which the 'iron rain' hailed.

"Charge—!"

Two steeds, white as snow, thundered forth, directly into the midst of the enemy's volley. Witnessing Avi and Erian's daring maneuver, Rafe raised his mighty sword and joined the fray, heedless of the danger.

Gradually, the remaining team members regained their composure. Despite the ferocity of the enemy's arrows, few found their mark, most either clattering harmlessly against their shields or harmlessly arcing overhead.

With their leaders leading the charge, the soldiers had little choice but to follow suit.

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Behind their protective shields, the mercenaries pressed forward, deaf to the merchants' desperate pleas not to abandon them.

Alas, their entreaties fell on deaf ears.

With steeds swift and surefooted, they trampled over the thicket. The ambushers, caught unawares, scrambled to react, their arrows falling futilely against the iron hooves hurtling towards them.

At the first sound of human anguish, Avi hesitated briefly. Yet as he emerged from the thicket, confronting the ragtag band of brigands with their stolen standard, any uncertainty vanished from his heart.

Before him fluttered the banner of the Green Skins tribe—the very symbol of lawlessness and chaos. These were not warriors of honor, but mere opportunists preying upon the chaos sown by the Green Skins to further their own nefarious ends.

Avi's heart knew no mercy as he raised his sharp hand-and-a-half sword, poised to strike down those loathsome faces, gaping with bloodied mouths and bristling with unkempt beards.

Empowered by the attributes and skills bestowed by the system, cleaving through these cloth-clad bodies felt as effortless as slicing through melons and cutting through weeds. Witnessing the sturdy warhorses crash through the bandits like battering rams, Avi felt as though he was merely reaping wheat and clearing the field.

The initial charge broke through the sparse 'line' of bandits, prompting Avi to swiftly turn his horse's head and press on with the assault.

Many bandits, unable to even lower their bows, were struck through the chest or decapitated by the longswords. Those still alive witnessed the undignified demise of their comrades, their courage waning as they scattered in retreat.

Only the more seasoned bandits remained, brandishing makeshift spears and using fallen comrades as cover against Avi.

"These scum!" Avi spat.

Aware that the warhorses couldn't charge freely in such a corpse-strewn area, he reined them in, halting to face the remaining bandits.

Though reduced in number, these survivors were mostly clad in chainmail or leather armor, their weapons crude but deadly. Despite their dwindling ranks, they continued to hurl curses at Avi, attempting to goad the rider who had just reaped their comrades' lives.

Yet Avi remained unmoved, flicking the bloodied half-sword in his hand as droplets of viscous blood splattered onto the grass, permeating the air with a faint scent of iron.

The bandits wondered why the horseman stood motionless, but their pondering was short-lived.

Three seconds later, a massive and razor-sharp sword cleaved down from behind them, bisecting a tall and burly bandit from shoulder to hip.

It was Rafe's armor-piercing greatsword.

Subsequent combat resembled a goblin harvest, as Imperial spearman lines formed shield walls and advanced swiftly, their sharp spears glinting with the deathly gleam peeking through the gaps in their shields.

Despite their experience, the remaining bandits' swords, knives, and short spears were no match for the shield wall formation. Coupled with the berserker-like assault from Rafe and Avi's warhorses, these men were swiftly overwhelmed.

The battle ended swiftly, with Avi ordering the mercenaries to scour the battlefield for any remaining bodies. They discovered a few gold and silver coins, as well as dozens of copper coins.

"I wonder who these belonged to," Avi mused.

Unlike goblins, the bandits' weapons and equipment were actually sellable. The mercenaries stripped the bandits of everything they had, leaving the still-warm bodies to the birds and beasts in the bushes.

As for the arrows retrieved from the ground and plucked from trees and shields, Avi instructed his men to store them in a special box, sensing that he might need them in the future.

"Alright, let's continue," Avi commanded his men. "Stay alert. Report to me immediately if anything stirs."

The mercenaries and merchants resumed their formation and continued their journey. Manid's injuries were not severe; when Rafe pulled him out of the bushes, he was loudly complaining about the pain in his shoulder.

After a simple dressing of the wound, Manid stubbornly refused to ride again, insisting on leading his horse on foot behind the group. Avi didn't press the issue, continuing to ride at the forefront of the procession.

Unbeknownst to them, dusk had already descended, presenting the group with a new challenge: finding a place to camp for the night.