'Pat, that's a bit much, isn't it?　They're freaking out.'
Wayne says.

'What?　That much?　I'm taking it pretty easy on them.

'That's not enough.

'That's just a trick.
(Compared to what they did to me in the past.)

'I doubt your nerves.　I mean, a lot of people get nervous or sick after killing someone, but you don't seem to mind, do you?

'Wayne seems fine, too, doesn't he?

'I once killed a bandit in my territory. I couldn't sleep that night.'
'Softy!
'Maybe you're really a softy...'
'No, no, I'm just kidding!

'Anyway, why are you okay?
'What?　Because we're bandits.　They're trying to kill us.　Why do I have to lose my nerve to kill them?　Only kill scoundrels and cockroaches.'
'You're as bad as cockroaches...'

It didn't seem like the kind of thing to talk about in the woods on the way to a bandit's hideout, but in Patrick's mind, bandits were like insects.

'Is that it?
He asks the bandit as he is dragged along.

'Yeah, that's it.
There was a cave that looked like an abandoned mine.

'Okay, Wayne's platoon and I will go in, the rest of you check the area for survivors and be on the lookout!　Wayne!　We're going in!

There was a candlestick at the entrance that the bandits had prepared, so we lit it and proceeded into the cave.
Of course, I've brought the bandits with me, so I'm letting them lead the way inside.

There's a side hole with food that can't really be called a pantry, a weapon storage area, a loot storage area, and finally,
'There you are, three of them, just like we said.

One is an old man of the human race, about 70 years old. He has gray hair, blue eyes, and is a little taller than Patrick. The other is a younger man, probably a wolf.
And a human boy, about ten years old.
Patrick thought for a moment that it was a girl, but the nobleman's clothes he was wearing were for men, so he barely recognized it as a boy.
The three of them were observing us.

'This is Ensign Patrick Rigsby of the Kingdom's First Army. We defeated the bandits, testified that they were holding people captive, learned of their existence, and came to protect them. I'm assuming you're a nobleman, and I'd like to know your name.
Patrick said, and an old man with white hair said,
'The Royal Army!　Thank you!　I'm Carlos, this is Mark, and this is Kevin Dixon, the third son of the Marquess.

Hmm?　Dixon?　Marquess?

What?