CHAPTER 361: CARROT AND STICK

The bandits stared, their eyes flicking between my smiling face and the steaming bowls of stew. As wise men said, suspicion was a stubborn weed, but the raw, primal need for food was a far deeper root. I could easily see the war in their gaunt faces.

Just then, the largest of them, a muscular man with a sunny head and a bunch of scars across his brow, finally broke the silence.

"You..." He scowled, his voice a low growl. "What do you want us to do?"

’Was he their leader?’ I pondered and used a status check.

━━━━━━━━◇◆◇━━━━━━━━

Name: Olan

Age: 38

Race: Human

Path: Berserker

General Health Status: Malnourished, Minor Injuries, Aura Depletion

Resonance Tier: Peak Tier 3 (Suppressed by Condition)

━━━━━━━━◇◆◇━━━━━━━━

’Oho, this is a surprise~’ I chuckled and stopped the urge to use Character Insight.

"Nothing difficult or illegal, and certainly not dangerous," I then said, my tone breezy, as if asking for a hand moving furniture. "You just have to help us out in recovering the town’s defenses." I let that hang in the air for a moment before continuing. "And if you work honestly and hard, not only will you be given food and a cozy place to sleep(at least, far better than here), but you’ll also get a chance to be formally pardoned for your crimes."

I paused, letting the carrot dangle before showing the stick.

’Actually, you won’t be pardoned, because I know how severe your crimes are. This community service will only be temporary.’ I didn’t forget that fact that they would have almost killed Princess and Vance if we weren’t present. And from what I learned with Seren’s help, almost all of them didn’t deserve a pardon. They were real bandits who had blood on their hands.

"And..." I gestured casually to my left and right. "If you even think of rebelling... You know what will happen, right?"

As if on cue, Vice Captain Elria let her thumb stroke the cross-guard of her sword, the motion whisper-quiet and utterly menacing. Vance simply shifted his posture, the simple movement making his smaller but intimidating frame seem even more frightening in the confined space.

"!" A collective tremor ran through the group of bandits. Their postures slumped, and their eyes widened with fresh fear. They were clearly reliving the moment they were utterly dismantled.

It seemed like the talk about a memory being a more effective restraint than any chain was indeed true.

"Urgh..." The bald leader’s scowl deepened, but it was now tinged with a desperate calculation. He was weighing the certainty of starvation and execution against the uncertainty of my offer.

"How can we trust you?" he demanded, his voice tight. "How do we know this isn’t just a trick to work us to death, or kill us the moment the work is done?"

’Oh, he truly lives up to being a Peak Tier 3. He’s still got enough fight in him to be suspicious.’

I looked at him, my expression one of feigned, almost innocent, surprise.

"Kill you? Work you to death?" I echoed, tilting my head. "What makes you think I’d do something so villainous? Do I look like a bandit to you?" I spread my hands in a harmless gesture. "No, right? I’m just offering a way out. And more importantly," my voice hardened, "Do you even have a choice here?"

After the momentary silence, I continued with a more appealing tone.

"It’s simple, you know. Work, eat, and live a little longer. Or refuse, and we leave you here in the dark. The baron’s soldiers will be here eventually. I doubt they’ll be bringing stew."

I saw his Adam’s apple bob as he gulped, his eyes twitching between my face and the food. The other bandits were staring at him, their own hunger and fear making them desperate for him to say yes.

"Fine," Olan gritted out, the word sounding like it was torn from him. "We’ll do it."

A slow smile spread across my face. The bait was taken.

"Excellent. A wise decision." I gestured for Vance to bring the tray forward. "Then, let’s eat first, shall we? Consider this your signing bonus."

You can start.

At my command, Vance stepped forward and began distributing the bowls. The bandits fell upon the food with a desperate, animalistic fervor, the clatter of spoons against wood and low groans of relief filling the shed. I watched them, my smile placid. A fed prisoner was a compliant one, at least for a while.

Once the last drops of stew had been scraped clean, I gave another signal. Vance brought forward a bundle of thick, serviceable winter work clothes I had requisitioned from the keep’s stores. They were coarse and patched in places, but far superior to the threadbare rags the bandits currently wore.

"Change into these," I instructed. "Hypothermia doesn’t help our schedule. Not that you know what it means..."

There was a sullen but swift compliance. As they shrugged into the warmer garments, some of the perpetual shivering that had wracked their frames began to subside. The simple act of being fed and clothed was already shifting their posture from broken to merely resentful. It was a manageable improvement.

With the bandits now looking marginally more like a work crew and less like skeletons, Vice Captain Elria took the lead.

"On your feet. Form a line. Move," she commanded, her voice leaving no room for debate. We marched them out of the shed, through the heart of the town. Curtains twitched in windows, and townsfolk watched with a mixture of fear and curiosity. They didn’t know about what we were going to do with them after all.

And thankfully, the promised piles of timber, nails, and tools were already waiting at the western perimeter, organized by the few able-bodied townsmen. The scale of the damaged fence was daunting, a jagged scar in the town’s defenses.

"Your tools are there," I said, gesturing to the piles. "Get to work."

To my genuine surprise, they did. And they were good at it. Olan, in particular, took charge with a grunted efficiency, directing the others in hauling timber, setting posts, and hammering crossbeams. There was a practiced rhythm to their movements that spoke of more than just brute force.

’Interesting’, I mused, leaning against a nearby stack of lumber. ’They seem to be used to things like this. They must have had to constantly repair and fortify their own hideout...’

The thought of their hideout sparked another. If they had a base, it likely held supplies, loot, and perhaps more ’comrades’.

Besides, a place like that couldn’t be left unchecked.

What if they had reinforcements back in their base and decided to come and rescue them? What if Olan wasn’t their true leader? What if there was someone stronger, and far more dangerous.

There would be an unnecessary conflict or even deaths.

Or... what if they have families, children, waiting at home, eager for their return?

The thought was unsettling.

’...’

A cynical part of me whispered that it was none of my concern, that these bandits had chosen their path. But another, quieter part argued that children weren’t responsible for their parents’ crimes. Leaving them to starve or fester in a bandit camp would only create a new generation of outlaws or cause the loss of lives.

If there were innocents in that hideout, they could be brought here. The town needed more hands for the long term, and with the right approach, proper care, and training, those young minds could still be steered toward a better path. Perhaps the keep could take them in, or they could be integrated into the town as wards.

It was a complication I hadn’t considered before, but now, it might actually be an opportunity — a chance to truly break the cycle of banditry here, rather than just patching its consequences.

’Yes,’ I decided, my gaze hardening with resolve as I watched Olan heft a log onto his shoulder. ’We’ll need to visit their base soon.’

But only Seren and me. It was best to keep that particular errand quiet.

What do you say, buddy? I glanced at my shoulder. Wanna practice it again today?

Mm. Seren replied with a beaming face. Let’s do it.