Chapter 62

They coordinated far better than the brainless Man-eaters ever had.

Lannor estimated the difficulty of his opponents in his mind. Just four of them had forced him to absorb a blow from a heavy hammer. Now, more than twenty were moving toward the prison to haul goods. That didn’t even count the northern half of the camp, where those who hadn’t yet spotted the intrusion were about to be called over by their comrades’ shouts. Without this disruption, they would have been strung up in their sleep, necks snapped silently.

Damn it.

For these criminals, hostages were tools to be used without hesitation. Yet, perhaps because the child was valuable, and their confidence in their own numbers and combat strength was high, the group moving to transport the goods hadn’t harmed Little White—they’d merely pushed him aside, waiting to kill Lannor first, then cart him off.

“Mutant saves people too? How curious!”

The hammer-wielding man laughed as he advanced, but the weight of his twin-handed weapon didn’t falter. The hammer’s arc smashed toward the back of Lannor’s prone form.

“Tell me, how much were you paid? Out with it!”

Thud!

The hammerhead alone weighed over two and a half kilos. With the lever of the long handle and momentum from the swing, even as Lannor rolled out of the impact, the head struck the sand with a resounding, muted crash.

Mid-roll, Lannor’s steel sword leapt like a striking serpent, targeting the broad belly of the hammer-man. Even with imperfect power from the roll, he was confident this bastard would get a glimpse of his innards.