In the crowd, Nolan simply reached out to pull Devon's body, cursing, "You brat, what are you standing there for? Hurry up and run!"

But Devon's body seemed rooted to the spot. No matter how hard Nolan tried, his feet didn't move an inch.

There was one thing Geoffrey was right about: no matter the reason, he was the one who killed the priest, it was his mistake.

The townsfolk had already done enough for him; he would never let them pay in blood for his own wrongdoing.

If blood must be shed, let it be his own!

Ahead, the captain continued counting, "Two!"

Devon gritted his teeth, pushed through the crowd, strode forward, and stood at the very front of the townsfolk, shouting loudly, "I am Devon! I killed the priest, it has nothing to do with anyone else!"

After speaking, he turned to the townsfolk behind him and said, "Thank you all for standing up for me. But that's enough now—any more, and I will feel guilty in my heart!"

As soon as Devon stepped forward, the townsfolk all quietly breathed a sigh of relief. They all had wives and children at home; unless absolutely necessary, no one wanted to risk their lives against these fully armed soldiers.

Everyone looked at the young man ahead with admiration in their eyes. Facing so many soldiers and still having the courage to step forward—none of them could say they would have done the same.

"This kid's got guts, a real man!" That was what all the townsfolk thought.

In the crowd, a few elders sighed, finally stopped insisting, and began urging the townsfolk to move back.

The captain in front sneered, "At least you've got some guts, but in the end, you're just seeking your own death!"

He swung his sword downward and shouted to the soldiers behind him, "Brothers, seize him!"

He had, of course, seen the boy's weapon—just some wooden arrows, with limited range and very little lethality, posing no threat to them at all.

Besides, facing the old lord's judgment and so many soldiers, did an ordinary boy really think he could resist? Being scared stiff was the only reasonable reaction.

That was what the captain thought, and the soldiers behind him felt the same, so their expressions were all relaxed.

Devon sighed inwardly. It seemed his wish to leave the town peacefully was shattered. Given the situation, it looked like he would have to fight.

He would never surrender without a fight. Seeing the soldiers charging at him, he immediately began to fight back.

He looked at the sword-wielding captain, reached back to his quiver, drew a wooden arrow, and, without even aiming, fired it by instinct!

The arrow shot out like lightning, but seemed so casual that no one paid it any mind—not even the captain.

Just a wooden arrow—did it really hope to pierce his armor?

But the result shocked everyone.

The hardwood arrow flew out, whistling across dozens of meters, and struck precisely through the eye slit of the captain's helmet, driving straight into his brain.

Blood spurted out. The captain didn't even make a sound before collapsing limply to the ground, lifeless.

He was dead.

This outcome made everyone present cry out in shock.

The archers on the city wall, the steward Geoffrey, the townsfolk below, and the charging soldiers—none of them had expected that an apparently ordinary boy, once he acted, would be so ruthless and unhesitating, taking a life with his very first move!

Only Nolan, who had taught Devon archery, was not surprised. He knew his disciple's skill very well. Since he dared to step forward, someone was bound to pay the price.

For ten years, he had witnessed the boy's growth. This was a person of extreme self-discipline, practicing archery for ten years, shooting a hundred arrows every day, never missing a day, rain or shine.

For someone so diligent, the gods would surely reward him—and that reward was the power to speak with his weapon!

Devon was speaking with his arrows, declaring that he was no one's punching bag!

The charging soldiers shouted, raising their shields to protect their vital spots, but their feet did not stop as they continued rushing toward the boy.

Though they were shocked, they thought it must have been a fluke, that the boy had just gotten lucky.

Facing this onslaught, Devon didn't hesitate. He turned and ran down the hillside toward the town.

He ran so fast that not a single soldier could catch up. The distance between them widened rapidly, and in no time, Devon had dashed into the town, his figure disappearing into the streets and alleys.

At this moment, a chubby figure appeared on the city wall—it was the old mayor.

He had been watching everything happening on the hillside from the castle. Seeing this lowborn boy dare to resist, he was instantly furious and could no longer sit still.

The old mayor shook his fist, glaring at the strong men who wanted to retreat down the hill and return to the town, and roared, "Anyone who dares return to the town now, I'll kill his whole family!"

If these lowborn folk went back, they would surely help that boy escape, and then it would be much harder to catch him.

It had to be said, the old mayor still had some authority in the town. As soon as he spoke, the townsfolk immediately stopped in their tracks, standing on the hillside looking at each other, not knowing what to do.

Soon, the sound of thundering hooves came from behind the city gate, and a squad of cavalry rode out from the castle.

There were more than thirty cavalrymen, all wearing highly protective chainmail, carrying powerful bows on their backs and curved sabers at their waists—agile and mobile light cavalry.