Five years. That was how long it took to finally back van Aifread into a corner. Shepherd Margaret had hunted him across half of Glenwood, clashing many times with the elusive bandit king on her travels. Yet even as the noose drew tighter, he and his inner circle kept evading her, or escaped outright when confronted. Though at first this inspired respect for their resourcefulness and cunning, Margaret grew more and more exasperated as the years passed.
Now however, Aifread settled in a small cave with his most trusted. All the rest had fallen or been captured over time, with recruitment falling away as standards of living kept improving; in an age where no one would be denied basic necessities, banditry became far less enticing. He was well aware of that, which made him appreciate the men and women surrounding him ever more; they all remained loyal, even though clemency had been offered if they surrendered.
"Where to next?" Alvin inquired after thoroughly gnawing even the last scraps of meet off the bone he held. He threw it aside and onto a slowly growing pile while Aifread pondered the question; they all lost weight, being harried by an insistent shepherd. Enid frowned at him, but refrained from commenting.
"We're close to the Chasm," Aifread mused in response. "Heard that's quite a sight, so how about a trip through the mountains? You think our gear can survive that, Ludger?"
The quiet man nodded after a moment of introspection, though another voice interrupted their sparse meal. "That can be arranged." Steel glinted as Shepherd Margaret materialised out of nowhere, her blade a mere inch from the bandit king's throat; no one even batted an eye at her sudden arrival, the man merely sighed while everyone else got up.
"Do you have to sneak up on us like that? Shouldn't the noble shepherd be beyond eavesdropping?"
"Considering that you run at the first sign of us? Yes, I have to sneak up on you. Except this time," a violent tremor went through the cave, "there is no escape. I had it with you."
"Right back at you, kid." Uncaring for the weapon threatening him, Aifread rose and turned around to face Margaret with a grave expression. "We had this song and dance before, can't even count how often. Why do you still not cut me down the moment you can? I've made my choice, and you made yours. So let's-" He slapped the blade aside mid-sentence, throwing a fist right at Margaret's face. Ever alert, she leaned out of the jab and returned a kick of her own; her foot was caught, only for Margaret to stab at Aifread and thus force him to let go or risk impalement.
Those around them made to interfere, but a blur of white and silver passed between them; within moments, all but the two lamias were plastered to the cave walls by reinforced strips of paper. The seraph Laphicet took position to guard Margaret's back, facing Enid and Rodeen evenly. "This really doesn't have to end like this," he pleaded once again like he had before. No one acknowledged the point and he sighed.
In turn however, Margaret lowered her blade before sheathing it. "This ends today," she declared. "One way or another. But if you insist on being stubborn, I will try talking in words you understand." Aifread peered at the lithe woman as she pulled her fingerless gloves taut, then formed fists and took a stance. Margaret could not help but grin mirthlessly. "How did it go? 'Men speak with their fists'?"
The reborn pirate barked out a laugh and readied himself in turn. "Perhaps I misjudged you after all," he allowed gleefully. "Let's see how earnest you are about this."
"Life is always earnest, just as it is unfair," Margaret retorted, and promptly armatised with Eizen. Their union gave Aifread no chance to respond as they layed into him with a devastating haymaker that he barely ducked under; the jab against their throat was deflected and a sweeping kick caught Aifread in the chest. He was thrown back but landed on his feet, bracing himself while pushing the pain out of his mind. That one moment almost sealed his fate as they followed up with a flying knee, which he sidestepped. They were caught in mid-air and promptly slammed into the ground, propelled by their own momentum to the point stone shattered.
They rolled out of the stomp that followed, rising in one smooth motion and closing in to strike once more. Aifread blocked this time, but felt his arm break under the force he underestimated. Where other men might have retreated on instinct however, he pushed forward and hammered his remaining fist into a surprised face. His opponent made a single step back, disoriented just long enough for Aifread to swing again; they ducked beneath it this time however, then returned the favour and broke his nose.
Rearing back as his head pounded in offense to the beating, he could not help but grin toothily. Instead of surrendering, he rushed forward again despite the clear difference in power. The response was a kick into his stomach, making van Aifread deflate and bend over his opponent's firm leg before he rolled over the floor, heaving.
He came to rest panting, trying to get air back into his lungs as pain burned through his body anew. "Hah, not, hah, half bad," Aifread commented weakly. Even when Eizen was involved in this, he could tell that this girl threw her punches in an earnest desire not to kill. No cheap shots, no holding back, no lethal aim. Except for his cracked skull, maybe.
Margaret separated from her bonded seraph and strode up to him, not a single strand of hair displaced. She crouched before her defeated opponent, frowning. "Symonne," she called, and a seraph girl appeared next to them to treat his injuries without comment. Margaret arched an eyebrow at the downed man. "I have an offer for you," she began with a wry grin, "and this time you can't run away. The Bandit King van Aifread is no more as of today. He and all under his banner, we are willing to pardon in exchange for your expertise. Rolance and Hyland are building a joint navy and seek good, competent men to explore the seas that have lain mostly uncharted for centuries."
His eyes widened ever so slightly in response; the sea, that was something he had desired more than most things of his old life. She offered him a chance to return to sea, though not as a pirate; piracy would only become viable when there were places that supplies must go per ship. Yet despite how tempting it was, he snorted up at the shepherd. "Not much of a choice you're giving me here."
Symonne rolled her eyes while Margaret tapped a finger on her sheathed blade's handle. "I offer you the choice between cooperation and death. So if you prefer to die unsung, as a bandit in a cave in the middle of nowhere, feel free to say so."
She certainly did not expect him to chuckle, then transition into bellowing laughter. His head pounded in response, but he could not care less. "Oh, you have fire!" he praised after a while, "I'm in!"
His agreement had a smile blossom on Margaret face. Her companions dropped their ready stances, much like Aifread's did; the regular humans were released from their bindings, falling in line with their leader without complaint. Both Forton sisters did much the same, though there was more grumbling involved. And so ended the tale of the bandit king, though he would be long remembered for having kept the Lady Shepherd Margaret on her toes for five full years.