The abandoned mineshaft exuded an eerie stillness, its damp walls echoing with long-gone pickaxe strikes. Alex ventured deeper into the darkness, his steps measured and deliberate, like a predator stalking its prey. He carried no torch, his eyes sensitive enough to see through the dark, just like a cat.
The flickering light of the surrounding torches cast eerie shadows that danced along the walls, highlighting the rusted remnants of mining equipment and the skeletons of some poor beast that stepped inside.
As he ventured further, the anger within his core slowly shifted from a searing flame, to a ball of calm apathy and concentration. All that remained inside his mind was a goal.
Alex looked around, his head movement calm and unhurried. He snorted and shook his head.
The bandits had grown complacent - he noticed - unaware of the relentless force that lurked in the shadows. Or maybe, someone protected them from the outside.
Alex made no effort to conceal himself. One by one, he sought them out, his movements fluid and excessively practiced. He used a movement technique taught to Recens. A technique that didn't require active mana use. Instantly, his feet seemed to stop moving altogether, making his body seem as though it was gliding over the rocky, uneven ground.
Squeezing his blade's hilt, Alex's gaze looked ahead, past the veil of darkness, and stalked ever closer without making any sound.
Encountering the first enemy, his cold eyes locked onto the unsuspecting figure. Without a word, without mercy, he struck with deadly precision underneath the chin and through the bastard's skull. The bandit's life was extinguished in an instant, a crimson stain spreading across the cold stone floor.
Moving through the labyrinthine passages, Alex encountered more bandits, and some begged for mercy. Alas, their desperate pleas fell on deaf ears. His strikes were swift and lethal, his blows finding their marks with unerring accuracy. Blood stained his hands, and his footsteps left crimson imprints as he pressed on, his rage transforming into a calculated and ruthless efficiency.
Alex didn't know how long has it been since entering the hideout, but that didn't matter. The previous silent and peaceful corridors seemed to vanish; now filled with screaming men.
Even when the odds turned against him, five to one, it was as if time slowed. His body became a whirlwind of violence, a symphony of deadly grace. His movements were a dark ballet, each strike - a death sentence. His enemies fell like broken dolls - their futile attempts to overpower him crushed beneath the weight of his skill.
The air became thick with the metallic tang of blood, the echoes of screams, and the clash of steel reverberating through the cavernous depths. The bandits, once arrogant and brutal, now crumpled under the weight of their own demise.
As the last bandit gasped for breath, their life ebbing away, Alex stood amidst the carnage, his expression devoid of any emotion.
Taking a single moment to gather his breath, Alex stepped forward, his mind primed to accomplish his task.
Alex left the claustrophobic tunnels and stepped inside a large underground cavern, the heart of the bandits' hideout. The cavern sprawled before him, its vastness engulfed in an eerie gloom that clung to the shadows like a shroud. Stalactites hung from the ceiling, their sharp, menacing forms dripping with moisture. The damp air carried a pungent scent, a mix of earth, mildew, and the stench of unwashed bodies.
The lower half of the cavern was brightly illuminated, revealing a makeshift camp sprawled across the rugged terrain. Alit lamps and torches flickered, casting dancing shadows on the walls and revealing the crude structures the bandits called home. Rugged tents, patched with worn fabric, dotted the cavern floor, their openings billowing with a chill breeze that swept through the subterranean chamber.
The camp was a haphazard maze of makeshift barricades and crude furnishings, strewn with discarded weapons and plundered goods. Scattered crates, their contents spilling out, offered a glimpse into the bandits' spoils— trinkets, stolen riches, and miscellaneous things.\
Alex watched for any signs of life. A few bandits remained inside the camp but were too few to properly defend it.
Nervous whispers filled the air as the surviving bandits retreated to the corners of the cavern, their eyes glinting with a mix of fear and desperation. Some clutched their weapons with trembling hands, while others eyed the nearest exits, contemplating escape. None would escape alive.
***
Alex stepped into the dimly lit chamber - the air hung heavy with anticipation. Alex's eyes locked onto the imposing figure before him, the bandit leader, a mountain of a man with scars etched across his face like a map of brutality. The bandit's shivering escorts huddled together in a corner, watching Alex's approaching figure with eyes filled with fear and relief.
Without a word, the bandit leader stepped forward, his heavy boots reverberating against the cavern's walls. By now, there was simply no one thing that made any noise, making the leader's charge seem even louder than it really was.
As for why the leader didn't confront Alex outside his tent, the reason was easy to piece together. Alex could see the answer in the bastard's eyes. He was afraid, so he holed up in his little "heaven," hoping the intruder wouldn't notice his presence.
The leader charged forward, eyes narrowed, studying Alex like a cornered rat eyeing a cat. His voice rumbled like thunder as he released a shout. Maybe it was to scare Alex, or maybe, it was to shake off his own fear.
The room seemed to shrink as the tension reached its zenith. Alex placed his weight on his front foot, his body poised for the impending clash.
In a fluid motion, Alex caught the leader's blade, twisted it around, and cut across the man's wrist.
The bandit screamed in pain as he dropped his sword. Gritting his teeth, he lunged forward, his massive fists hurtling toward Alex like a battering ram. But Alex moved with the agility of a cat, evading the first blow with a deft sidestep.
In response, he unleashed a rapid flurry of strikes, aiming for vulnerable points in the bandit's defenses. Alex took his time with this man, dealing shallow but painful cuts to his joints and flesh.
The clash of steel and the grunts of exertion filled the chamber as the battle intensified. Alex's movements were a series of calculated swings, each strike a testament to his training. Yet the bandit leader proved to be a resilient opponent, his raw strength and sheer size giving him an advantage.
Blows were exchanged with bone-crushing force, each strike resonating through the chamber like explosions. The bandit leader's scars seemed to pulse with renewed fury, fueling his determination to crush his opponent. But Alex matched him blow for blow, his own strength and resilience forged through years of training. The young man fought against Recens hundreds of years older than the man in front of him; each Recen Alex trained against would've wiped the floor with this joke of a leader, so it wasn't a surprise the young Recen could overpower this bandit.
The clash between Alex and the bandit leader became a dance of death - their movements, a deadly choreography of power and agility. One man seemed to enjoy this slow parade toward an inevitable demise, while the other seemed desperate for a chance at life.
Thinking this fight had gone for long enough, Alex delivered a decisive blow that sent the bandit leader crashing to the ground, his colossal form crumbling to the ground, cold and unmoving. The scarred head of the leader fell to the ground, rolling for a moment before coming to a complete stop.
Alex exhaled a stale breath and shook his blade to get rid of the blood staining its pristine surface. He sheathed his sword before locking eyes with the afraid women but said nothing, giving them time to calm down.
Although he wasn't sure, Alex believed each woman was declared missing back in the city.
Without saying another word, Alex turned around and left the tent.