The crescent moon hangs low tonight, and the stars are all sleeping.
The bandit village has no fortifications thus allowing us ease of passage.
Varen leads the way. Despite his lacking of sight, he is very nimble and very perceptive about where to hide. His judgment is accurate and rarely does he make an error. In fact, our journey of searching for the elf captives has been smooth sailing so far.
It helps that the others are making a ruckus. Most brigands we encounter just pass us by as they rush where the commotion is. For that, we have to work fast so that we can lift the burden from our comrades.
It sours me that we didn't secure the elf captives first. Our victory would be more certain if we time ourselves so that the 'assassination' and 'extraction' would occur at roughly the same time. But that is just wishful thinking. We have to act swiftly and give the enemies no opportunities to retaliate.
However, it annoys me that Trudviar and the others risk themselves by acting bait.
Moreover, Trudviar and the oldies are very keen on acting bait. They are suicidal! Not me, however. I wish to live a little bit longer until I fulfill my revenge.
We aren't sure about where the 'prison' is so we had to check the buildings one by one and hope we get lucky. It is a way to do it, but it is inefficient. I can only hope that luck is on our side.
Rather than hope, I would rather just create luck.
What is luck if not opportunities?
I decide on a course of action. "Varen… Please overlook the horses and cut them loose." I cannot have the bandits make a last-ditch effort and run for it, though bandits are disconnected from human civilization, I cannot be so certain they wouldn't be crazy enough to tattle to a local lord.
Varen wishes to stay and help us locate and rescue the elf captives, but I can take it from here. I already have a general idea of the layout of the village. I had enough of city life and chooses to shut myself indoors in my past life. This small shoddy village is nothing to me.
Nodding at my words, Varen diverges from us and obediently follows my instructions.
"And Zeraya, would you please kindly ask the snoring gentleman where the elves are?" I point at the inconspicuous sleeping hoodlum. It helps to be observant, the one redeeming quality of an everyday house neet.
Zeraya drags the sleeping hoodlum, and then she straddles him placing her knees on her victim's shoulders, while her left palm is over the victim's mouth. Following this, she gently slides her sharp dagger into the disturbed wide-awake hoodlum.
"Scream and you die the most painful horrid way possible." She threatens him.
The hoodlum crazily nods aware of his doomed fate.
I come beside Zeraya and kindly ask the man with my most amiable smile. "Would you please take us where the elves are?"
Zeraya drags the man and forces him to walk. Zeraya makes sure not to let the man escape her range and make an escape as she makes sure to hold his collar tight, and the dagger close to his neck.
We follow the hoodlum to each his every step.
I halt mine as we are about turn to a corner. "Stop, have been there… If you wish to ask for help from your bandit pals, then don't. They are already dead."
We know this route because we have been here. But I don't know about what is in that corner, thus I make a bluff. I stand beside the hoodlum and whisper to him. "I can read minds… I know what you are thinking… That you only need one chance and you can make a run for it."
I go to the other corner and drag a cold corpse with a clean gashing wound in its neck courtesy to Zreaya. "Do you see this man? You will be him if you lie to me once more."
The hoodlum trembles in horror. "Y-yes sir!" He yelps almost shouting if not for Zeraya's dagger to remind him to not shout. I cannot have the peacefully sleeping brigands wake at his screaming.
Sleep is good. It heals and rests the body. Also, every person who is asleep is kind. So for bad people, it would be best for them to sleep forever.
The hoodlum leads us forward, and with gloom in my eyes, I prepare myself.
We arrive at a relatively big cabin. I push open the double door, and behind it is the disgusting sight of mutilated elves. I see blood and grime mixing. I see elven women in chains. I see a couple of human brigands who must be sneaking from their boss's back to have a good time with the elves for themselves.
They are naked and continue to abuse the elven women in front of them not even taking notice of my presence. They are too in heat and have their full attention on pleasuring themselves. Such fools…
I approach them and draw my iron sword from my waist. With fury, I smash the sharp edge of the sword at the brigand nearest to me. It hits his skull perfectly creating a crunching sound. Blood splatters at the point of impact.
The other brigand finally takes notice of me. He looks fearfully and retreats from the elf he was violating. I try to withdraw my sword from the stuck skull, but I cannot. I see the pathetically panicking brigand shouting for help as he stumbles to the back door.
In the brigand's panic, he is pulling the door when he should be pushing it. I walk unhurriedly to him letting the fear settle in his heart… and gradually turn it to slow-turning despair…
"You don't even know how to use a door, you foolish pig…" As my distance closes to him, I take the opportunity to his chaotic mind. I pounce on him with ferocity.
Rage can do many things to you. The trope of a power-up in rage moments seems to be not a lie. I follow my wrathful instinct as my fist finds its mark on the brigand's throat. I follow up with my knee hitting his abdomen where I imagine his pancreas should be. As he keels over, I deliver an elbow strike at the back of his head. As he lies drop dead flat on the ground, I grab the bust of an out-of-place figure of a busty maiden. I drop the bust on the brigand's head causing his pink and red matter to explode from his skull.
This is enlightening.
I never realize beating up someone would feel this good.
To my right, I see a cage consisting of trembling humans. Judging from their attire, they must be merchants, I ignore them for now.
I nod at Zeraya and give her the word. "Kill him."
With one swift motion, she slits the throat of our hoodlum of a hostage. I come to Zeraya's side and drag the sack of iron weapons that I left in the heat of my rage. I scatter the iron weapons onto the bloody floor.
I stand tall while shedding real tears from my eyes. I hope of practicing my acting skills sometimes, and maybe try my way into crying out of a problem. But I cannot do it anymore as silent tears in mourning stream from my eyes without my permission.
I didn't whimper, or make any noise… It was just a silent cry.
"Elves, I have come…" I try not to look at the dead mutilated elves beyond recognition. "I am Arthram Fae Zorun… the King of the Elves… And I am sorry." However, I force myself to look into the eyes of the still-breathing victims for they need this.
Zeraya busies herself with her lock-picking skills and frees the chained elves.
An elven woman comes to me. She didn't say anything and simply picks up a weapon. She sets off not leaving a word to me except a pat on the shoulder. Another elven woman follows and does the same. And then another… and another… They just silently pass by me and touches my shoulder like it was some sort of ceremony.
Finally, the last elven woman approaches me… But she is no woman, just a little girl… Even by elven standards, I can tell she is pretty young as she is barely half my height. If it takes consolation to this, she appears to be more of a budding lass.
Coincidently, there is only one weapon left. It was a short sword. Short in stature, but tough, and even more durable than other weapons. It is crude iron but is still sharp. Sharp just like the young girl's eyes.
She tries to lift the short sword but fails to do so. She is too weak and judging by her bruises, the brigands did not even spare her.
She starts crying yet that didn't diminish the sharpness in her gaze.
Zeraya pitifully look at the girl but didn't approach her. She pats my shoulder just like the elven women before her. "I will be joining the fight…" She tells me and leaves me with the girl.
I approach the lass and hold the short sword by its blade. I raise it for her to take. She didn't take it. Curious, but I respect her decision. I gently place the short sword back on the ground, waiting for her to try again.
Sobbing but still with her sharp determined gaze, she tries to lift the short sword. Ultimately, she succeeds, but it is short-lived as she drops the sword after several seconds.
The lass stops crying and smiles beautifully at her small found success.
"My name is Kara. My dad is dead, and cut up… I watched him bleed yet he showed me a fearless smile. He told me everything would be fine… And I believed him… Yesterday, my mom was taken… Mister… Would you please help me find my mom?"
She is so calm, yet not gloomy. Bright, but not too bright...
I nod albeit bitter as I recall the dead elven woman prior to attacking this bandit village. I hold the girl's hand, and together, we remove ourselves from the dreadful cabin.