Meanwhile, in a northern region of the Ancita continent, not too far from the Great Winter Forest, a customary act of robbery was quietly unfolding within a forest less traveled.
Amidst splattering blood and chilling cries of despair, a small merchant caravan succumbed to a band of mountain brigands.
Their loot, along with the plundered goods, was swiftly hauled back to the thief's den. The skirmish ended, the looters retreated, and soon, the path was engulfed by a profound silence once again.
All that remained were the wreckage of the caravans, nauseating trails of blood, and scattered body parts.
But just when serenity seemed to have taken over, a stack of hay nearby started shaking.
A figure clad in black cautiously peeked out, looking left and right. Upon confirming that the bandits were gone and the coast was clear, he finally stepped out, walking on tiptoes to the wreckage of the caravan.
