As they ventured deeper into the forest, pushing aside branches and foliage, traces of their quarry began to appear. At first, Uta had relied on his instincts, but as they progressed, footprints and other signs became increasingly evident. The bandits, cautious at the forest's edge to avoid detection, had grown careless as they moved further in.
"Lady Ilia must be up ahead!" Mary quickened her pace, driven by desperation, her eyes scanning the ground for clues. Uta followed casually, his leisurely steps contrasting with her urgency.
"Ah, there it is," Uta remarked, pointing ahead.
Mary's breath caught.
The forest opened up into a clearing where several tents were pitched. Around a makeshift campfire, a group of rough-looking men, muscular and tattooed, sat drinking and laughing loudly.
"Ha! Another good haul today!" one bellowed.
"This kingdom's too soft. Their guards are a joke, and their towns are ripe for the taking!" another added, his words slurred by drink.
"These are the Zaga Tribe," Mary whispered, crouching behind a tree with Uta.
"Zaga Tribe?"
"A mercenary clan from the northern kingdoms. They're skilled fighters but little more than scavengers, living off plunder and raiding weaker enemies like vultures."
"Sounds charming." Uta's tone was dry as he studied the camp.
Mary's gaze swept over the tents. "Lady Ilia isn't out in the open. She must be inside one of the tents."
"Well, guess I'll go check," Uta said, rising.
"Wait! Don't go alone. I'm coming with you." Mary drew a sword she'd taken from a fallen comrade, gripping it tightly.
"There are at least fifteen of them," she said, glancing at the bandits. "The odds are terrible, but I don't care. I'll do whatever it takes to save Lady Ilia, even if it costs me my life."
Uta sighed. Her resolve was admirable, but in his view, she was more likely to get in the way. Still, he decided against arguing.
"Sure. Just don't die," he said lightly.
"I won't. I'll protect Lady Ilia at all costs!" Mary burst from cover, charging into the camp with a battle cry.
"Die!" Mary yelled as she cleaved into the nearest bandit, catching him off guard.
Another man fell before the others could react, but soon they were on their feet, weapons drawn.
"You damn wench!"
"Get her!"
Mary parried the first few attacks, but the sheer number of opponents quickly overwhelmed her.
"Ugh...!" she grunted, barely dodging a sword aimed at her head.
Uta stepped forward.
"Honestly, you're like a wild boar," he muttered, placing a hand on the nearest bandit.
In an instant, the man disintegrated into ash.
"What the hell?!"
"He's using some kind of magic! Don't let him touch you!"
"Yup, it's a magic touch," Uta said with a smirk, teleporting behind another bandit and tapping his shoulder.
The man screamed as his body turned to ash.
"Back off! I'll handle this!" one of the bandits roared.
"Oh?"
The man stood, raising his arms as he chanted. "Spirit of fire, Ifrit, lend me your strength!"
Flames erupted around his body, engulfing him in an intense blaze. His clothes burned away, revealing scarred, tattooed skin glowing red-hot.
"Touch me now, and you'll burn to cinders!" the man snarled, flames licking at the ground beneath him.
"Hmm, I'm not a fan of heat. I much prefer winter," Uta said nonchalantly.
The flaming bandit charged, roaring, "Die, you little brat!"
As the inferno closed in, Uta casually tapped his foot on the ground.
"What the—?!"
The earth beneath the bandit vanished, opening into a deep pit. The man fell with a heavy thud, landing five meters below.
"Gah... this won't stop me!" the bandit growled, struggling to rise.
"Goodbye," Uta said simply, teleporting the displaced earth back above the pit.
With a sickening crunch, the man was buried alive.
The remaining bandits faltered, watching their comrade's fiery demise.
"Run!" one yelled, panic overtaking them.
Mary didn't hesitate. With a sharp cry, she chased after the fleeing bandits, cutting them down from behind.
Any stragglers were dispatched by Uta, who either teleported them into traps or turned them to ash with a touch.
The clearing turned into a grim tableau of death.
"Hold it!" a voice barked.
Mary froze, her blade mid-swing.
"Don't move, or this brat dies!"
From one of the tents emerged a bandit holding a young girl with silver hair. His knife was pressed against her throat, her wide, tear-filled eyes pleading silently for help.