The night wore on in the Shadow Bandit camp, their festivities dwindling with the embers of their campfires. By now, it was well past three in the morning, and the scattered remnants of their late-night party had dwindled to a few drunken murmurs and laughs around the dying flames.
Some had collapsed where they sat, bottles still clutched in slack hands, while others leaned against the stone wall of their base or lay sprawled on makeshift bedrolls. Most of them had returned to their tents, leaving the camp eerily quiet beneath the dark canopy of night.
Yet even in their daze, some of the more alert bandits cast uneasy glances toward the rough and wild empty path that led back to the village they'd raided. Their comrades were hours overdue. They should have returned long ago, dragging spoils or captives behind them. But the path remained dark and silent. Still, their leader had assured them of victory—there'd been no real concern about the beastmen village, and they certainly hadn't expected a fight.
The village had little in the way of wealth, just a few trinkets here and there, the occasional scrap of forged iron or handmade cloth, and provisions. The beastmen had only what they needed to survive, placing no value on money or jewels.
But this, to the bandits, was irrelevant. They were only there because of a whim of the Shadow Bandit Leader, who'd ordered they keep watch over the village in hopes that one day it might draw something valuable into their path.
And it finally had. Just the previous morning, what looked to be a noble had arrived at the village gates, accompanied by a band of fierce knights. The bandits cared nothing for rank or titles, only for what they could get in return, and the idea of capturing someone important enough to ride in such a beautiful carriage… was seductive.
If they were to hold her for ransom, unbelievable riches would flow their way.
They hadn't considered the risks. They couldn't even fathom the dangers of the Holy Empire, nor did they know enough to fear its wrath. These were common bandits, foolish and arrogant, who saw the knights' presence only as an obstacle to overcome.
Thus, the Shadow Bandit Leader had devised a plan, setting his sights on the noble as a prize worth the risk. He sent half his men—more than necessary, he thought—to ensure their success, ordering them to strike when the noble seemed least protected: nighttime.
In the faint worry that now fell over the camp, they began to sense that maybe they had made a mistake. If the Empire's knights had been sent to protect the noble, it wasn't a simple escort. What they had failed to understand was just how dangerous these knights could be.
Within the Empire's rankings, each level of knighthood was a world apart. At the bottom were the Copper Knights, humble soldiers with basic training. Above them, the Iron Knights, strong and resilient, each having seen countless battles. Next came the Silver Knights, skilled fighters with some command experience, followed by the Gold Knights, elite warriors who led battalions and earned noble titles.
But above them, beyond what the bandits could even imagine, were the Holy Knights. Known across the continent, these warriors were imbued with an almost mythical strength and were renowned for their dedication to their god and to the Empire's cause.
They were not merely men and women with armor and swords—they were said to wield divine power. In tales told by soldiers and refugees alike, they were described as relentless, unbreakable, and, in the eyes of the faithful, pure.
Then, even beyond the Holy Knights, were the Radiant Knights, known only in stories, and at the pinnacle of the Empire's strength stood the Solgraths. Fewer than ten of these warriors existed across the entire continent, and each one was a force of nature.
In the Holy Empire, they were called Angels of Velleity, seen as warriors blessed by the gods. In other lands, such as the Kingdom of Nessigolopt, they were known as the Marianas, servants of Nessi, revered and feared as symbols of their powerful ocean god. However, regardless of the name, they were the continent's most powerful swordsman, spearmen, or bowmen, feared even by rulers. It was said that a single Solgrath could turn the tide of a war or quell an entire rebellion, their strength incomparable to any mortal weapon.
None of this knowledge, however, had reached the Shadow Bandits. They'd only seen a noble and her escort, thinking them an easy prize to capture, blind to the force they'd truly provoked.
"S-Sir!"
A simple bandit burst through the worn canvas curtain into the Shadow Bandit Leader's tent, his breaths shallow, his face pale with barely contained panic. Inside, the air was thick with the musky scent of incense, and the dim glow of torches cast a flickering, amber hue over piles of ill-gotten treasure that lay strewn across the ground. In the center of the lavishly decorated space, upon a throne assembled from plundered gold and bones of past foes, sat their leader.
The man was immense—a towering, muscular figure with a powerful build that exuded raw strength. He was shirtless, displaying skin the color of deep tan earth, marred by scars counting to the hundreds. His armor, a combination of metal and leather, protected only his lower half, but with a body like his, it was clear he saw no need for further defense. His blood-red eyes held black crescent pupils, giving his gaze a cold and menacing edge. Short, buzzed black hair added to his intimidating appearance, accentuating the harsh angles of his face.
On either side of him, two women lounged, draped in silks and jewels—one with long, dark hair and a mischievous smirk, the other with brown curls and eyes that sparkled with a dangerous glint. They reclined comfortably, each clinging possessively to one of his arms.
The bandit leader didn't immediately acknowledge the man's presence, instead running a hand lazily over the brown-haired woman's arm as he watched the newcomer soon take a knee in front of him.
"What is it?" his voice rumbled, deep and rimmed with annoyance at being interrupted.
Unfortunately, this was his appointed job due to him not being capable enough of fighting yet.
"As you know, our assassins from before have died and so the scouts went out to check on the battle… and they have recently come back and… and…"
The young bandit paused for a moment before spewing the unfortunate information. He was terrified of the possible outcome that saying these words would get him killed… however, he knew, not saying them would definitely get him killed.
"Well, get on with it," The leader ordered, slowly growing more agitated.
"Y-Yes sir! W-Well, the forces you sent to exterminate the beastman village have b-been… e-eradicated sir. Not a single one survived."
The leader rose from his throne, eerily calm, his towering frame unfolding slowly, like a storm gathering its strength. He stretched his broad shoulders, rolling them back as if he had all the time in the world, his blood-red eyes narrowing with a dark form of pleasure. Beside him, the two women watched with smirks, leaning in closer as if savoring the deadly tension in the room.
The leader's footsteps almost seemed to slow the time around him with each step, all the way until he reached the young bandit. And without a word, the leader's hand shot out, his fingers closing around the bandit's neck like an iron vice.
There was a brief moment of silence—a terrifying calm—before he squeezed, snapping the young man's neck in a swift, brutal motion. The bandit's body crumpled to the ground, lifeless, but the leader had already turned, ignoring the corpse as he strode out of the tent.
Once outside, he paused, inhaling the cool night air, letting the tension in his body flow out. Then, he threw his head back and bellowed, his voice reverberating through the entire camp.
"EVERYONE SHARPEN YOUR WEAPONS! CHECK YOUR ARMOR! STASH YOUR GOLD! WE RAID THAT VILLAGE OF RATS ONCE THE SUN HAS FULLY RISEN!"
…
(A few hours later)
As the first rays of sunlight broke over the horizon, they crept through the thick canopy of the forest, casting faint golden beams over the dense, quiet woods. Ophelia led the way with the Holy Knights close behind, their metal armor catching the sparse light and reflecting it ever so slightly. Around them, the beastmen warriors moved unsurprisingly stealthily, their furred forms melting into the underbrush, their footsteps making little to no sound against the soft earth.
They had taken the longer, winding path through the forest, their way obscured by trees and winding trails, keeping out of sight. It was a deliberate choice, ensuring their approach remained unseen as they made their way toward the bandits' lair. Finally, they came to the edge of a towering cliff, a steep drop that halted sharply just before a canyon's edge. From this height, they had a perfect view of the Shadow Bandits' camp, laid out across the ground like a careless sprawl of tents, crates, and plundered goods.
Ophelia surveyed the scene calmly, her expression dulling at the sight. The bandits' choice of location was nothing short of laughable in terms of strategy. Positioned in the lowland basin, the camp was completely exposed from above, a fatal error in their so-called fortress. The surrounding cliffs loomed over the encampment, and from this vantage, the bandits looked as vulnerable as animals cornered by hunters.
Around her, the beastmen watched, waiting only for Ophelia's signal and so did the Holy Knights, their faces displaying only determination as they took in the scene below. Each of them knew that the bandits, for all their arrogance, had failed to consider the land's unforgiving nature. They had claimed dominance in this remote territory, thinking themselves unrivaled predators, and had grown comfortable with the idea that no one would ever challenge them here.
But now, the sun was rising, and with it, a different kind of predator was preparing to strike.
"It's too easy…" Ophelia bit her fingernail, her eyes swirling like a pitch-black whirlpool of annoyance. "My skills are going to dull from low-tier battles like this…" She continued to mutter to herself, observing the entire battlefield in a single glance.
Ophelia stood at the edge of the cliff, looking down over the bandits' camp. Her eyes scanned the scene below, taking in every movement, every careless shout, every glint of steel as the bandits prepared themselves for their raid. Beneath her, the camp buzzed with all kinds of activity as they armed themselves, laughing and jeering in the early light, unaware of the silent, watchful presence above.
The bandits milled about outside their ragged tents, rallying together around the leader of the Shadow Bandit Troupe. Some sloppily strapped on mismatched pieces of armor, others examined their weapons, and a few huddled around a fire, guzzling what was left of their liquor before preparing to set out.
Their shouts and boisterous laughter echoed up from the cavern, their confidence unshaken, still certain that this next raid would bring them a chance at many riches. Ophelia's gaze swept over them with cold calculation, noting their disarray, their lack of coordination, and the fatal weakness in, well, everything. The only part that stood out was the leader.
These were not warriors—they were scavengers, emboldened by desperation and blinded by greed.
"Using [Arcane Infusion] will make this too easy… Using earth magic and boulders to crush them would make this unsatisfying for the beastmen and myself… so, I'll just let it play out naturally. Only then will I possibly have a challenge," She muttered before falling completely silent.
A slight breeze rustled through the trees, brushing against her flowy dress shirt and stirring the cloak that fell over her shoulders. The beastmen around her waited silently, some crouched, their eyes locked on her for the moment she would give the command. The Holy Knights stood a few paces behind her, their hands ready on their own weapons as they awaited the signal.
Without a word, she slowly rose upwards, and upon reaching her peak: back straight, legs straight, neck straight, head straight… she finally raised her arm in a swift, silent command, and the warriors around her tensed, rising to their feet as well.
The time for waiting was over.
"Kill them all."