The bandit leader's order caused all the men under him to go still and quiet. However, several seconds passed and nothing happened. The man with the scarred face clicked his tongue.
"Damn. Got me on edge."
Must've been because of that cursed Arc Knight over in the Pompeii hills. Ever since that bastard appeared, everything had gone to shit for him and his men.
'Where the hell was he ten years ago during the war, that's what I want to know.'
The former mercenary shook the pointless thoughts out of his head and led his men back to the sorry cave they'd taken shelter in. The supplies they'd pillaged on their way here were running low. We're it not for the rapport he had built with his men during the war, he would probably be facing a mutiny right around now.
"What now, boss?" somebody asked, his breath absolutely reeking. "Not only did we not catch that deer we saw, but we might've pissed off a local sorcerer too."
"Yeah…" the bandit leader scratched his chin through his rough beard. "A good one, too. You ever seen a silk robe get their defenses up that fast?"
The lackey shook his head and grinned stupidly, "Not during the war, at least, thank god."
His leader chuckled dryly. "Yeah, me neither. Though, he looked like a magical species, so that's probably why. My instincts are telling me he wasn't so attached to those villagers or keen to chase us down."
Maybe whatever sound he thought he heard while fleeing was the sorcerer giving up the chase for one reason or another? The bandit leader shook his head, dismissing the baseless fantasy.
"I don't think he lives with them, anyway. The magical species usually treat us like an inconvenience if they ever do need to pay us a visit. So once he moves on, we can try raiding that village again."
"Sounds good, boss," the lackey bobbed his head. Then he lifted his hands to his temples, pointing his clawed hands up toward the sky in an imitation of antlers. "Any idea what kind of magical species he was?"
"Fuck, how would I know? A deer man or something, maybe."
Another bandit tuned into their conversation, calling out, "I'd like to see a deer woman if the men look that pretty!"
The cave rang with laughter. The leader didn't bother to discourage their joking. They needed something to get their minds off their situation. So they spent the rest of the day joking around, waiting for the sorcerer to leave the defenseless village so they could move in.
Late that night, long after darkness had settled, the bandit leader suddenly awoke. It was the faintest thing, but he thought he heard some unnatural sound again…
Fear bled into his nervous system, and his eyes shot open, meeting nothing but the abyssal darkness of the cave. He reached for the torch and tinderbox he kept beside him in case of a midnight emergency. Something stiff and heavy was restricting his body, and he couldn't quite reach them.
The bandit leader's first thought was that some numbskull had ended up lying on top of him, maybe searching for warmth while half-asleep, but he quickly realized that whatever he was stuck under was hard and cold.
'A cave-in?'
That was a frightening thought. Was the sound that woke him up all he perceived of the cave collapsing around them in their sleep?
It took some effort, but the bandit leader managed to wrestle himself away from the cold, vice-like grip, cutting his body on some sharp edges. He could feel warm blood dripping down his arms and legs and winced. Scrambling in the dark, he found the torch and tinderbox and managed to light a fire to see by.
A dreadful terror traced up his spine—not mere tingles, but like the devil playing a tap dance with the tips of his claws. There had been no cave in. The cold and hard thing that had been restricting him was a bundle of enormous vines. The sharp edges he had cut himself on were the narrow, burrowing tips that had dug into his limbs.
The bandit leader examined his emaciated forearms in the firelight and his breathing hitched up. He staggered a step back from the vines in abject horror of the devil plant that had nearly siphoned his life away in his sleep.
The former mercenary recovered his wits quickly and began to make his way out of the cave—it clearly wasn't safe here. Along the way, he saw his men, all wrapped tightly by black vines that dug into their limbs or burrowed into their mouths and noses. The others were worse off than he was. They were skin and bones, barely breathing. Others were plainly dead, and horrifically beautiful plantlife was bursting from their abdomens, glittering crimson in the firelight.
The bandit leader had been through war, back when he was a mercenary. He had seen his fair share of death and corpses, but this was different. He clasped his free hand over his scarred face, forcing his trembling lips closed and willing himself not to scream or vomit. His men were beyond saving, so he tiptoed toward the cave's entrance on his own.
The two bandits tasked with keeping watch were still alive, engaging in hushed banter with each other, completely unaware of the situation deeper within the cave. Thirty men had died without a single scream. The thought made the leader's blood run cold.
"Oh?" The watchmen turned to look back when they noticed the light from their leader's torch. "Boss, what's…! Wh-what happened to you?!"
Noticing his emaciated form, the bandits reacted with alarm.
"There are monster plants in this cave," he told them grimly. "I'm lucky enough that I woke up in time. The others died in their sleep. We have to get out of here."
He showed the other two the wounds in his arms where the vines had burrowed under his skin to drink his blood. They swallowed heavily, and he could see some desire to check on their comrades—some hope that he was lying—in their eyes, but they knew better than to expect good things out of life.
"Lead the way, boss."