The smell of the village reached Kael before he could see it.
Burnt meat. Ash. Dried blood.
Kael walked slowly along the dirt road, his sharp eyes scanning the horizon. The village lay nestled at the base of a hill, surrounded by abandoned fields and broken fences.
A dead place… but still breathing.
The village was far from prosperous. Rotten wooden houses. Makeshift shacks. Muddy streets. There was life here, but it clung to existence by a thread.
Weak people. Broken people.
Kael caught the glances of a few figures watching him from the shadows. Sunken eyes, emaciated bodies, fear masked by apathy.
This village had been raided before.
They had lost everything before.
And they knew they could lose it again.
This was not a place for strangers.
But Kael was no ordinary stranger.
He didn't hesitate as he entered. His steps were steady, his posture confident, as though he belonged there.
The first rule when stepping into unfamiliar territory:
Never stop.Never look lost.Never show weakness.
Kael wasn't a traveler.
He wasn't a lost outsider.
He was a predator in new territory.
And predators didn't ask for permission.
The First Contact
Kael stopped in front of the only stone building in the village.
A small trading post.
If there was information to be found, it would be here.
He stepped inside.
The interior was dim and stifling, the air heavy with the scent of dried herbs and mildew. Wooden shelves lined the walls, holding crude tools and bundles of withered plants.
Behind the counter stood an old man, his weathered hands cleaning a rusted blade. His tired eyes slowly rose to meet Kael's.
No greeting. No smile.
A test.
Kael met the old man's gaze, unflinching.
"I need information," Kael said.
The old man snorted, spitting onto the floor.
"This look like a school to you, boy?"
Kael calmly reached into his pocket and placed a copper coin from the bandits onto the counter.
Nothing in this world was free.
The old man glanced at the coin, then back at Kael.
He was weighing him.
Deciding if Kael was worth the risk of talking.
Finally, the man sighed and pocketed the coin.
"What kind of information?"
Kael leaned slightly forward, resting his hands on the counter.
"Who rules this region? Who has the real power here?"
The man's eyes narrowed.
And then came the real test.
The Name They Fear
The silence stretched for several long moments.
Then, the old man spoke in a low, almost whispering tone.
"The power here belongs to the Ironbloods."
Kael's expression remained neutral, though he filed the name away.
"Ironbloods. Are they a sect?"
The old man shook his head.
"Bandits," he said, his voice bitter. "But not like the trash you met on the road. They're organized. They control villages like this all over the region."
A gang masquerading as a government.
An empire built on fear.
Kael glanced out the window, observing the villagers. Their silence. Their lifeless stares. Their acceptance.
They already knew they were someone else's property.
The old man continued, his voice quieter now:
"They come once a month to collect tribute. Gold, food… people."
Kael's eyes flickered.
"People," he repeated.
The old man nodded reluctantly, his jaw tightening.
"They trade them. Slaves. The young, the strong… anyone they can sell."
That explained everything.
The misery. The silence. The fear in everyone's eyes.
This wasn't a home.
It was a pasture.
Kael said nothing for a moment, letting the information settle.
He'd seen men like this before. Groups that ruled with fear and blood.
They were predictable.
They would come again.
And when they did, Kael would be ready.
The First Target
Kael turned back to the old man.
"When are they coming?"
Suspicion flickered in the man's eyes.
"Why do you want to know?"
The old man wasn't stupid. He could already guess what Kael was planning.
But he didn't believe that a lone boy could challenge the Ironbloods.
Kael's faint smile didn't waver.
"Because I want to meet the real owners of this territory."
The old man stared at him for a long moment before sighing in defeat.
"They'll be here in two days."
Kael nodded.
"Good."
Without another word, he turned and walked out of the shop, the old man's watchful gaze following him.
Two days.
Two days to prepare the ground.
Two days to turn this village from a pasture… into a trap.
Kael wouldn't wait for the Ironbloods.
He would hunt them first.
And when they came…
They wouldn't find helpless villagers.
They would find a predator waiting in the darkness.