[Chapter 5 - Night Raid]

  Death was dealt, silent and merciless.

  Beneath my hand the man struggled, his eyes bulging in fear as I slid the knife across his throat.

  I had pinned his head against the floorboards as I used my weight to smother his attempts to scream.

  This brought a slight sense of satisfaction, and I found myself almost savouring the pain I was inflicting in a cold, sadistic way.

  The scene around me had caused this.

  Many of the bandits’ victims lay sprawled across the floor, their bodies maimed and tortured as the bandits had laughed and drunk themselves to sleep.

  And so with my knife I sought revenge, the numbers ticking away in affirmation.

  It was a sight I had learned to feel gratification for.

  -16, -18, -13

  And they were higher now, likely because of the experience I had accumulated alongside them.

  I had killed over a dozen bandits in the same way.

  They were trash. All of them.

  None deserved to live.

  I felt his body go limp, a gold +29 exp projected as he fell motionless to the ground.

  This brought with it a slight disappointment, that still it had not led to any broader change.

  In that great hall, the crackling of wood was all that could be heard, disturbed by the occasional snore which the Eickhorn soon silenced.

  And with each death, I felt the same sensation of growing confidence in my arms.

  It brought with it a familiarity of where to cut, as if I was being guided by some newly-forged intuition.

  But as I turned to the next raider, a pair of eyes fixed upon me.

  Wide awake, open in evident fear.

  They belonged to a woman, her body battered and bruised, her weight held up against one arm on the far side of the room.

  One of the villagers.

  I lifted a finger to my lips, and she nodded in understanding.

  I must have looked nightmarish, an unknown figure in that dimly lit hall, smothered by the blood of the bandits I had killed.

  Still I continued my task.

  The numbers ran thrice more before I was finished, the bodies now motionless against the very chairs they had slept on.

  I felt a sense of relief wash over me when I stood up.

  Gone was the tension within me, replaced by a weird sense of calm.

  Although the manor was not yet empty, this room had still been cleared.

  And that offered me some respite, however brief.

  I made my way back to the woman, careful to avoid the bodies strewn across my path.

  “Is that everyone?” I asked. A question I already knew the answer to.

  Ansgar and Kallas were missing, they were not among the dead which now lay behind me.

  My mouth spoke in a tongue I did not know, yet the words were rendered in a confident, if exhausted, manner.

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  If not for my encounter with the two earlier, I would have been surprised.

  Now I was just drained. Too much had happened today.

  She shook her head. “One.” Her voice weak, a trembling finger pointing towards the stairs spiralling upwards against the corner.

  And then it fell, drifting towards the door on my left. “More.”

  Judging from how they had left together, Ansgar and Kallas must have gone through there.

  It was firm in its frame, just a glance told me that the door would not open without sound.

  Instead, my gaze moved towards the bannisters ascending the edge of the hall.

  I would head up first, clearing every room as I made my way back down.

  I was lucky that the manor was so quiet.

  It worked in my favour as much as it hindered me, my ears alert to any sound which might indicate the approach of bandits.

  Yet still I could not help but wince at every creaking of wood as I moved up the staircase.

  The blue stair runners occupying the floorboards were of some help, dampening my footsteps as I left a trail of red boot marks in my wake.

  And at the top stood the door, half-closed.

  I leant against it, grasping the handle as I stole a glance inwards.

  It was the master bedroom. The colossal four-poster bed dominating the centre of the room told me that much.

  The owner lay dead at his desk, a sword buried halfway across his chest as it embedded him against the chair he had been tied to.

  Judging from the blood he had not died quickly, and the one responsible had taken great satisfaction in prolonging the pain.

  Stepping over the books strewn across the floor, I appreciated how fortunate I was that the bandits were so arrogant.

  Along with its victim, the sword had hewn through some half a meter of solid oak, a clear display of almost inhuman strength.

  Not that that mattered of course.

  Its perpetrator too fell beneath a single clean knife stroke, a death far too painless than he deserved.

  As I headed out, I was stopped by a small glint in the corner of my eyes.

  A lip of glass, peering out from beneath a fur cape that had been draped lazily across the table.

  I knew what it was before I had even picked it up.

  A vial of red liquid, one I carefully slotted into my vest.

  The rest of the manor I could scavenge at my own leisure later.

  This however, I would take first.

  The rest of the rooms downstairs were cleared without much difficulty.

  The bandits I came across had all drunk themselves into a stupor, one I ensured they would never wake from.

  Soon there was only one room left, its entrance half open, embedded amongst the stone tiles which made up the kitchen floor.

  I headed down slowly into the basement.

  Descending was not a comfortable position to be in, especially when I knew my presence was not one to be welcomed.

  What greeted me was a grim sight.

  The few torches comprising the majority of the light flickered along the left wall.

  Opposite stood beams of corroded iron, latticed into a screen spanning the entire length of the room.

  And behind it, people.

  Rags draped across battered bodies, their expressions gaunt and despairing.

  Some turned to look at me as I stepped into view.

  Their gazes however were not alone.

  Beneath the torches lay a circular wooden table, the candle set upon it illuminating the three men hunched over with cards still in hand.

  A guard I did not know sat closest with his back towards me, whilst beside him were Ansgar and Kallas.

  All three, still awake.

  Shit.

  Instantly I leapt across, abandoning caution for haste.

  The knife was in Ansgar’s neck before he could even comprehend what was happening.

  I spun round, twisting the cut before using the momentum to bear upon his ally as well.

  Kallas was first to respond, roaring out, arms swinging to grab me as Ansgar staggered back, hands to his neck while blood gushed forth.

  Their friend fell to the ground, his body writhing, mouth open as he desperately tried to speak.

  Nothing came save for the gargling of fluid.

  Despite this, I was still at a disadvantage.

  Kallas had kept his gambeson on even here. The knife would not penetrate the jacket without difficulty, especially when it reached up to cover his neck.

  Worse still, their swords lay only a metre to the side, propped up against the wall in front of which they had been playing cards.

  “Fucker.” A snarl, transitioning into a shout as he tried to alert the others. “INTRU-”. I dashed at him before he could finish.

  His companions were all dead, each one personally ensured by my hands, but I did not want him to know.

  Ansgar stumbled forwards to stop me. The blood loss knocked him out almost immediately after, but the brief second he stalled me for was all Kallas needed.

  Kallas leapt across, grabbing the sword and unsheathing it all in one smooth arc.

  Fuck.

  A drawn out fight here would only end with me dead. I would have to finish it quickly.

  We gazed at each other, weapons poised, Ansgar’s spluttering body lying in between.

  I was lucky the room was too narrow for him to comfortably swing, his movement constrained by the walls restricting his two handed blade.

  Nonetheless the tension lay heavy, reflected by his growl as he pointed his sword towards my throat.

  “You’re fucking dead.”

  My silence angered him further, evoking a roar as he rushed forwards.

  An arc was not possible, so instead a thrust came towards my chest, one which narrowly whistled past beneath my arm as I pushed myself to the right.

  The momentum carried him forwards, but it would only take a second before he recovered his stance.

  That second however was all I needed.

  As I landed, I spun myself round, my far leg turning my body as I perched my weight upon the ball of my front foot.

  It served as the perfect springboard, pushing me away from the cobblestone tiles right into Kallas’ exposed side.

  We collapsed into each other, a grunt of breath ripped from his mouth as my elbow rammed his solar plexus.

  He fell to the floor winded, myself on top, his sword dropping to his side.

  I held my forearm against his windpipe, forcing his jacket open with my fist, strangling him as I pushed him to the ground. His hands tried desperately to grasp at my face but I ignored it, bringing the knife into his chest.

  Once, -80, twice, -65, thrice… and it was over.