Chapter 2. Killing Machine
Deep in the woods, a small clearing was lit by a crackling campfire, surrounded by eight rough-looking bandits. Their loud laughter filled the air, their faces tough, and their clothes made from stolen rags.
The leader, a big man with a jagged scar on his cheek, leaned against a log, holding a mug of ale. "That noble kid was nothing," he said, his deep voice full of scorn. "His guards? Ha! They fell apart like wet paper. Didn't even fight back."
A skinny bandit with a crooked smile added, "We should have kept him alive. Nobles are worth a lot as slaves."
The leader shook his head, his cold eyes narrowing. "No. We have a job to finish." He glanced at a young woman lying unconscious, tied up, her dress torn. She was a maid, beautiful even in her messy state. The leader smirked. "This one... she's worth more. We'll have our fun, then sell her. She'll bring us a fortune."
The bandits cheered, their voices filled with crude excitement. One of them, a younger man with a leering grin, raised his mug. "I call first!"
The leader chuckled darkly. "You'll wait. I'll be first when she wakes up. It's more fun when they scream."
The group laughed, their voices echoing through the forest. The fire crackled, casting long shadows over the clearing.
One of the bandits stood, grabbing a lantern. "I'm going to take a leak," he slurred.
Another waved him off with a laugh. "Don't get lost. Or eaten by a wolf."
The bandit stumbled into the forest, lantern in hand, muttering to himself. "Probably just some animal," he grumbled. "Or maybe I've had too much to drink."
He didn't notice the shadows moving behind him or the soft, careful footsteps closing in. The forest was eerily quiet, the only sound the rustle of leaves under his boots.