[Chapter 3 - The Twins]


    Death was dealt, silent and merciless. Beneath my hand the man struggled, his eyes bulging as I slid the knife across his throat. I pinned his head against the floorboards, smothering his attempts to scream. A slight sense of satisfaction came to me, 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 while the marauders had laughed and drunk themselves asleep. I could see the numbers ticking away, a sight I had learned to feel gratification for. 16, -21, -19. They were higher now, likely because of the culmination of XP which followed them. I had killed over a dozen raiders in the same way. Trash. All of them. None deserved to live. Blood now covered my front, the black of the fabric long since disappearing beneath a layer of wet crimson. I felt his body go limp, and a gold +29 exp projected as he slumped motionless to the ground. I flicked the blood off the knife, the glow of the fireplace dancing across the black coating with the movement. The crackling of wood was all that could be heard, disturbed only by the occasional snore which my knife soon silenced. Food sprawled across the room, dampened by the pools of spilt wine and blood which ran across the table and wood floor. With each death, I felt a strange sense of growing confidence in my movements, a familiarity of where to cut, as if forging some new muscle memory. As I turned to move to the next bandit, I was met by a pair of eyes fixed upon me. A woman, her body battered and bruised, propped up on one arm in the far corner of the room. Eyes wide awake, open in fear. 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, blood smothering my face and clothes. Still I continued my task.


    The numbers ran thrice more before I was finished, the bodies now slumped motionless against the chairs they had slept on. I felt a sense of almost relief when I stood up. I was not finished yet, but this room had been cleared. Some respite, however brief. As I walked back to the woman, I could see her shivering. Partially from the cold, but also from the fear.=“Is that everyone?” A question I already knew the answer to. Ansgar and Tedric were missing, they were not amongst the dead who now lay behind me. My voice spoke in a tongue unknown to me, yet the words were rendered in a confident, if exhausted, manner. If not for my encounter with the two earlier, I would have been surprised. Now I was just exhausted. Too much had happened today. She shook her head. “One.” Her voice shook, a single finger pointing towards the stairs which spiralled upwards in the corner. And then it fell, drifting instead towards the door on the far left. “More.” Judging from how they had scouted together, Tedric and Ansgar must have gone through there. The door itself was shut firmly, it would not open without sound. My gaze moved back to the banisters which ascended in the corner. I would head up first, and slowly clear every room as I made my way down.


    I was lucky that the manor was so quiet. It worked in my favour as much as it hindered me, yet I could not help but wince at every creaking of wood which sounded as I moved up the staircase. The blue stair runners which occupied the floorboards were of some help, dampening my footsteps as red boot marks followed me. At the top, the door lay half-closed, a faint orange glow emanating from within. I leant against the door, grasping the handle with my grip tight around my knife. A glance inwards confirmed my suspicions. It was the master bedroom, a colossal four-poster bed dominating the centre of the room with its oaken frame. The owner lay dead at the desk, a sword firmly buried halfway across his chest with his chair behind it. Judging from the blood, he had not died quickly, and the one who was responsible took great satisfaction in prolonging the pain. As I made my way through the books scattered across the floor, I appreciated my fortune that the bandits were so arrogant. Looking at the sword, it was clear the wielder boasted an almost inhuman strength. Along with its victim, it had cut through some half a metre of solid oak. If not for the bandits’ arrogance, I would unlikely be here in the first place. It was clear I was no match for them in close quarters. That did not matter however as I dispatched the room’s only living inhabitant. I gazed around briefly, marvelling at the furnishings. The owner had undoubtedly taken great care of his bedroom study. Yet as I made my way out, a small glint caught me from the corner of my eye. It peered out, tucked in within a fur vest which draped lazily across the table. I knew what it was before I had even picked it up. A vial of red liquid, carefully slotted into my coat pocket. I would come back to scavenge the rest of the areas later, but this I would take first. It would be handy should anything happen.Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.


    The rest of the rooms downstairs were cleared without much difficulty. Soon there was only one left, its entrance half open amongst the stone kitchen tiles. Even here food was strewn across the floor, alcohol rendering the stone sticky to the touch. The bandits had clearly not cared for any sort of organisation. I made my way down slowly. Descending was not a comfortable position to be in. A grim sight quickly greeted me. The room was illuminated only by torchlight, save for a candle which flickered lazily upon the circular wooden table which resided in the centre. Three guards sat there, hunched atop wood stools with cards still in hand. And to the right were the cells. Beams of corroded iron latticed into a wall which spanned the length of the basement. And behind it, people. Rags draped across their bodies, their expressions gaunt and anguished. Some, those that had not slept either because of the pain inflicted or the trauma suffered, turned to look at me when I arrived in the torchlight. They were not alone, the bandits themselves were still awake. Shit.


    Instantly I leapt across, abandoning caution for haste. The knife was in Ansgars neck before he could even comprehend what was happening, and I pulled it out across the other’s in one fluid motion. Tedric roared out, arms swinging to grab me as Ansgar staggered back, hands to his neck while the blood gushed forth. Their friend fell to the ground, their mouth open as they tried to speak, but nothing came save for the gargling of fluid. Even then I was still disadvantaged. Tedric had kept his gambeson even here, and the knife would not easily penetrate the jacket which reached up to cover his neck. Worse still, their swords lay only a metre away to the side, propped up against the wall in front of which they were 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, a trail of blood I had left in my wake, but I didn’t want him to know. I couldn’t afford to be at any more a disadvantage than I already was. Ansgar stumbled forwards to stop me. The blood loss knocked him out immediately, but his presence for a second was all Tedric needed. He leapt across, grabbing the sword and unsheathing it all in one fluid motion. Fuck. It was getting worse. We gazed at each other, weapons poised, Tedric’s spluttering body lying in between us. The tension lay heavy for a second, and then he rushed forwards. An arc bore down from above, his arm pulling the sword over as he pressed forwards. I pushed myself to the right, the sword narrowly whistling past me. The momentum carried it forwards, and it would take him a moment before he could recover. A moment which was all I needed. Just as I landed, I immediately swung myself around, launching myself off the far foot which had just landed on the cobblestone tiles. We collapsed into one another, a grunt of breath forced from his mouth as I slammed my elbow against his solar plexus. He fell to the floor, winded, the sword dropping to the side from his open hand. It was over. My forearm pressed against his windpipe, strangling him. His hands tried desperately to grasp at my face, but I ignored it as I brought the knife down into his chest. Once, -80, twice, -65, thrice, and it was over.


    Twenty six soldiers in total. A small group, all armed to the teeth. On the unknown bandit’s body, I found the key tied to his belt. The prisoners were let out shortly, the serration on my Eickhorn made short work of the ropes which bound their arms. Some greeted me with tears, others with gratitude or silence. “Take their weapons. If there are any others, you know what to do.” Murmurs of understanding and they slowly filed outwards, the ones at the front taking with them the equipment the guards had left behind. But before I turned away, I saw them. Two children, huddled together in the far corner. The girl was motionless, eyes closed, her back to the floor as she lay on the cold cobblestone. Her brother, matching silver hair, was on his knees, cradling her hand in his, a quiet sobbing reverberating from him. On the back of his neck, I could see a faint mark of black, peering out from the ripped tunic which covered his body.“Slaves, brought here by the bandits.” My eyes turned. The speaker was older, a man wrought thin by the treatment of the bandits. “They were here before us. The bandits tortured her for sport, they beat her in front of him.” I looked back, and slowly walked closer.The boy looked up as I approached. Eyes of red and blue, they seemed dulled by the sadness which tinged them. As I drew closer, he moved himself between us. His arms were paper thin, he could not have been more than 15, yet his build made him look younger. His eyes darkened with an anger, his expression softened with surprise as I drew the health potion from my pocket. I placed my hand beneath her nose. She was still breathing, but it was faint, almost imperceptible. Tipping her mouth open, I uncapped the cork which sealed the vial, and poured the red liquid into her mouth. Vin had wrote about these. Health potions, a magical cure all to even the harshest of injuries. They seemed to render the antibiotics in my bag to be useless. The more vibrant the red, the higher the grade. What I was using was mostly likely mid-grade. Fortunately just enough to be sufficient. Barely. Steam emanated from her skin, and she writhed beneath the steam that was escaping. The healing process was not a pleasant one. Bones regrew and mended, flesh and sinew sewing itself back together. Sometimes the pain to heal hurt more than the injury itself. Her teeth were gritted, tears trickling from eyes still shut, and for a moment I feared the worst. And then she relaxed, her chest rising and falling. She was breathing, she would be fine.