The moon was a sliver of bone in the sky, offering little light and casting the sleeping town in deep shadows.
’It’s time.’
The door to the infirmary closed with a soft click. A masked figure stood in the cold night air, the rough fabric of a concealment cloak pulled tight around them.
’Good thing the ’I will stand watch on the infirmary tonight’ excuse worked.’ The figure, Aman, chuckled. ’Of course, I have to thank Cassandra for that.’ Her quick thinking in backing up his story had made this much simpler.
He stood motionless for a moment, stretching his senses out into the sleeping town. The Pulse of the Unseen flowed from him, a gentle probe mapping the night. He felt the weary sleep of the townsfolk, the rhythmic pacing of the guards on the walls, and the concentrated aura of the bandits in their new quarters.
Then he located it - that watchful presence stationed near the Princess’s temporary residence. The royal watchdog was still at his post, vigilant as ever.
’Good.’
Satisfied, Aman retracted his senses. He moved then, a shadow flitting between buildings, his passage silent. He reached the town’s edge and slipped past the perimeter without a sound.
Once he was a few kilometers into the open valley, the town’s lights just a faint glow at his back, he stopped.
[Glacia Sinfonia.]
The air around him crystallized. Frost bloomed at his feet, and from his shoulders, two vast, intricate wings of pure, glacial ice unfurled, catching the faint moonlight.
With a single, powerful downstroke that kicked up a swirl of frozen leaves, he launched into the sky. The ground fell away beneath him. He adjusted his course, aiming for the location he had subtly pieced together from Olan and other bandits’ memories during the day’s work.
’...Hmm.’
The frozen landscape blurred beneath him, the wind a silent roar in his ears. Thanks to the fusion ability granting him immense speed, the journey was breathtakingly short. He felt the ice of his wings begin to thin, the structural integrity nearing its limit.
Just as the final seconds ticked down, his destination came into view—a jagged outcrop of rock in the hills. He descended rapidly, the ice wings dissipating into a fine, cold mist just as his boots touched the soft earth.
Without a moment’s pause, he melted into the shadows. It didn’t take long to spot it: a massive, icemoss-covered boulder, looking entirely natural. Only a keen eye would notice the narrow, dark fissure at its base, cleverly disguised by hanging glacial vines.
He slipped through the entrance. The passage beyond was narrow and damp, descending slightly. He passed two guards huddled around a dim glow-stone, their attention on a quiet game of dice. They didn’t notice him at all.
Then the passage opened abruptly, revealing the true hideout.
It was a large, natural cavern, lit by flickering torches. Rough shelters were built against the walls, and a central fire pit smoldered. But it wasn’t a fortress of hardened warriors one would expect to be.
’This is...’
His eyes scanned the inhabitants. A handful of weary, injured men who hadn’t been on the raid lounged listlessly. But his gaze quickly moved past them, landing on the others.
Women. Children. Their faces gaunt, their clothes little more than rags. They huddled together for warmth, their eyes hollow. This wasn’t just a bandit hideout.
’A refugee camp?’
The thought flickered through his mind, but Aman didn’t lower his guard. Appearances could be deceiving; these could be captives, or a carefully constructed facade. He moved deeper into the cavern, sticking to the shadows.
The further in he went, the clearer the divide became. The gaunt and weary were clustered near the entrance. Deeper in, the shelters were sturdier, and the few men he saw looked healthier, their auras sharper with a predatory idleness. His eyes narrowed, focusing on the largest tent erected against the far wall.
Then, a sound cut through the low murmur of the cavern — a sharp, terrified female scream, followed by a man’s low, grating laugh.
Aman’s hands went to the daggers at his back. His expression, already neutral, turned to ice. The intent radiating from that tent was foul, a mix of violence and base desire. He didn’t need to guess what was happening.
In a few silent, swift strides, he crossed the distance and slipped through the tent flap.
The scene inside was exactly as he’d sensed. A large, muscular man with a cruel grin had a woman cornered. Her clothes were torn, her face streaked with tears and dirt. "N-no! Don’t!" she pleaded, scrambling backward.
"KEKE~" The man chuckled, a disgusting, wet sound. "I’m far better than your weakling husband. He’s already captured, so let me—!"
His words cut off in a choked gurgle. A primal survival instinct made him start to turn, but it was too late.
Far too late.
’Swoosh!’
A dagger, held reverse-grip, slammed into the side of the man’s neck with devastating force, the sound a sickening crunch of cartilage and bone.
’!’
The man’s eyes bulged, wide with shock and the final, horrifying realization. He crumpled to the ground without another sound.
"..."
Aman stood over the body, his gaze cold and detached as he watched the life fade from the bandit’s eyes. He then turned his attention to the terrified woman, who was staring at him, her hands clamped over her mouth in a silent scream.
"N-No..." The woman’s wide, terrified eyes remained locked on him for a moment longer. Then, as if a taut string had finally snapped, her body went limp.
A final, choked "Ahhh..." escaped her lips before she slumped to the ground, unconscious.
Aman’s senses immediately flared out, scanning the vicinity for any reaction to the sound.
He heard movement from the nearby shelters.
"Tch. The boss must have broken her this time."
"He’s really ruthless..."
"Poor Olan. His wife got..."
Aman’s ears twitched almost imperceptibly.
’So this was a common occurrence...’
His cold gaze flicked back to the corpse at his feet. The last flicker of anything resembling guilt he might have felt vanished, replaced by a solid, icy certainty that the world was better off without this filth.
With a detached efficiency, he pulled two coarse woolen blankets from his inventory. He tossed one over the unconscious woman first, covering her torn clothes and offering a shred of dignity.
With a second, more dismissive flick of his wrist, he threw the other blanket over the dead man. It was partly to shield the woman from the sight when she awoke, but mostly because he didn’t want to look at the disgusting face any longer.
He then glanced at his shoulder.
<Well, Seren?> he communicated silently. <Seems the place needs a cleaning. Shall we do a bit of raid today?>