The two bandits exchanged a quick glance, a silent agreement passing between them. In unison, they launched their attack.

Stavros lunged first, his sword aimed at Drakon's chest in a powerful thrust. But the old warrior sidestepped the blade as if it were moving through molasses. In the same motion, his knee shot up, connecting with Stavros' stomach with bone-jarring force.

The air left the bandit's lungs in a rush as he crashed to the ground, clutching his abdomen and gasping for breath.

Keras, seizing the opening, pressed forward. His sword became a blur of motion, slashing left and right in a frenzied assault. Drakon backpedaled, dodging each swing with ease.

The dance continued, Keras advancing, Drakon retreating. The young bandit's confidence grew with each step, unaware that he was being led into a trap.

Suddenly, Keras' sword met unexpected resistance as his blade had wedged firmly in a thick branch of a tree. In that moment of distraction, Drakon struck.

The old man's sword flashed in the firelight, finding its mark. Steel bit into flesh, and Keras' eyes widened in shock as blood fountained from his neck. He crumpled to the ground, dead before he hit the forest floor.

Stavros, having finally regained his breath, struggled to his feet. His eyes fell on Keras' lifeless body, blood still pooling around the corpse. A chill ran down his spine as he turned to face Drakon.

The old warrior stood calmly, his blade dripping red in the flickering light. His eyes, hard as flint, bored into Stavros.

"Give up," he said. "Or you'll share your ally's fate."

Stavros looked from Drakon to his fallen companions. The reality of his situation crashed over him like a wave. He was alone, outmatched, and terrified. He cannot fight a skilled warrior alone. His chance of survival has dropped significantly.

With no choice, he tossed his sword to the ground and raised his arms in surrender and said, "I give up."

"Good choice."

From his hiding spot, Lucian watched in awe. He knew the old man was skilled, but seeing him in action was beyond anything he'd imagined. The fight was over in an instant, and the old Spartan didn’t even break a sweat. For the old man, it’s more of a sport than a sword fight.

Drakon bound Stavros' hands and feet, then began rifling through the bandits' belongings. As he sorted through a mix of weapons, coins, and parchments, he spoke without looking up.

"Lucian, you can come out now. No point in hiding anymore."

He stepped out from behind the tree. "You knew I was there the whole time?"

"Of course I did. Now make yourself useful and help me search through this stuff."

Lucian rummaged through the horse's saddlebags, his fingers brushing against coarse leather. "Why didn’t you tell me?"

"You’ll be in danger if I did."

"Thank you, I guess?"

Stavros, trussed up like a pig for slaughter, spat out, "You won't get away with this, old man. When my other comrades find out what you've done, they'll hunt you down like a dog."

Drakon continued his search, unfazed by the threat. "I've got a long list of people who want me dead. A few more names won't make me lose sleep. It certainly won't stop me from doing what needs to be done."

As Lucian reached into several pouches, the warm, sweet aroma of cinnamon filled the air, mingling with the earthy scent of freshly ground cumin from another pouch. He untied a third, releasing the sharp, invigorating fragrance of crushed black peppercorns. The final bag revealed the bright, citrusy zest of dried coriander seeds, their pale yellow hue catching the light. "Nice. I found some spices. They could be useful for our travels."

"Good thinking. We'll take those."

"What are you going to do with me?" Stavros said as he watched them.

Drakon paused in his search, fixing the bandit with a hard stare. "That depends on how cooperative you're feeling. I still have questions that need answers."

"Questions? What the fuck can I possibly give you?"

Drakon's fingers curled around the hilt of a bastard sword. With a swift motion, he sliced through the air, the blade whistling a sharp note. He lowered the weapon and settled onto the rough log, the warmth of the fire licking at his skin. "I need you to tell me where I can get information about the Persians in Thrace? I know you heard something."

"What makes you think I have information about that?"

"Because I know that your group has a good intelligence network all over Greece. You’ve heard something, right?"

Lucian moved past Drakon and took a seat next to him, eagerly trying on the armor he had just got.

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Stavros is silent for a few minutes, his eyes darting between Drakon's stern face and Lucian's preoccupied form. He knew he could try to stall, but it’s useless.

"Alright," he relented with a sigh. "I’ll say it."

"Ok, spill it."

"I’ve heard something from our people that there is a Spartan scout that has been killed."

"Was it the Persians that did it?"

"Hard to tell. The way I see it, there have been rumors that the Persians are bribing the Thracians to ally with them in an upcoming invasion."

Lucian stopped his movements, hands stilling on the leather straps of the armor and started to lean forward to listen.

"Do you have information on how many Persians are coming?" Drakon continued.

"No, I don’t. You have to ask the Persians themselves."

"Where should I start?"

"Where are you guys going?"

"At Selybria."

"Then you should go to the markets. There's a man there, they call him the Whisperer. He's not easy to find, but he knows everything that goes through Thrace and beyond. If there are Persians making moves with the Thracians, he'll know."

"What’s he look like?"

"He’s hard to miss once you know what to look for. The man has a limp, favors his left leg. Always wears a hood, no matter the weather. You’ll find him wandering near the stalls just as the market is about to close, blending in with the traders packing up."

"I see," the old man nodded. "Thank you for that information."

"So, are you going to let me go?"

"Let you go?" Drakon rose from his seat, grabbed a rope, and looped it around Stavros' neck.

"What the hell are you doing?!" the bandit shouted.

"Killing you."

"But I told you everything I know!"

"I know," Drakon started dragging. Leaves crunched underfoot, and twigs snapped like brittle bones.

Lucian dropped the armor onto the ground with a metallic clatter and sprinted after them. He placed a firm hand on the old man’s shoulder and said, "Wait. Do you really think it’s a good idea to kill him?"

"If we don’t kill him, he’ll tell his friends everything and hunt us down."

"No! I promise I won’t tell anyone!" Stavros cried out.

"See."

He looked down at Stavros, who was now shaking and pissing his undergarments. "I know, but killing him won’t make any difference."

"He's a snake, Lucian," Drakon started dragging again. "He'd sell his own mother for a handful of drachma. Trust me on this one. He’ll cause more trouble if we leave him alive."

Lucian darted in front of Drakon, his arms outstretched like a barrier. "I won’t let you."

"Are you kidding me?"

"I’m serious."

The old man let the rope slip from his grasp and strode up to Lucian. Without a word, he drove his fist into the boy’s stomach and sent him crumpling to the ground, his hands clutching his abdomen.

"Don’t worry," Drakon grasped the rope and continued dragging Stavros. "You’ll be alright, kid."

Spotting a sturdy branch, he hurled the rope skyward, looping it around the limb, then heaved, lifting Stavros into the air. The rope constricted around the bandit's neck, his gasps turning to strangled silence.

Lucian watched in horror as the life drained from Stavros' eyes. The bandit's struggles grew weaker until he hung limp, the only sound left was the creaking of the rope. Drakon stood back, his face impassive, as the body swayed in the breeze.

He sat in stunned silence, struggling to process what had just happened. The sight of Stavros' lifeless body twisting in the wind awoke a tumult of emotions within him - horror, anger, and most of all, a profound sense of helplessness.

Drakon passed by Lucian like it was nothing. He couldn't bring himself to follow behind, not after what he witnessed. He knew the old warrior was right, but the cold-blooded execution haunted him, scarred him even.

"You should have let me handle it," he muttered. "You shouldn't have killed him."

Drakon halted, pivoted on his heel, and strode towards Lucian, jabbing a finger into his chest, "And what will you do, huh? Let him go and hope he doesn’t tell his friends? You can't afford to be soft in this world, boy. He will kill us when he gets the chance."

"You don’t know that."

"And you don’t know that he’ll not do that," Drakon shot back.

Both of them stared at each other, neither willing to back down. The air between them crackled with tension, thick enough to cut with a knife.

"We could've found another way."

"There was no other way, boy. You need to understand that sometimes, hard choices have to be made."

"Bullshit," Lucian spat. "That wasn't a hard choice. That was murder."

"Call it what you want. But in this world, it's kill or be killed. You think that bastard would've shown us mercy if the tables were turned?"

"We're supposed to be better than them. Isn't that the whole fucking point?"

"Better?" Drakon let out a harsh laugh. "There's no 'better' out here. There's only alive or dead."

"So that's it? We just become like them? Killing anyone who might be a threat?"

"Listen, kid. I get it. You want to believe there's always a right way, a clean way. But life isn't that simple. Sometimes you have to get your hands dirty to survive."

Lucian shook his head. "I can't accept that. There has to be a line we don't cross."

"And where do you draw that line? When it's too late? When you're watching someone you care about die because you were too soft? If that happened to your sister or mother, wouldn’t you try to save them by killing the people who try to hurt them?"

The words hit Lucian like a punch to the gut. He opened his mouth to argue, but no words came out.

Drakon sighed. "Look, I'm not saying it's easy. But out here, hesitation gets you killed. You need to learn to make tough calls, and fast."

Lucian's shoulders slumped. "I... I don't know if I can do that."

"You'll learn, or you'll die. It's that simple. You said you wanted to join the Spartan army to get your family’s freedom? Guess what you’ll be doing there, here’s a hint; it ain’t sucking the enemy’s cock that’s for sure."

They stood in silence for a while, the weight of their argument hanging between them.

Finally, Lucian spoke. "I still think you're wrong. But... I get why you did it."

"That's a start. Now come on, we need to move. No telling who else might be out here."

As they gathered their belongings, Lucian cast one last glance at Stavros' body. The sight made his stomach churn, but he forced himself to look away. He'd have to get used to this if he wanted to survive.