It didn’t take long for me to find the Rogue’s friends. Actually, from the amount of noise they were making, finding them hadn’t been all that hard. Of course, their camp was far enough from the road that they could make as much noise as they wanted, and no one would know they were there. As I crept closer, another thing became apparent: the group hadn’t even set a watch. Whether it was confidence or arrogance, I couldn’t tell, but it had allowed me to get close without being seen.

Using the underbrush and trees for cover, I observed the camp. A half-dozen men were milling about. Two tents that could probably hold ten people each were set up around a fire pit. Three bandits were seated around the campfire, maintaining weapons and armor, while the other three were finishing a meal at a crude table. I didn’t know if more people were in the tent, but I doubted there would be more than one or two. This group was already on the larger side than your typical bandit group.

“Where’s Randle?” a burly, broad-shouldered Brawler asked as he came out of the largest of the tents, “He should have checked in by now.”

“Not sure, boss,” another of the men, this one a Shadowblade, said. “Maybe he’s tracking a target and doesn’t want to give his position away. It wouldn’t be the first time.”

“You might be right, Jason,” the group’s apparent leader remarked. “Let’s give him another few minutes; if he’s not back by then, I want you and Teo to go looking for him.”

“You got it, boss.”

As I listened to this exchange, I carefully pulled my sword free and, with a quick command that had become almost second nature at this point, transformed it into something this world had never seen. The only reason I even knew it was possible to create one was because of an offhanded comment in the admin-only description of my sword and the extensive Archive the System maintained. It was something the System Creators had called a Gun, and the entire concept had fascinated me to the point that I had Dungy set aside a whole room for something called that had been called a firing range on the world the creators had come from. So I could practice with the various models described in the Archive.

While the Assult Rifles had been fun, and the amount of ammo they could spew down range was remarkable, I had found an affinity for the smaller handguns, particularly the SIG Sauer and Glock. Now that I think about it, with the amount of underbrush and the terrain, I could have easily made myself a little snipper’s nest if not for the small problem of sniper rifles being my weakest firearm in terms of skill for the simple fact there are very few places in a dungeon to train the skills needed. So I went with the old stand, what had been called a SIG Sauer M17, on the world the System’s Creators had come from with a suppressor to help cut down on the noise.

As I lined up my first shot, I took a deep breath and, as I exhaled, slowly pulled the trigger. The bullet flew true and impacted the bandit leader in the back of the head before penetrating and exiting from the front, spewing blood, bone, and brain matter over the three bandits sitting around the fire. Before any of the bandits could react, I had already lined up a shot for the next bandit and pulled the trigger. In all, it had taken only a few minutes, but all the bandits were down. The confusion on the bandit’s side had been total, and with the sound of my fire suppressed, they couldn’t even pinpoint where I was shooting from.

This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

Gem comments into the ringing silence.

As I crept into the camp, I transformed the gun back into a sword and slowly approached the tents to ensure no one else was inside them. The first tent had seven rough cots placed wherever they could fit, with any actual room being a little at the front near the flap. The second tent was palatial in comparison. A rough wood frame bed sat to one side while an equally rough-looking desk took up the other. Papers were strewn across the surface of the desk, along with an unlit oil lamp.

I say, standing in the tent the leader had come out of, having already checked the other one.

Gem asks as I ruffle through the papers on the rough desk that took up one side of the tent.

< That’s probably the understatement of the century,> Gem commented.

I comment, stepping out of the leader’s tent, not having found anything of interest and initiating the mass loot of the bandits adding the option to segregate all the stuff from the rest of my inventory. On the off chance, the Southport guard wanted to look at any of it.

Giving myself a mental shake, I add,

< I’m not sure if I should point this out, but those sounded like famous last words.> Gem said.