The great forest of Ealdenshire marked the northeastern border of Londinium. Its ancient trees had seen countless generations come and go; kingdoms built and ruined. Its expanse also marked the world's longest continuous border, spanning north to southeast. Three countries, The Republic of Rafale, the Easter Empire and the Grand Duchy of Ardeal, claimed adjacency to the Kingdom of Londinium through it.

And within its twisting canopies, a masked woman lifted herself and sat down onto a sturdy branch. She crossed her legs, swaying them back and forth as she looked out beyond the forest, where a fertile plain formed the only border between the Kingdom and the Empire.

Her face lit up with delight.

Whew, Looks like they're getting ready for something fun.

At that distance, even a marching column of men looked nothing more than a blotch on the landscape. Square blocks, organized into orderly rows marched circles around a central camp, marked by a thin ring, presumably a palisade.

The woman pulled off her mask for a moment, just to rub the sweat off her forehead. "Hee hee hee. I just came back and there's already something to do. Busy, busy!"

As she settled in her seat, another voice came from below - low, yet feminine and with an overall monotony to it. "The Raffalian camp ought to be within view from here."

A series of tremors followed. It travelled up the trunk, growing stronger and stronger until, off the corner of her eye, a dark red cloak whipped up, and slowly fluttered back down before coming to rest along the silhouette of a young woman.

"Yeah, I see it," she replied, bending forward slightly to sneak a glance past the tree trunk separating her and her companion. She noticed immediately the crossbow slung over the girl's shoulder. It dangled down from her hip, bobbing back and forth as she crouched upon her branch, instead of sitting. She, too, wore a mask, but one that was broken vertically in half. "Oh, and by the way..."

"Yes, Lady Aster?" said the young woman, casting a steely gaze from a single, expressionless eye.

"...were you able to deliver their secondary mission before they left?"

"Yes. While observing the village for any sign of loose monsters, Lil and Garm should be able to track down the Mythril dealer along the way."

"They know what our little heroine looks like, right? I don't want them putting a scratch on our VIP."

"Yes. It's unlikely for them to ever cross paths, seeing as the heroine is based in the Royal Palace. But they know to protect her, if necessary."

"I see, I see. Heheh!" She grinned. "I'm glad you're so reliable, Kiya."

"Mm." She simply nodded and continued, "Leaving that aside, our own mission..."

Haah... she's not really the type who responds to compliments... Hm, actually...

Her thoughts turned to the rest of her team.

Come to think of it, none of them are...

Having lost herself in thought, she missed Kiya's briefing and would have to ask her to repeat herself.

The latter did not appreciate this.

A young girl pressed her back against the bark of an old Elm tree. Strands of soft silver swept across her eyes as a light breeze blew past, rustling the dense foliage around her. The late afternoon was cold in Northmarch, the province that encompassed several small settlements including Dellwick and Eddingset, but thanks to her cloak, it felt rather comfortable.

Hushed voices, all of adult men, mingled from the opposite side of the tree and joined each other in conversation.

"Man... I have a bad feeling about this," one said as he let out a sigh.

"Tsk, what, you're getting cold feet now?" said another.

"No, I just..."

"We get paid and keep a cut of the loot! Who could pass this up!?"

A third man slipped in his own comment, "I hear ya'. I'm thinkin' o' joinin' this outfit after this."

"I just... I don't like the rumors washing around Dellwick lately... they say this forest is... haunted. "

"Haunted? You still suck your mum's tits or something? There's no such thing."

"Sod off. I heard it from the guys in the tavern. They say demons or spirits or somethings go around in the night, asking people, 'are you a bandit'? And if you say that you were, they'd chop your head off!"

"What kind of stupid story is that? Don't tell me you actually believe that shite."

"I... well..."

"Wanker. It's a kid's fairytale, innit? And it's so absurd! Why would you even admit to being a bandit in the first place?"

"Err..."

"See? Them's just rumors, to keep morons away from this outfit, right? They want to keep more for themselves!"

"Well, that makes sense... I hope you're right."

"I am right. Now shut up, the forward's here."

The soft rustle of leaves followed a man's shallow panting.

"I saw 'em," he said with a hushed voice, "the three wagons. Four guards, maybe more."

"Right."

The girl turned her gaze to one side.

Beyond the treeline, a rhythmic canter, interspersed between grinding wheels, drew closer and closer.

Killing her voice, she whispered, "Big brother..."

The sound of parting leaves grew louder, denser. This time, it was accompanied by the soft, leathery scratch of swords being drawn.

"Now boys," one of the men said, "let's get stuck in."

Hearing this, she leapt to her feet, jettisoning her cloak.

Her padded clothes made little noise as she ascended straight up the tree trunk. With the precision and agility of a jungle cat, she climbed onto a branch and observed the situation below.

A group of seven armed men skulked beneath the foliage as they advanced towards the open road beyond. Each man carried a sword and a small shield. This, on top of their hide and leather armor, made them look closer to soldiers than bandits.

But bandits, they were.

As soon as the wagon train came around the bend, the ground quaked with a loud crash. The shock even propagated up the tree such that the girl felt it in the soles of her feet.

Suddenly, the once serene forest erupted in violence.

"Woohoo!!" the bandits cried.

"They fell fer it! Get 'em!"

They screamed and howled, working themselves into a frenzy. Leaving any pretense of stealth, the outlaws stamped and slashed at the greenery that once hid them as they carved a straight path to the caravan train.

Frightened, the nesting birds fled the forest canopy for the sky. Though this proved troublesome for the girl who found herself in their way, the uproar both above and below completely masked the sound of her own movements.

Without hesitation, she leapt from tree to tree, grabbing and swinging on the dense network of branches. Leveraging her lithe limbs and petite form, she soon overtook the bandits and prepared her own ambush.

She drew a pair of daggers from both sides of her waist - one with a thin, razor-sharp edge, and the other, a thick, straight blade with intermittent notches.

And then, she waited.

The wild men streamed forth like a pack of wild dogs, barking and growling as they pursued their prey.

But soon, they entered her killzone.

She set her sights on the one farthest back.

Then, like a domino tipping on its side, she plunged into her mark.

Quiet as a falling leaf, she slid her blades down the back of his neck.

The crackle of shattering bone resonated within her fingers.

Alas, the man fell dead on his knees, leaving nothing but a lingering grunt; his companions left unaware of the pressing danger.

After a quick glance left and right, she set her eyes on her next victim - a thin man whose steel breastplate did not cover his lower back.

She dashed in.

Just like this, she enacted the systematic murder of two more men, all none the wiser to her presence until all was too late.

But as their numbered sheared off, so did their voices.

And soon, the others began to notice.

However, by the time her fourth victim came to realize the impeding peril, it was already too late. Though still a couple of steps from his neck, his back was already within arm's reach. And so, giving him no chance to even look at her face, she plunged the thick blade into his liver. Unfortunately for her, it meant that his death would not be instant, and therefore quiet.

He let out a blood-curdling scream.

Moreover, his end was not as painless as those before him. The serrated edge of the knife sawed through tissue as the girl pulled it back out of his body, sending him crumpling face-first into the ground.

And while he drew his last gasp at her feet, the girl laid her eyes on the next kill.

Her face showed no emotion. They never did. From the moment she dropped from the tree, to when she tore her blade back out from the man's shredded body, her eyes were completely empty.

All that filled mind was how next to kill.

Quickly.

Efficiently.

"Who the hell!?" yelled the man closet to her, "Hey, we've got company!"

His tied beard swung around as he turned to face their assailant. Then, his expression took the complete journey from furious, to confused, and, finally, amused all in the span of a second.

"What the?" he sneered, "It's just a little girl. I'll take care o' this."

Alerted by her presence, the three remaining bandits stopped their attack on the caravan and instead drew closer to her.

"Ya made your last mistake, missy."

However, his words would not shake her.

"Rrrrraaaaaaaagh!"

The brutish man raised his sword and charged in shield-first.

Initially, she calculated herself to be at a disadvantage against the man and his shield, but as soon as he entered the terminal phase of his assault, he swung his shield out of the way and lifted his sword high up into the air.

Her eyes thus narrowed.

Instead of retreating, she blasted forward, meeting him head-on.

"Wha-!?"

Her baffling speed took him by surprise, making him flinch in the last, critical moment. And when he swung his sword down in panic, the girl caught his blade within the notch on hers.

"Ngh-!"

Controlling his blade, she then stepped aside and parried the strike.

Next, she swooped down and delivered a cut across the man's exposed shin.

"Guahahaaa!"

His knees quickly buckled, and he crashed belly-first into the dirt.

Then, with a lightning-fast motion, she mounted his back and drove both of her blades into the back of his neck.

In but a few moments, the man had stopped moving.

The girl let out a sigh.

As she pulled her blades out, they dripped of thick blood. Her hands were washed in the same crimson red and her entire body was covered in streaks and spurts.

But she was not finished.

Before the next man's face even contorted in terror, she had already launched her attack. She pulled a few throwing knives from a strap on her thigh. By the threes, she launched them, imitating the motion she observed her boss doing.

And just as he was about to scream in terror, the man instead said, in a baffled tone, "Huh?"

All but one had missed their mark. And the one the did hit landed on the blunt side, leaving nothing but a slightly sore patch of skin.

"W-what?"

Displeased, the girl grunted, though none of it reflected on her expression.

Taking advantage of the man's confusion, she lunged at him at top speed.

"Eeeek!" The man raised his shield.

But in his panic, his shield arm flinched so high that he blinded himself. Abusing his mistake, she swept low. She then unleashed a flurry of cuts across his legs and forced him to his knees.

"Gaaaaaah! You- you fucking-!" With bloodshot eyes, the man lashed out in desperation.

He swung his shield across, bashing it into her arm.

Unable to avoid the impact, she clenched her teeth and took it.

"Oooaaaaah!" With a piercing scream, he then lifted his sword over his head. He pointed it down like an icepick, but before he could bring it down on her shoulder, he heaved and coughed out a gob of blood. "Blrgh!?"

The girl slipped her arm over his small rawhide shield and plunged a small throwing knife into his neck.

And as this realization dawned on him, his eyes rolled back into his skull.

Soon, his full, dead weight fell over her.

"Kuh-!"

Though her small, lithe form granted her immense speed and agility, it did not lend her much in the way of raw strength.

And soon, she found herself pinned down by the man's body.

Alarmed at her vulnerable state, she swept left and right in search for the last bandit, that she may figure out how to best defend herself from his counterattack...

...but, he was nowhere to be found.

Instead, a voice, already distant, echoed across the dense woods, "Gyaaaaaaahaaaaa! Somebody, help meeee!"

Light thuds interspersed his frightened squeal, presumably from dropping his weapons and armor as he fled.

And so, the girl was left alone.

Six bodies were scattered all around, one of which was on top of her.

Her eyes flickered.

The body, still warm, felt strangely relaxing, inviting a sort of drowsiness over her, following the satisfaction of a good killing spree.

After a while, she finally pushed the corpse off of her and flicked the blood slick off of her weapons.

The adrenaline rush had calmed down, allowing her to think back with certain clarity.

Clasping together her trembling hands, she then muttered, "That was... lucky..."

The thought of pursuing the survivor crossed her mind. But since he had thrown away his weapons and fled, he was no longer a threat to her brother's caravan - essentially, she would be doing unpaid work.

And as a professional assassin, she was taught never to do any work for free.

Thus, she turned her eyes back towards the road, where a battle was underway.

"Big brother... good luck..."

"Aaagh!" A piercing scream echoed against the surrounding treeline.

A screeching howl followed as the caravan guard fell, "Hihihihiiii! One down!" An outlaw with a nose ring then drove his sword into the woman's breastplate, ending her life.

"Bah! What a shame!" another of the bandits sneered, "Can't make use of 'er now!"

"Eeeeeek!" A merchant, holed up in his wagon, cried, "We were already outnumbered to begin with, and now...!"

Hm. The quality of these caravan guards are low. It's hard to imagine how a mythril dealer could secure such valuable goods with this lack of talent. This caravan is wrong, as well...

Among the guards stood a large, cloaked man. His already dark skin appeared almost like a shadow beneath his sand-yellow mantle. Furthermore, the massive, curved blade he wielded was something rarely seen around Londinium.

This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

"You! The merc from Jizzaro!" a caravan guard called to him, "Protect the guys repairing that wagon, no matter what!"

His dark, gloomy eyes shifted towards the man in a chain mail.

"We don't need to beat them... if we can just get the wagons out-!"

"Kee!" A bandit lunged at the man, interrupting him. "You talk too much, boy!"

"Guh-!"

Nodding his head, he said, "Understood."

He then placed himself between the armed thugs and their prize.

While his fellow caravan guards desperately fought, the dark man simply looked on. Before him stood two bandits, one of whom had just killed the lady guard, staining his eyes with deep bloodlust.

And yet, the outlaws refused to attack.

They faced, after all, a titan of a man. He stood far taller than any of them, and from whatever silhouette they could see from his mantle, his entire body was packed with bulging muscles thicker than even their armor.

"Bro..." a bandit said to the other, "this guy's bad news..."

And it suited him just fine.

As the other caravan guard said, so long as the wagon hands fixed the wheel and they were able to make their escape, he would have fulfilled his job. And he had no intention of expending any more effort than necessary for what was, essentially, a cover job.

It's good that there have been no signs of monsters anywhere, but if we do not at least discover the heroine's mythril dealer, then we will be returning empty-handed...

And the boss will not be pleased...

Meanwhile, the bandits prodded each other to attack.

"Hey, go on. I've got your back."

"What!? Why don't you go, and I'll have your back!?"

"Come on, don't be a pussy."

It's noisy out here. I want to sit back inside the wagon. They're taking so long. Should I help out? I don't want to, either...

"Hey, they've almost fixed the wheel, you wuss! Go on already!" The bandit exclaimed, as he pushed his friend right toward the herculean mercenary.

"Hey, wha-!?"

The young man, not possibly past his twenties, stumbled forward beneath the Jizzarian's shadow. Slowly, he lifted his face, just to make eye contact with his opponent. "Eek!" He was driven to tears the moment he saw the deathly glare directed right at him. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" He then fled back to the arms of his friend. "I can't do it!"

"For gods's sake, they're gonna get away!" The man scolded him. "Come on, get on your feet, we can just break the other wheels and keep 'em here until our other boys can come to help! Shit... where the hell are they!?"

On either side, a fierce battle was being fought for control of the leading and trailing wagons - a battle that seemed to tilt in favor of the bandits.

"Hey, you!" The wagon hand screamed, "Don't let them break any more wheels, or we'll be stuck here forever!"

He clenched his fist.

How annoying...

A low groan escaped his nose.

I guess I have no choice.

His cloak parted.

A wave of terror then washed over the bandits as he brought out a massive curved sword from underneath.

Immediately, the cowardly thug turned pale. And while he was frozen in place, his friend slowly tiptoed away.

The mercenary focused his hollow gaze on the terrified man.

Despite how his knees trembled, or perhaps because of them, the man stood his ground, raising his shield and readying his weapon. At the same time, tears rolled down his cheeks.

The air stilled around them.

The dark man took a deep breath.

And upon his subsequent sigh...

...he blasted forward.

Even with his opponent on-guard, he ran straight-on, his massive blade resting over his shoulder.

His intention was simple.

"Eek! He... he'll trample me!" The coward winced, but it was far too late to escape. "Somebody, hel-"

The soon, the distance was closed.

As the mercenary raised his sword, however, he noticed a shadow on the ground, drawing close.

He thus planted his feet into the dirt early, drawing on his excessive strength to pull his sword back and swing it around the side.

As a result, the curved, steel blade just barely scratched the man's shield before continuing its cleaving motion sideways.

"Bwah-!" The second bandit screamed.

It tore through the man's leather armor as though it were jelly, sending blood spatter flying in a wide arc between them.

"J-Joey! Shiiiiit!" In desperation, the coward staggered forward and thrust a sword toward the merc's chest.

But with nothing more than light ding, attack whiffed.

With the upward motion of his free arm, the mercenary deflected the attack with his metal bracer, a piece of armor hidden beneath his cloak, revealed only as the sword ripped the cloth over it.

His opponent was thus unbalanced. However, after delivering that massive strike, his heavy sword was far behind him, and no amount of strength would be enough to recover in time for a second.

Thus, he released his grip from the blade, allowing its great momentum to yank itself out of his hand. He then followed by slamming his already raised fist into the bandit's face.

"Ugah!" The bandit screamed as his head recoiled violently backwards.

Next, he pushed himself forward with all the remaining strength in his legs. "Hrngh!" He released a voice from deep within his diaphragm, at the same time pulling his sword-arm forward and clutching the man's face within the iron grip of his fingers.

"Mmmgfff!"

His nails dug into the skin, securing the man's head firmly in his hand as he lifted him cleanly off his feet.

"Holy gods...!" The wagon hand gasped in terror.

And finally, with all his body weight, he pushed forward and slammed the bandit into the ground.

The shockwave kicked up a sheet of dirt that took a good long moment to settle.

The dark-skinned man exhumed a deep, gurgling breath.

Within that very same moment, the scene muted into silence.

Fighting stopped all across the caravan train as all eyes turned to him in astonishment.

When the dust finally settled, two men laid motionless at his feet.

As sweat collected over his brows, his eyes strafed left and right, searching for the next man foolish enough to get in his way.

But having witnessed his crushing demonstration, all the remaining bandits lost all their will to fight.

"Gyaaaah!" one screamed as he tucked tail and ran, "What is with that guy!?"

"This is fuckin' ridiculous!" yelled another, "I'm out!"

And so, the mob of their would-be robbers dispersed into the forest, leaving their dead for the crows to peck.

"We..." with bated breath, the wagon hand screamed, "we did it!"

Finally, his peace had returned.

"Oh... dear gods," the merchant finally disembarked from his perch, "we actually made it."

The dark man spared only a passing glance for his employer, before turning away to retrieve his sword. Wiping the blood off, he swung back to the wagon to sit and wait under its shade.

Just a few more miles and we're back in Dellwick.

On his way, however, his eyes caught a glimpse of a young girl with silver hair. Her dark cloak broke her silhouette, making her hard to distinguish from the surrounding foliage.

Without even knowing if their eyes met or not, he nonetheless gave her a passing nod.

To his slight amusement, the girl gave a nod of her own, before disappearing back into the forest.

"Hmph," he shared with himself a low snicker.

Leaning his back against the wagon, he wiped the sweat on his forehead and rested his eyes for a bit.

There were six bandits who attacked our carriage from this side.

With a road like this, cutting in the middle of a forest, it would be unusual not to take advantage of the terrain and strike only from one direction.

His gaze sharpened.

Six men... she took care of them all by herself... if she weren't around, this caravan would have been overwhelmed. Even I wouldn't escape unscathed.

As expected of our little prodigy... perhaps in twenty years, she will surpass even the boss.

As he thought this, he heard some light footsteps approaching.

"That was splendid," said the old merchant, "how you defeated two men on your own!"

Even the guards from the other wagons threw their praises in for driving away the ruffians.

But their words rang hollow in his mind.

They looked at him in awe for such a pale feat, yet just a few yards away, a tiny girl, a fraction of his age, displayed true genius. Unseen. Unheard. Her accomplishment fading into the shadows alongside her - truly befitting an assassin.

Holding this to mind, he shook his head and replied, "I was just doing my job."

Instead, merchant was further elated. "No, no! Really, I must thank you! In fact, please, allow me to give you a bonus!"

He then pulled a small object from his pocket.

"No, I don't need-" But just as he was about to refuse the reward, a streak of light caught his attention.

It flashed from across a glass bead inset within the intricately worked metallic plate. This familiar trinket laid on the man's palm.

"This brooch..." said the merchant, "you were looking at it the other day, weren't you? With that girl..."

"Hm?" He reflexively put up his guard. "So you noticed... And more than that, you remember?"

"Hee hee, despite how I look, I've got an eye for faces... Is what I'd like to say, but even an aging eye like mine won't easily miss a unique visitor like yourself. You don't see a Jizzarian merc with a Londinian girl very often."

His eyes narrowed.

The merchant then placed his hand on his chin and scratched the underside of his jaw. "But I see... a merc, huh? I don't see why you'd come all the way to Londinium for that, seeing as Jizzaro is the prime place for your lot... but I won't pry."

The man then stared into the middle distance.

"I'm sure there's a long story behind it. Every merc has one." As he said this, he turned his gaze back at the dark-skinned man. "But at the very least, even these old eyes can see - you must care about that girl, don't you?"

That is...

He lowered his head in contemplation.

...not incorrect.

"That girl..." he muttered with a low, breathy voice, "...is family."

The old man smiled and placed the brooch in the mercenary's hand. "Then give it to her."

Finally, he nodded. "...I will."

The sun had long set.

The crickets and birds singing in the shadows of the night brought little comfort to a certain man, terrified out of his wits. He had been running without direction through the forest of Northmarch and, after what must have been an hour, he had driven himself to sheer exhaustion.

"Shit!" He panted while grumbling through his teeth. "Shit! what's going on!? Is this the way to Eddingset!? Damn it! Damn it! I just want to go home..."

His pace slowed until he was barely walking.

"I knew it... That job was too good to be true... "

He sniffed back in a thread of snot that hung down from his nostril.

"I should'a listened to me mum and-"

Suddenly, a strangely high pitched voice called out to him, seeming from out of the darkness, "Are you a bandit, meow?"

"Wha-!?" Startled, he jumped and squealed. "Who's there!?"

"Are you a bandit, meow?" The voice simply repeated.

At that point, he felt a strange warmth spreading around his groin area.

Sh-sh-shiiiiiit! The rumours! Th-they're actually true!?

"Nya... do you hear me, meow? I said, are you a bandit, meow?"

Then, as if dissolving from out of the darkness, a pair of glowing eyes appeared, beneath a ray of light penetrating the forest canopy.

"Eeeeeek!" His sheer cowardly instinct kicked in, and he threw away his weapons. "No! Please! I'm not a bandit! I quit! I'm going to make an honest living from now on!"

The man got on his knees and clasped his hands together. Tears flowed profusely down his eyes as he made his darndest impression of the most pathetic man that ever walked the face of the earth.

All that time, the thing seemed to only stand there. Its eyes flickered in and out of the darkness as if it, seemingly, listened to his long, sad spiel.

Alas, after mentioning how he was a naughty boy who ought to have listened to his mum for the fifth time, he finished.

And for a moment, a tense silence overtook the scene.

His heart pumped wildly.

He could feel the sweat just dripping off his chin.

And yet, he couldn't move.

Somehow, he had equated in his head that moving meant his death and absolutely avoided doing so, no matter what.

He had even identified what the strange warmth spreading in his pants was.

But he didn't care.

I just want to go home...!

And after the drawn out silence, the thing spoke.

"Oh... okay, meow."

The eyes then seemed to float forward and, passing the ray of light, seemingly flickered out of existence.

The man's jaw dropped.

Despite this, he heard its rustling footsteps come ever nearer.

"Eek!"

He was sure that his end was near... until, it passed him.

"Ueh?" He followed the sound with tearful eyes, and noticed the grass by his feet parting from what seemed to be an invisible foot stepping over it, and lifting away again.

But more than that, he saw, floating in mid-air, a jet-black metal that blended so well with the darkness that he hadn't noticed it until it literally passed his very eyes. It was a blade of some sort, its edge highlighted by a thick, crimson liquid that dripped down its point.

Ah... it is.

Once more, the warm sensation spread all over his groin, now soaking wet right down to his inner thigh.

And soon, even the sounds disappeared into the night.

All it left, to even assert that it hadn't all been a strange, convoluted hallucination was the trail of blood on the forest floor.

Moreover, the trail seemed to lead behind a bush right in front of him.

His heart pounded heavier.

Every instinct in his body told him to run, but somehow, a morbid curiosity nagged him forward.

He staggered back to his feet.

Limping closer, he inspected the dense shrub. Its tiny leaves were washed almost entirely with blood.

He swallowed his breath.

This...

A cold sweat ran all over his body.

This could've been...

He mustered all of his courage, pushing himself forward to peek what was behind the bush.

And then...

...he turned around.

No...

He sniffled.

I don't need to know.

With snot dripping down his nose, made his resolve.

Mom... please wait for me. I'm going to hold a real job from now on!

After a few days, the bandit attacks around Dellwick had almost come to an end. A sense of normalcy and peace returned to its once uneasy streets, and trade wagons once more rolled freely across its central road.

At the same time, the rumor of ghosts roaming the forests of Northmarch spread far and wide, and, partly because of the subject matter, not only bandits, but even hunters and lumberjacks started to avoid going there altogether.