The target location is Galnion. The contractor has been given verbal notice of what signal to give once they are in town.

The last member of the bandit crew stared wide-eyed with fear at Lyght and Feros from the restrained position he found himself in. He had just woken up from his unconscious slumber Feros had put him under. This was surely not what he dreamed of waking up to.

Feros couldn’t help but feel a hint of satisfaction at the sight. The man was tied to the inside of the wheelbarrow Marzie had been using to transport crops back and forth from the field earlier that day. Rope was taut around his chest and arms, keeping him bound to the wheelbarrow with his hands behind his back while his legs dangled off the sides near the base. Typically, interrogations saw the captive tied to a chair, but the small farm didn’t have an abundance of those to spare, so Lyght had decided that the wheelbarrow would suffice. Feros agreed.

It was just the two of them and the bandit that were in the barn at present. Gargarel was digging a large pit to bury all of the bodies in, while Troy was sitting at the farmhouse with Marzie and Donny. They did plan on Troy joining them at the barn, though, once Gargarel finished his job and could take over guarding the small family.

The wheelbarrow was in the middle of the barn floor with a single lantern hanging directly overhead from a rafter to illuminate the otherwise dark interior. Though it was still just late afternoon, the barn had no windows, so the lantern was the sole source of light with the doors shut.

“W-what do ya want from me?” The man asked in a panicked voice. “I promise I’ll run far away ‘n leave this place alone. Just let me live.”

“Let a member of the Black Knuckles live? Sorry. We do that, and you report back to your fellow cronies on what happened. Then there’ll be more of you show up to get revenge.” Lyght said. “That’s why we’re going to kill you nice and slow to make you suffer. I’m sure you’ve done some pretty terrible things in your lifetime. There’s a good chance you deserve this, so I won’t let it weigh on my conscience.”

“B-Black Knuckles? Ya think I’m one uh th-them?!” he stammered in a confused panic.

“Think? We know. Your gang has been terrorizing this poor family for weeks now. And we just wiped the lot of you out.” Feros growled, showing his fangs as he finished the last sentence.

“Almost the lot of you, at least.” Lyght followed up. “Had to keep one of you alive. Lucky—or unlucky, depending on how you look at it—for you that you’re the one. Maybe you can tell us some juicy bits of info about your gang, and we can make your death a little bit quicker. Deal?”

“Ya’ll’re crazy! I ain’t no Black Knuckles gang member! Why the hell do ya even think that?”

“The tattoos. You can’t hide ‘em.” Feros snarled.

“T-tattoos?! What’re ya talkin’ about?!”

Feros shook his head. “What is it with scum like you always playing dumb?”

Lyght walked around to the other side of the wheelbarrow behind the bandit. He pitched something to Feros. Catching it, Feros gave the object a quick glance before shaking his head again as if he were disappointed at how easily this one object contradicted the man’s claims.

“We’re talkin’ about this.” He said with a confident sneer as he tossed it down to his captive.

The object that landed in the man’s lap was a hand that undoubtedly bore the tattoos of the Black Knuckles gang. He began screaming and tried to shake and thrash to get the bloody hand off of him as he lay helplessly in the wheelbarrow.

“I-I-I ain’t got no idea! Where’d ya get this?! My crew ain’t no Black Knuckles, I swear it!”

“So a whole squad of you goons show up to this farm, all bearing the same tattoos, and we’re supposed to believe that you ‘ain’t no Black Knuckles’, huh?” Feros asked, slowly emphasizing each word of what the man had said.

“That’s impossible! I ain’t got no tattoos! Neither do any of the others!”

Feros shook his head again. “Seriously, why the lies?” He nodded to Lyght.

Lyght walked up behind the man in the wheelbarrow and dropped another hand into his lap.

“Wh-what the—”

And then another. The bandit’s face began to contort into a look of genuine shock and confusion mixed with fear. He looked as though some universal truth he believed he understood had been proven false. Then Lyght dumped the rest of the hands like a basket of apples, seven in total, all at once in a rain of carnage onto his wheelbarrow-bound body.

“W-what the hell?! What’s goin’ on?!”

They had been careful to not include Rogga’s hands into the mix, just in case the bandit crew this man was a part of did not have any Gmaas in it. All of the foes Gargarel, Feros, and Lyght had fought were human. He likely wouldn’t ponder the details, and instead give in to his first instinct of surprise and fear given his situation. Besides, ten tattooed hands was more than enough to pull off the ruse they were going for, so there was no need to risk adding a Gmaas’s just in case.

“What’s ‘goin’ on’…” Feros crouched down to meet the man at eye level as he spoke in a low, dangerous tone. “is that we chopped off all your buddies’ hands to prove a point that we know what gang you’re affiliated with, and we’ll do the same to you unless you tell us where the Black Knuckles’ base is.”

“B-but I’m tellin’ ya I ain’t no Black Knuckles! I’m part of Barsh’s Bandits! I-I dunno where ya got all these hands, but please take ‘em away and believe me! Untie me and I’ll show ya muh own hands! No tattoos, nothin’ to do with that gang!”

Feros had heard the name Barsh before. There was a bounty on his head in Serafah; his crew typically operated closer to the Freleria-Daeinado border. It would make sense, though, if he had started to shift operations further to the northwest to distance himself from his likely bounty hunters. That would also explain why Marzie & Donny’s farm suddenly became such a point of interest for the group looking to establish themselves in new territory. He shot Lyght a glance of silent understanding that they had the first piece of information they were looking for; now they needed the rest.

“We told you where we got the hands. You think we just have a collection of these that we haul around to pull pranks on people?” Lyght asked with a devilish grin. “Or… maybe we do, and we’re gonna add your hands to the collection. Unless you’re honest with us. You still haven’t told us where your base is. Let’s assume you’re being honest about being part of Barsh’s Bandits and not the Black Knuckles—prove it to us. Tell us where that base is then.”

Lyght began to arrange the ten hands around to where they rested between the bandit and the inside edges of the wheelbarrow. He affixed them all in the same position with the mark of the Black Knuckles gang turned towards the man’s face. With a smug look of satisfaction that showed he was happy with the work he had done, he walked over to join Feros at the foot of the wheelbarrow, high-fiving the last of the hands as he passed by.

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

Curse the Architects, he gets way too into character sometimes when it comes to this stuff… Feros thought. He admitted to himself it was entertaining, nonetheless.

Feros was hesitant at first of Lyght’s plan to try and manipulate the man into telling them where the base was. He figured a good old-fashioned beating would do the trick, but Lyght wasn’t so sure. Citing Geren’s training, Lyght said that trying to trick their captive into revealing the information somehow would be more effective than trying to simply beat it out of him—although he did admit that beating the man was his personal preference. Lyght’s reasoning was that he had likely suffered his share of beatings before due to the life he led and thus physical violence wouldn’t get him to divulge much, but he probably wasn’t the brightest lantern in the room.

Despite that being the plan, neither of them were entirely sure of the best method of how to trick the man. Gargarel had actually been the one to suggest the ruse of making it seem like they thought he was a Black Knuckles gang member in an attempt to get him to reveal what group he was actually affiliated with. None of the bandits that had appeared up at the farmhouse or that Lyght had fought to the east were Black Knuckles members, and the survivor of the battle at the farmhouse would be wholly ignorant of the Black Knuckles’ appearance to the south.

It was the kind of plan that sounded like a ridiculous suggestion at first, but then slowly began to make more sense as the group discussed it out loud and brainstormed ways to make it work. Like the initial plan itself, Lyght’s idea to cut the hands off the actual Black Knuckles crew was met with laughter and slight derision from the others. When they realized he was serious, however, everyone agreed it was worth a shot. If nothing else, proof of them having killed so many members—former or otherwise—of a renowned and dangerous gang would possibly prompt their captive to give up the information without the need for further tricks. After all, what would people capable of such things do to him?

“Okay! Okay! The mountains to the east. ‘Bouts a day ‘n a half march from ‘ere. Do ya know that village nearby? Fredsroot I think the name is, just a bit a the ways to the southeast?”

“We’re familiar with it, yes.” Feros replied, arms folded while he studied the man to try and guess if he was lying.

“Well ya head straight east from there ‘til ya get to the Ulrorr. Boss has got us livin’ out of a old fortress a ‘lil ways up the mountain path near there. One uh them abandoned ones like what the tale of the Unbreakable Wolf talks about that he stayed in.”

Feros heard Lyght let out a sharp exhalation of breath as he was no doubt trying to suppress full-on laughter. The man who found himself restrained in a wheelbarrow had unknowingly referenced the boss of the ones who had strapped him to it in the first place. Feros found himself smiling inwardly at the irony of it. He had better control over his outward displays of emotion than Lyght did though, of course.

After a few seconds of silence, he sighed at the pitiful display before him. Whatever this man had possibly accomplished in life up to this point—which admittedly couldn’t have been much given he was a lackey in a band of brigands—this had to undoubtedly be his lowest point. Tied up in a wheelbarrow inside of a barn on a farm that he had tried accosting with severed hands decorating his perimeter. The man surely must be thinking that it couldn’t get any worse. Unbeknownst to him, they did have one last trick.

“That’s good info, assuming you’re being honest… One last question and then we’ll let you go.” Feros leered down. “How many lackeys does Barsh have in his employ? If we were to visit him at this base of his, what kind of numbers would we be facing?”

“I ain’t tellin’ ya no more!” the man’s voice yelled in response.

Feros unfolded his arms and leaned in over the wheelbarrow. He held his claws up so that the overhead lantern reflected off of them to showcase their fine sheen. A sheen that was still somewhat marred by spots of dried blood from his earlier victories.

“W-wait! That wasn’t me! I didn’t say nothin’ uh the sort!”

The man looked around wildly in alarm, worming around in his strange prison and knocking a couple of the hands off so that they fell down with a soft thud. The angle of the wheelbarrow didn’t allow him to turn his head around to see behind him, where Troy was standing with his hands behind his back in his usual regal pose. He had snuck in from the back door earlier; Gargarel must have taken over guard duty at the farmhouse in time for Troy to join in on the fun.

“We’ve been nice to you so far, scum. You’re gonna start doing this the hard way now?!” Feros let his growling voice raise up to that of a near roar.

“Yeah, I’m done playin’ games—” Troy began saying with the man’s voice.

“Nearly thirty!” The bandit sputtered, cutting himself off. “Countin’ Mundt ‘n Liam’s crews that traveled ‘ere today! I promise I’m talkin’ and bein’ truthful!”

Feros stepped back a bit and eyed the now-crying bandit. The man’s fear and confusion at what was transpiring here was evident. Anybody that was this much of a frightened wreck would most likely be honest with their words in a final effort to save themselves. Feros wasn’t quite convinced, though. He gave a subtle nod to Troy that the bandit failed to notice in his fearful stupor.

“He’s lying…” The bandit’s own voice hissed softly in self-accusation.

This prompted the real bandit to start screaming. “I ain’t lyin’! I ain’t! Barsh’s Bandits! Abandoned fortress in the Ulrorr! Around thirty of us—I ain’t know the exact number! We was s’posed to get food ‘n supplies to bring back to base! I’m bein’ honest! Spare me!”

He began thrashing more wildly until he tipped the wheelbarrow over, sending the remaining hands that he had not already knocked off sprawling across the barn floor. Still tied up, his continued squirming made him look like a turtle that was having trouble getting itself upright, the wheelbarrow his shell.

“So, what do we think?” Lyght asked.

“I believe him. It takes more brainpower to lie than to tell the truth, and the damned fool is too scared to think up any lies right now.” Feros answered with a derisive snort.

“Yeah, I can agree with that.” Lyght withdrew his right sword and walked over to where the man lay, crying and trying futilely to stand up and run. “Doesn’t seem like he had a lot of brainpower to start with, though. Anyway, if we average out his ‘around thirty’ claim to simply be ‘thirty’, then that would mean they’ve got eighteen more.”

“Probably should round up and assume twenty just to be safe.” Feros replied. “I’m guessing these fools were on a rotation where they would leave for a few days to steal supplies, come back to base, then head out again. Would explain their fairly consistent arrivals here.”

Lyght crouched down on one knee, and then brought the blade down on the man’s neck to put an end to the nightmare he had found himself in. The sudden quiet ambience of the barn was a stark contrast to what had just transpired.

“Hope Garg didn’t put the dirt in the pit, yet.” Lyght remarked, standing back up. “Got one more body plus ten hands to throw in it. Which… the ten hands probably add up to close to one whole body I’d imagine… or maybe not, actually. Oh well—dead stuff that needs buried, regardless!”

“For what it’s worth, ten hands assuredly does not add up to one body.” Troy replied with a calm matter-of-factness. “I believe the average human hand weighs about one pound. And, unless this man has weight-manipulating magic, he most certainly weighs much more than ten pounds.”

Lyght laughed as he wiped the blood from his blade on the dead man’s clothes. “You know all sorts of useless trivia, huh? We’ll have to pick your brain some more on our trip to the Ulrorr Mountains to visit Barsh. Also, fun fact—we actually know someone that uses that exact kind of magic.”

He sheathed the blade once it was clean, then crossed his arms and looked at Troy, putting on a more serious face. “Seriously though, I won’t lie. I had my doubts about you when you first joined up, but you put those to rest pretty quickly. You held your own against a whole squad until backup arrived, and your magic talents have already proved useful. Looking forward to what else you can do.”

Troy seemed a bit taken aback by the compliments for a brief moment before re-steeling himself to a composed demeanor. “Yes, well... Glad to know I put to rest any doubts you had. I will return the gesture in your direction as I was not wholly sure of your abilities either. Geren has clearly done well with training you.”

“You’re gonna have to cut it with the pretty-boy stuff eventually, though.” Feros chimed in. “None of us are impressed by it. Your skills, though—that’s what will impress us. And you’ve done good on that front so far, so cut the formalities and keep up the good work.”

Maybe a bit too blunt, but the kid needs to hear it. If he does one more of those ridiculous bows…

Troy flushed slightly, though Feros couldn’t tell if it was because of the compliments on his skills or if it was in annoyance at the pretty-boy comment, before bowing and turning to walk away.

Okay, next one he does, he’s getting hit.

Pushing the thoughts of Troy’s bowing habits aside for now, Feros hoisted the bandit’s headless corpse up on his shoulder. “So, we’re heading out as soon as we can then, right? We’ll want to hit them before they expect these guys to have returned with the loot.”

Lyght nodded. “Yeah. We still have plenty of daylight left and can make some good headway. If it’s a day and a half like he said, we should arrive tomorrow night. Perfect time to ambush the place.”

“Sounds like a plan, then. I’ll carry this guy to Gargarel’s pit and leave the hands to you. It was your dumb idea after all, so you can ferry them all to be buried. Oh, and the head.”

Lyght got one of those dumb grins on his face that Feros couldn’t help but appreciate. The kid had fun, if nothing else. “No problem. I’ve got a wheelbarrow right here that just happens to be the perfect tool for the job.”