My new sidekick and I completed a few quests together in the local area. We then departed for new lands, looking to join our forces with another group headed by a man hailed as a local hero.

Slipping inside while the others were distracted with the Irontail, Lyght caught up to the guard and ended him quickly. The poor guy probably thought the footsteps were one of his comrades running inside with him and never suspected a thing. With a swift double-bladed slash, Lyght spun around the man as he fell to the floor to finish dying, the blades spraying blood on the walls of the narrow confines.

He caught a glimpse of Feros as his friend went down a different corridor and gave a quick nod to himself in approval of Feros’s decision to split up. The hallways of this ruin were just wide enough for two people to stand shoulder to shoulder, so it would have been difficult to amply move at a good speed were they together.

Up ahead, two men with small hand axes—like what were used in one of the axe-throwing games at the Dice & Sword—walked out of a room to the right. Not hesitating, Lyght flung both of his swords forward before the men could react. They spun towards the pair of bewildered brigands like a couple of sawblades eager to tear through their target.

One blade struck true, embedding itself in the abdomen of the man closer to the room’s exit. The other flew past his partner, but not without cleaving a nasty gash across his left shoulder as it passed. Lyght ran up to the one who was clutching at the sword sticking from his stomach, quickly pulling it free with a sickening squelch and turning on the man still standing.

His left arm hanging limply, the man tried to take a swing with the small axe in his right hand but Lyght easily parried it before spinning his blade in a flourish and slicing the hand off all in one smooth motion. Kicking the screaming man to the side to join his companion who had fallen to the ground just moments earlier, Lyght hopped over the sorry sight and retrieved his second sword.

A loud, booming sound reverberated down through the walls from somewhere up above, shaking the stones of the structure slightly. Lyght glanced up at the ceiling, shielding his eyes from the dust as it fell.

What the hells has Troy gotten himself into?!

He turned his attention back to the path in front of him. The roars of the Irontail continuing its fight with its captors out front coalesced with the echoes of the stone rattling and the shouts of men both trying to survive and confusedly figure out what was happening. It was pure auditory chaos befitting an assault in the night. Lyght found himself smiling as he ran down the corridor, pleased with how things were going even if it wasn’t exactly according to plan.

Up ahead, the path split. One doorway straight ahead likely went outside, mirroring the entrance Lyght had entered from. The corridor itself went to the right. Lyght decided to follow the corridor, trusting the Irontail and Gargarel to take care of however many of the bandits were outside while he advanced up to assist Troy.

Moving through this new hall, an opening along the left of the wall revealed stairs leading up. Lyght climbed to the second floor. Based on the height, he guessed that this was the floor where Troy had thrown the dagger from the window to give the signal. Where was he then? It didn’t seem like the source of what had shaken the fort earlier was here, given how intact everything looked, but Lyght decided to go ahead and check through the rooms on this floor quickly before heading up.

Searching from left to right in a clockwise fashion with his back to the stairs, all of the rooms were devoid of anything interesting except for a few crates of supplies. Lyght saw a blood trail that he hadn’t noticed when he first ascended the stairs—it was more plainly visible from where he now stood. The trail led into the room closest to the stairs on the left-hand side. Recognizing this room was facing the battlefield below, Lyght realized it must have been where the signal had come from.

Creeping warily into the room, Lyght hoped the blood didn’t belong to Troy. The fact this was where the signal had been given didn’t bode well. He didn’t see anything immediately, but the smell of fresh blood was pervasive. From one of the barrels? The blood trail did seem to lead there.

Approaching the barrel with one sword drawn and his other hand cautiously reaching out towards the lid, he removed it quickly like a chef would unveil a grand dish at the dinner table. This was no grand dish, however.

Lyght didn’t really know what he expected. Troy dead? Maybe. The remnants of someone Troy had killed? Also possible—and obviously the preferred option. Possibly the last thing he expected were a set of scared eyes staring up at him from the confines of the container, but that is precisely what he encountered.

“Uhh… What?” Lyght asked with the utmost confusion.

He dropped the lid and motioned with the now-free hand for the stranger in the barrel to climb out. They did so reluctantly. Clumsily also, knocking the barrel over when attempting to pull their foot out over the rim and tumbling to the floor. As they stood up, Lyght got a clearer view of the stranger’s features. About a foot and a half shorter than him with a big nose, plump belly, and orange mutton chop facial hair, they were undoubtedly a Halvan.

“M-m-muh name’s Wheatloaf. Mister Troy asked me to hide in that there barrel until he came back for me.” The paunchy Halvan man stammered. He had a soft-spoken but deep voice, and it sounded as if he was talking with food in his mouth even though he obviously wasn’t.

“Troy… right. So he headed up then, yeah?”

Wheatloaf nodded. “H-he gave me a knife. Told me to count to thirty ‘n throw it out the window, then climb back in the barrel. S-said he was goin’ upstairs ‘n that would let his friends know to come ‘n h-help him.”

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“Okay, got it. What about the blood?”

“Belonged to one of them m-mean men what was keeping me here.”

He scuttled around behind the barrel he had been hiding in, and pushed it out of the way. Then a couple more barrels followed suit, moving to reveal a dead body.

Doesn’t do much good to hide a body if you have a blood trail leading to it… but he was obviously pressed for time.

Something crashed against the wall near the window; the roar of the Irontail soon followed. Lyght hurried over, peering out to see the body of the woman who had been speaking with the guard earlier limply dangling from the outer wall to his left. Some of the stone had been slightly collapsed from the impact, creating sharp points that dug into the skin of the body and held it in place like some kind of gruesome art piece.

Guess things are going well down there at least…

Looking over the chaotic battlefield two stories below, Lyght could see that another member of the bandit crew lay dead on the ground directly below him. The rest were still fighting the Irontail, and… was that Gargarel? It was. The Gmaas was in the fray of the battle, swinging his powerful axe at both bandits and beast alike, as if he were in a free-for-all tavern brawl.

Turning to Wheatloaf, Lyght put his hand on the plump Halvan’s shoulder and gave him a reassuring nod. “I don’t know what your situation is here, but Troy trusted you to give the signal, so you’re good in my book. Stay here and stay safe—I’m heading upstairs to back him up. Here—” Lyght handed Wheatloaf one of the small knives from his belt. “Hide. Stick anyone in the back of the head that isn’t me, Troy, a blue Feroxi, or a green Gmaas. Got it?”

Wheatloaf returned the nod, accepting the knife. “O-okay. I’m not r-really the fightin’ ty—”

Another loud booming sound like an explosion thundered from above, though the building didn’t seem to react as strongly this time. Then, Feros finally made an appearance, looking in from the doorway.

“There you are.” He growled. “Killed three more on my way up here from the other path I took. Their numbers are dwindling. What in the Architects are those sounds? And where’s Troy?”

“Up higher. He may be engaged with Barsh himself for all I know. I’m heading up there now.” He patted Wheatloaf on the head like an adult would a child, despite the man likely being much older than him. “Aren’t you gonna ask about my friend here?”

“Don’t care.” Feros growled again. “You haven’t killed him so he’s not an enemy—that’s all I need to know.”

Lyght shrugged. “Fair enough. Anyway, Gargarel needs help out front. He’s in a three-way scrum with the Irontail and the bandits. You head down, I’ll head up.”

Feros nodded, then ran forward, deftly sidestepping both Lyght and Wheatloaf without breaking stride. As he arrived at the window, he condensed his body with arms forward, leaping out the crude opening in the wall like a diver jumping into a pool of water.

Lyght peered over the ledge to see Feros do a quick flip so that his clawed feet found purchase on a section of wall where the stones were uneven. He adroitly bounded from this to the pile of rubble where the old gate used to be, then pounced into the fray and joined in the melee.

Saying a quick goodbye to Wheatloaf, Lyght turned and ran out the door and up the stairs. Another explosion. He gritted his teeth, disappointed in himself. Troy shouldn’t be fighting the bandit leader—that was supposed to be Lyght’s job. Lyght cursed himself for not having stormed up the stairs quicker, and instead getting distracted by the blood and the Halvan. If the new recruit died under his leadership because of a lapse in his plan…

Clearing the top steps, this floor was similar to the second with a large lobby-like clearing in the middle. No sign of Barsh or Troy. Lyght was about to continue up to the fourth floor, but then he heard a pair of voices—less gruff than he expected—spewing vile curses from one of the rooms to his right. Moving that direction with blades drawn, he located the room the sounds were coming from. Two women stood at a large opening in the wall that acted as a big window, bows in their hands and aiming downward towards the battle outside.

They apparently hadn’t heard him coming as they each fired an arrow, shouted another curse of frustration, and notched a second arrow, all without turning to look at him. Lyght hesitated, biting his lip. His instincts told him to take advantage of their lack of awareness and end them quickly, but he couldn’t be certain these women were part of the bandit crew. They wore simple revealing clothing rather than any kind of protective armor, and he’d already encountered Wheatloaf. The Halvan was a captive of Barsh’s Bandits, so maybe the two of them were in a similar situation. They could be aiming at the bandits and Irontail rather than Gargarel and Feros.

The one on the right must have finally sensed his presence as they glanced over their shoulder after firing another arrow and started with a gasp. Her companion, still with an arrow notched, quickly turned to see what was going on. Upon seeing Lyght, she loosed the arrow toward him.

Lyght deflected it with his left sword, then rushed forward towards the woman on the right who was reaching for another from a nearby table. Before she could grab it, he slammed into her with a shoulder charge that sent her careening over the ledge.

Ducking quickly as the second woman swiped at him with a small dagger she’d procured from the windowsill, Lyght then rose up and stabbed her square through the stomach at an upward angle, meeting her eyes that were wide with shock. She dropped the bow and dagger to the floor. Pulling his sword free, he took a quick step to his left and then shoved her to send her over the ledge and join her companion below.

He shook his head, disappointed in himself for hesitating. Despite the attire they donned and their thinner frames, they were still his enemy, and hesitating when facing an enemy was obviously a bad idea. His instincts had told him to attack immediately. However, Geren’s mantra was to try and be sure someone was an enemy before dealing a killing blow—taking the life of an innocent was inexcusable. Striking a balance between taking the time to gather the right info and acting quickly with decisiveness was difficult.

Lyght struggled sometimes with his instincts counteracting what Geren taught. He deferred to Geren’s way of doing things out of a mixture of respect for the man and an understanding that Geren was infinitely more experienced, but… what if that hesitation just now had cost him? What if the next time he hesitated, he didn’t come away unscathed? Conversely, he reminded himself that if he did act on an initial instinct and it turned out wrong, that would be both letting Geren down and potentially causing him to make a bigger mistake.

Whatever, it’s not important right now. They’re dead and I’m alive. Two more down… can’t be very many left.

Keeping his blades drawn, he turned left out of the room and continued his ascent.