There was a test we had to pass before we could join our forces with the one known as “Wolf”. We, of course, passed. Now, we prepare to embark on our first quest with others from his force.

Six… Seven… Eight…

Troy counted the seconds in his head, focusing on his breathing and the rhythm of his footsteps. Roughly four steps per second. He had told Wheatloaf, the Halvan man whom Barsh’s Bandits were holding captive, to throw the knife out the window thirty seconds after he left the room.

Reaching ten in his head, he set foot on the third floor. A quick glance showed that it was much the same as the second. No imminent signs of Barsh. Onwards to the next, then.

Thirteen…

He wasn’t sure what he would do once he reached Barsh. Surely the bandit leader would recognize that Troy wasn’t one of his own, despite the disguise and the voice. All he was certain of was that it made the most sense to get close to the man while his disguise afforded him the chance. He’d figure the rest out after that.

Twenty…

He arrived at the top of the steps, the floor flattening out before him. The fourth floor appeared to be the last, as the winding stairs disappeared and moonlight peeked in from holes in the roof where the ancient stonework had given way to time. The moon must have decided to come out from hiding to shed some light on the upcoming battle.

Before him was a singular large room with more decoration than the others he had seen. Ragged tapestries hung on the walls to the side. Pelts and skulls of various beasts decorated the back wall behind a shaped chunk of stone that loosely resembled a chair. It was in this crude throne befitting a bandit leader that Barsh sat. Two women wearing not nearly enough clothing flanked him on either side and pretended to chuckle at some kind of story he was telling.

He seemed surprised at the sight of Troy. Raising one hand as a signal for his two companions to quiet themselves, he motioned with the other for Troy to approach. As he got closer, Troy took in the man’s features. Dark skin like Shaugh and Jonas with a white beard lacking a mustache, a black patch over his right eye, and a shoal cloak. The cloak draped over his body, not betraying what kind of armor or weapons he donned underneath. Barsh certainly looked the part of a bandit leader, eliciting a slight gulp from Troy as he began to grow more anxious.

Thirty… He counted the last number as he halted and stood at attention. Wheatloaf would be giving the signal any moment now.

“Whaddaya want? And who are ya anyhow? I told Brax that nobody was to be botherin’ me for a spell, so this better be somethin’ important.” He had a rasping voice like one would expect from a grouchy librarian, much different than Troy had expected.

“Troy, returnin’ from patrol!”

“Oh? And what’s so important about patrol that yer botherin’ me ‘n my lovelies?”

Troy paused for a bit. He had planned on being intentionally vague, citing something suspicious he had seen while on patrol but not giving specifics. Would that be wise, though? The ruse needed to keep going until he had an opening to strike, but Barsh seemed like the type who would demand answers from his subordinates.

A roar from outside broke the silence. Troy, remembering what he had heard from the guard about an Irontail in the area that some other bandits had gone to deal with, took advantage. It wasn’t part of his plan, but he was thankful for the fortuitous timing.

“Th-that’s what, Boss! The Irontail!”

“What the devil…?” Barsh cursed as he rose from his seat and marched over to the window.

The cloak billowed as he walked and Troy caught a glimpse underneath, revealing a metal breastplate and bracers donned over a dirty white shirt. A scimitar was sheathed on the left side of his waist. Troy decided at that moment what the best course of action would be.

“They captured it alive?! The damned thing is goin’ berserk! Those idiots!” Barsh kicked at the stonework beneath the windowsill in frustration.

Reaching in his pocket, Troy touched his fingers to the last of Geren’s runes he had provided, thankful that he had answered Geren’s question sufficiently so that he received an extra. Activating it in the same manner as he had done at the farm, he could tell it dissipated when he no longer felt the smoothness of the stone on his fingertips. Barsh was standing with his hands on his hips, causing the cloak to drape back over his elbows and expose the weapon at his waist.

Troy debated going straight for a dagger to the neck, but worried the sudden movement would be noticed since he was on Barsh’s left with his good eye. Instead, he stealthily grazed his finger on a piece of the scimitar as he stood next to Barsh and joined him in looking outside, deciding to wait until he had a better opening. He refrained from smiling despite having an intense urge to do so—being proud that he had gotten this far and gaining confidence that he could do this.

“Man, I dunno what Milton ‘n the others were thinkin’.” Troy said. Shortly after he finished his sentence, he caught a glimpse in the corner of his right eye of something strange. Was that…?

It was a curved, ghostly shadow—an animation of the path Barsh’s scimitar was a breath away from following. There were others alongside it—the other predictions that the magic granted him insight of—but this one stood out as the most obvious. Troy realized with a jolt of panic and a sinking feeling in his chest that he had just uttered the words with own voice rather than the bandit crew member he was imitating.

Quickly springing off his left foot in a backwards leap away from the window, Troy distanced himself from Barsh right as the sword cleared the area his neck had just been in. He could worry about the details of what just happened—if he had made a mental error or if his magic had somehow just stopped working—later. Now, he needed to survive.

Another set of shadows. Less this time, as there were limited possibilities for Barsh’s follow-up to the opening attack. Troy stepped to his left and dodged the real attack with ease. This magic was truly something else. With Geren having access to this all the time, it was no surprise he had become a folk legend.

Barsh grunted in annoyance at Troy seemingly—and literally, though he couldn’t have known it—being one step ahead of him. He attacked with his left hand, reaching towards Troy as if to grab him by the throat. Troy was too quick for Barsh, even without the aid of Geren’s magic, rolling quickly to his left and putting some good distance between the two of them. Barsh’s hand rested on the windowsill for a moment, fury in his one eye. Then the windowsill exploded beneath his hand, sending a mess of rubble down into the grounds below.

Was… was that magic? Oh dear…

Troy hadn’t considered the possibility that these brutes would be capable of magic. Lyght had mentioned some of them having runes in their pockets when he and Feros had checked the bodies, but none of the men they had fought that day made use of any inherent essence channeling abilities of their own. There was the one man Lyght had killed who was invisible, but they’d all agreed he likely used a rune. It was possible that Barsh was too, but Troy guessed that wasn’t the case.

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“You two head down ‘n give the lads archer support.” Barsh said to the two women, not taking his eye off of Troy. “I’ll deal with our imposter friend here.”

Regretting that he had left his rapier with Gargarel, Troy drew the pair of daggers he had brought with him and readied himself for Barsh’s next attack. It seemed like the bandit leader was content to wait where he was, however. Troy scrambled for an explanation in his brain, trying to surmise what Barsh’s play was.

“You’re here to try ‘n kill me, ain’t ya? Well then come on ‘n have at it!” Barsh shouted, sporting a smug grin of confidence.

Of course… he’s had no luck hitting me yet, so he’s staying on the defensive. Maybe I can still use the weapon predictions to find a gap in his defense?

He decided to take the bait and go on the offensive. Daggers in each hand, he ran forward and pivoted to his left, changing his approaching angle so he wasn’t coming at Barsh directly from the front. Barsh turned his body, following Troy so that he could still see him. Troy again pivoted and tried to rush forward in a moment of opportunity, but Barsh again kept up with him and turned his body, prompting Troy to retreat back again.

“Hahahaha!” Barsh let out a hearty rasping of laughter. “Tryin’ to press up on me from my bad eye’s side, are ya? Think nobody’s never tried that trick before? Well played, but too bad!”

Barsh bent over and grabbed a large targetball-sized rock that had blown inward during the previous explosion. Letting out another string of laughter to himself, he tossed the rock forward towards Troy with a casual underhand motion like someone tossing a set of keys to a friend. It bounced on the ground one time before rolling with a clattering sound of stone on stone. Troy thought at first when Barsh grabbed the rock that he may have just been toying with him, tossing the rock as a taunting jest. As it clambered nearer, he realized.

If Barsh was indeed using magic with his own circuits, and not a rune, then that meant he was theoretically capable of tracing. A rock with explosive magic traced into it…

Troy turned to run. Just as he did an about-face, the stone exploded. It wasn’t close enough to hit him with a direct blast—his quick reaction forced Barsh to detonate it sooner than he’d wanted—but it was still enough to knock him off his feet and send him skidding across the floor.

Looking up from his now-prone position, it appeared that the blast was strong enough to put a sizable dent in the hard floor. A cloud of dust blurred his line of sight for where Barsh was standing. He could see his shadow getting closer, however, and fast.

Quickly rising to his feet with a slight stumble, Troy regained his balance in time to see multiple scimitar shadows emerge from the dust cloud, as if there were a second cloud made up entirely of the magical predictions. It was a jarring cluster of information that he wasn’t sure how to process at first. Until he noticed the pattern.

Right, these are just predictions. If I focus…

Of the possibilities before him, Troy identified the one he felt was most likely to occur—a swift stab slightly right of the center of the dust cloud. Taking a step sideways in that direction, he brought the dagger in his left hand up just as Barsh’s real sword replaced the shadowy illusion.

A quick clang of metal and a look of shock later, Troy stabbed with the dagger in his other hand towards Barsh’s neck. Though the bandit leader didn’t have access to the magic Troy did, his reaction time was impressive all the same. He reflexively raised the bracer on his left forearm to block Troy’s counterattack before retaliating with a strong kick to Troy’s ribs. The blow sent Troy backwards, causing his back to hit hard against the wall. He hadn’t realized the earlier blast sent him quite so far across the room and that the wall was so near.

Another collection of shadowy scimitars manifested from Barsh’s right arm. A horizontal swing from the right, a similar swing from the opposite direction, another jab… Troy didn’t have time to decipher the cluster’s code. Just as Barsh moved the weapon so that the blade lay horizontal near his left elbow, the predictions shifted to compensate. Along with the change in situation came new possibilities. This was easier to make sense of, as there were only so many things Barsh could do with his weapon in such a position.

Troy was able to mostly parry the attack—an upwards diagonal slash from the left hip—with his right dagger. The difference in their physical strength betrayed him as the blocked attack still pushed forward, Troy’s own dagger raking a horizontal cut across his right cheek back to the ear. Barsh’s other hand lunged forward in a follow-up with an open palm.

If he grabs my head…!

Troy stabbed Barsh square in the palm with his other dagger, reaching across his body and letting go as he felt it dig into the man’s flesh. He dove to the ground in a head-first slide between Barsh’s legs. Barsh’s hand, with the dagger still embedded within, made contact with the wall and a third explosion rocked the room.

The diving maneuver successfully put Troy on the other side of the blast with Barsh in between. Rolling forward in a tumble, he gracefully leapt up and spun his body so that he was standing and facing Barsh while skidding backwards to a stop. Barsh stood there looking down at his left hand that was still mostly intact structurally, but was covered in blood. Troy wondered how one used such magic without constantly destroying their own hands to begin with. The dagger was gone, but Troy thought he could make out bits of metal still stuck in the skin. It had been unsurprisingly destroyed in the point-blank blast.

Barsh turned his gaze away from his hand and looked in Troy's direction. He sported a crazed grin as if he were enjoying himself immensely. Spinning to face Troy squarely , his shoal cloak billowing around him, he pointed his scimitar forward.

“I don’t know who ya are, breakin’ into my home and causin’ all this trouble… but you’d best pray to the Architects that I don’t find out ya got any friends or family. When I’m done with ya… I’ll hunt ‘em down myself. And I’ll make ‘em suffer real good. Real good.” He said the last couple of words with a wicked laugh.

Troy felt his adrenaline surge. He had already been fighting for his life, yes, but the mention of family…

He charged forward and twirled his remaining dagger into a backhand position. Barsh grinned again, and the shadows once more sprung up from his right arm as though a ghostly spider was attempting to escape from it. Barsh raised the blade over his head, and the spider’s legs followed, convulsing as it continued its escape attempt alongside the changing possibilities of Barsh’s next attack.

Troy could see the opening. Barsh’s next attack was made clear, and Troy’s counterattack along with it. He had closed the distance, ready to strike… then the spider finally escaped, disappearing as though it had been Troy’s imagination. The magic from Geren’s rune had expired.

Normally, Troy would have been able to still strike true. He had fought without use of that foreign magic his whole life, after all. But the shock of it suddenly ending made him feel as though he were a man with poor eyesight who had dropped his glasses. Shifting into a defensive stance instead and swapping the dagger into his left hand, he brought it over his head and blocked Barsh’s downward swing. His right hand now free, he was able to swipe Barsh’s left palm away with an uppercut to the wrist as the man attempted the same follow-up that he had earlier.

Disengaging and taking a few steps back, Troy attempted to distance himself from Barsh while he regained his composure and decided his next move, but the bandit leader was pressing forward relentlessly. He may not have known the details, but it was clear that he could sense Troy’s confidence had lapsed and that he now had the advantage.

Right as Troy was feeling that he would be forced to retreat, confused as to why nobody else had yet arrived, he saw backup. Lyght appeared from the top of the stairs on the side of the room to Troy’s left. Remembering the strategy Lyght and Feros had employed against the Gmaas at the farm, Troy sidestepped to his right and then took another step back. Barsh’s pursuit, if he did pursue, would lead him into a position where his back would be readily exposed to Lyght. He was sure that Barsh hadn’t yet seen his ally, as the stairs were on Barsh’s right side that wore the eye patch.

As Troy moved, Barsh followed. Just as he’d hoped.