While Zarian and Gilbert stalked forward from the shadows, bandits laughed and cajoled. They tossed around poor and defenseless beggars as if they were mere toys.
For the bandits, the beggars were light and easy to handle, all low in level.
As for the beggars, the bandits were rough and abusive monsters, leaving the beggars covered in bruises with each throw.
The bandits would go as far as overthrowing the beggars or moving aside on purpose just to watch their victims fall on the wet, uneven ground where there were multiple hazards. It was obvious to see the area was worse off compared to the more populated districts.
Potholes and craters covered the ground. Nearby walls had crumbled into piles of rubble. The nearest stone structures were as big as warehouses or factories, and must’ve served as such a while ago, before the bandits took over the ruins of what remained.
There were well over a hundred of the bandits. Maybe more spread out in the nooks and crannies Zarian hadn’t found with his Spectral Spider Network.
He linked up to only a handful of spiders at a time, switching between a set every so often, pushing his Fractured Mind to the limit, while also paying attention to what was in front of him.
There was no doubt in Zarian’s mind that he was evil aligned. He was the controlled type of evil, polite, and concerned, and maybe chaotic for his enemies. But still of evil alignment.
The bandits, however, were plain scum.
Pillars of soft darkness rose into the air. Zarian caught each of the beggars before they hit the ground or landed in the bandits’ rough hands again.
Three of them were older women. One was a young boy with a sickly, frail body. With a flex of Zarian’s will, the pillars bent forward and back before tossing the people toward him and Gilbert.
Para’s tentacles caught all the victims gently and set them down. Gilbert released a wave of Healing Force, fixing them all up. The young boy became healthy.
“Run,” Zarian growled.
The beggars fled.
“And who the heck are you supposed to be? Don’t you know who you’re messing with? We’re so strong the Bramblevale Lord wouldn’t mess with us!” shouted one bandit, raising a long sword.
A dozen bandits swaggered forward. Some were young. Some were old. They were all male and confident.
Zarian noticed the thirteenth bandit slinking off behind a dilapidated wall. Because of the heavy rain, the other bandits in the area wouldn’t hear the stirring commotion, not yet at least.
The thirteenth started running to raise the alarm – he was the weakest, only Level 16.
Six invisible spectral spiders used their arcane webbing to catch him and wrap him up quickly. They webbed his mouth before he could say a thing, leaving him thrashing in a crater flooded with water.
Before he could wriggle free, the spectral spiders covered the flooded crater with their arcane webbing, sealing his fate while out of sight of everyone else.
Gilbert looked dead straight into the talker’s face. There were a few magic lights shining around. Other than that, everyone was shrouded in deep shadows.
Gilbert probably looked like a bear of a man while most of the local humans were Zarian’s height or shorter. Gilbert was a big man with a big stick among little people with big egos.
“I was an officer of the law,” Gilbert said. “Now I’m just a man who follows the will of my God. And that God says don’t spare the rod.”
“Which one is that? Ain’t none of them gonna do anything for us bastards in the rain!” shouted the bandit with the long sword. “You think the power of good can stop us from killing you?”
Zarian used Identify on the bandit and the others. None of them sensed it.
…
How unfortunate. All of them were former soldiers. They had particular skills that came from the Foot Soldier Grunt class, a neutral alignment one.
They were defectors before they became bandits. Zarian needed actual bandits – they had the skills he wanted.
“I don’t need any of them. Do what you must,” Zarian said. “I’ll pick out the ones I want from the chaos.”
“Fuck this. Kill them!” Wymond, the talkative soldier-turned-bandit, waved his sword forward.
Another bandit used his Hasten skill and rushed ahead of the others. He thrust a knife into Gilbert’s stomach before the war healer could react.
The blade touched the shirt below the breastplate and bounced off with an immense counter force.
Hannah’s combination of Reinforcement and Amplify Force covered the gear with mini reflective shielding. As long as they had enough aura or that the enchantments weren’t overly stressed, they could walk through most blows that weren’t heavily supernatural.
The man with the Hasten skill lost his footing, shocked by Gilbert’s invulnerability. That was all the war healer needed before cracking aside the bandit’s head with the war club.
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In one hit, Gilbert burst it apart like a bat smashing a melon.
“You fuckers have no idea how much pent up shit I got stored up from years of policing bullshit and seeing criminals get away Scott free. You have no idea!” Gilbert rushed forward, juicing himself up with Adrenaline Jolt, his skin reddening with surging blood, his body bulging with extra power, physicality, and tension.
Another man struck him on the shoulder with a mace, the blow deflecting away. Some of the force transferred over and sent Gilbert into a slight stumble. Gilbert grinned fiercely as his amulet activated.
A toxic haze unfurled from the amulet and engulfed the nearest men around him. They coughed, convulsed, and cried out as the poison did its grim work.
That gave Gilbert time to set his feet and swing again. He smashed another man’s head aside, knocking him down.
Not a one-hit kill. Some men probably had decent enough vitality to withstand critical blows from mundane strikes.
That wouldn’t stop Gilbert from going club happy. He set his feet again and swung once more for the fences.
He struck a critical hit on a third man’s head and sent skull bits and brain chunks flying. Now Gilbert had momentum. He was committed.
He saw all the bandits as baseball bats, leaving Gilbert as the batter.
Zarian didn’t intervene until he saw Wymond try to slink away. That wouldn’t do.
With a flap of his cloak, a pile of bones clattered to the floor. From those bones, Loner reassembled himself and rose to his full height.
He wasn’t a tall creature – a few inches shy of five feet, to be exact – but his presence sent the fear of evil into the nearest enemies.
“That one talked a lot, Loner,” Zarian said, pointing out Wymond. “Show him how to shut up.”
Loner glared at the talkative bandit with eyeless sockets and a rictus grin.
Wymond tried to sprint away and escape down an alleyway. Bars of darkness rose in front of him, and he bounced off hard. He turned and went for the nearest hole in the wall.
A blunt pole of darkness struck out and shoved Wymond back into the open area. He landed in a flooded crater, scrambled out onto his feet, and found Loner standing in front of him.
A skeletal fist clocked Wymond in the jaw and sent him crashing down. Loner, despite being Level 27, benefited directly from Hannah’s enchantments, especially Reinforcement + Amplify Force.
The goblin skeleton jumped onto Wymond and beat his head in. Each strike drummed Wymond’s skull against the stone ground until the bandit’s vitality couldn’t hold up anymore.
The rain water washed away the blood off Loner’s skeletal knuckles. The goblin skeleton looked over at Gilbert, who was still engaged in some thick fighting.
The poison haze affecting the bandits was getting watered down by the rain. That was okay for Gilbert, who stormed through them like a man with a vendetta.
The sound of his war club striking skull and flesh echoed off the walls.
“Don’t forget to use your Tranquilizer Touch,” Zarian reminded him.
“Will do, chief!”
With some loud slaps to a few bandit’s faces, Gilbert dropped the men he struck with Tranquilizer Touch. It worked best against those who were already weakened or softened up.
Then Gilbert refastened both hands on his war club and swung around to cave in the skull of another bandit. Once the corpse fell, the first fight with the bandits ended.
Gilbert huffed and swallowed air, his arms shaky, his eyes wide. He was still pumped up from Adrenaline Jolt, keeping him jumpy, twitchy, ready. He searched for enemies and found none, at least not nearby.
Then he looked hard at the ones still alive, the unconscious bandits.
“I don’t think … I can kill an unconscious man.” Gilbert left it at that.
“Good job. You did well. Now you just have to prepare for the next fight. We have another group heading our way.” Zarian steered his companion’s attention gently.
This was delicate work. Gilbert had just massacred a bunch of men on his own, the most killing of human lives he’d ever seen and committed. Cop or not, this was a shocking development for any man.
Zarian directed him with a soft but firm voice of authority. “Loner, Gilbert, head forward. I think this group will have someone with the skill I want.”
Gilbert looked wide-eyed at Zarian for a split second before he nodded and headed into the ruined warehouse. Loner followed him.
It was even darker there than outside. Fewer magic lights shone through the openings in the walls as rain water poured through.
Zarian remained outside for now, deciding over the fates of the knocked out and still-breathing bandits.
Obviously, his evil alignment wanted him to do what his mind interpreted as the ‘pragmatic’ thing. Personally, as long as they were down and out of the way, they stopped mattering.
However, Zarian had glimpsed at some of the horrible things they were doing to make money outside of smuggling and threatening people. They weren’t just interrupting the bandits’ operation. They were also saving lives.
Zarian slid his hood off to reveal his face. He summoned the dread gator grimoire. The scaly book with gator teeth running down the spine phased out of his body and hovered over his shoulder. A massive, swampy, invisible presence lurked behind him, always out of view.
“I don’t think Gilbert needs more motivation,” Zarian said. “Nothing personal, but you need to go.”
He snapped his fingers. Dark spikes thrust up to end the last remaining bandits.
Zarian walked through a doorway with doors hanging off the hinges. He heard the grunts and shouts of fighting up ahead.
He watched Loner roll out of the way of a powerful hammer strike. He saw Gilbert fly off his feet after taking a mean hit to the chest that was too strong for even Hannah’s enchantments to defend against.
Gilbert landed hard with a splash to the left of Zarian. He was still alive even with a dented breastplate. He would heal soon.
Zarian zeroed in on one of his targets.
There you are.
Interestingly, the bandit was under neutral alignment.
Was that because the bandit class was always neutral? Or did they have options? Was it because it was an uncommon class at best?
Lame. They could get away with a lot because they’re neutral.
Granted, they didn’t get the benefits of either alignments.
Good had power ups. Evil had cunning and genius.
The bandits staying neutral let them operate easier inside the walls. But they were mere stepping stones compared to Zarian.
Maybe they need a higher class of bandit to get evil alignment. Zarian figured they needed a crime boss class or something similar. Still, the alignments were looking less like actual moral compasses and more like different forces of opposing views and backgrounds with magical effects.
“You think you can mess with the Bramblevale Bandits when even the lord kisses our ass!” Havard roared. “You’ve messed up!”
Havard swung around a ball and chain over his head. It whirred heavily through the air, promising to deliver a bone crushing, wall smashing blow.
Zarian walked forward, casting Quagmire Pit. Within a second, the stone ground behind Havard turned into a swampy quicksand that slurped down the two dozen men backing him.
They cussed and shouted in surprise, many of them flailing around to make a futile escape. A few on the edges grabbed onto solid ground and pulled themselves up.
The rest suffered the second part of the multi-spell combo: Dread Mire Bite.
Invisible jaws with teeth the size of men snapped up from the quagmire pit faster than anyone could react. Magic swamp water, quagmire mud, limbs, torso, and gore flew everywhere in a wide splatter.
Havard let his ball and chain flail to the side, stumbling forward, unable to stop himself from looking back. Most of the men he’d brought with him rained down in a deluge of viscera.
Just as quickly as the dreadful bite appeared, it disappeared. Leaving a bloody mess.
The soft ‘ding’ of a notification in Zarian’s head tempted him to look at the results. He was pleased by what he saw.