The distant commotion grew louder, originating through the city's center. Marcus and Anca exchanged worried glances. Their moment of tranquility shattered... Marcus and Anca exchanged apprehensive glances.

"Stay here," Marcus urged, his voice firm. "I'll check it out."

Anca grabbed his arm, her eyes wide with concern. "I'm coming with you."

"Anca, it could be dangerous," Marcus insisted, trying to keep his voice calm. "You need to go back inside the estate where you'll be safe."

Anca shook her head, her eyes fierce. "This is my city too, I can at least check for the cause of the commotion."

"Anca, please," Marcus pleaded, his voice tinged with worry. "I can't focus on the problem if I'm worried about safeguarding you. Go inside, find a secure place, and stay there until it's over."

Anca hesitated, torn between her desire to help and the reality of the danger. Finally, she nodded, her resolve softening, "Alright."

With a final glance, Anca turned and hurried back towards the estate.

By now, guards rushed out of the estate. Marcus motioned for them to stay inside and protect Ancus and Anca. The guards, unsure, followed Marcus's orders.

Marcus ran out into the narrow city center. The air was filled with clashing weapons, shouts, and the cries of frightened civilians. Merchants abandoned their stalls, and mothers clutched their children tightly, desperately seeking shelter. The peaceful night had descended into chaos. Hundreds of them, more than anything seen at the bandit camp.

As Marcus approached the heart of the commotion, he saw the supposed merchants revealing themselves as bandits. They brandished weapons and attacked anyone in their path. Hundreds, more than was seen at the supposed bandit camp.

"Defend the city!" Marcus shouted to the scattered guards who were beginning to rally.

Bandits attempted to break into nearby houses, their intentions clear and malicious. They broke anything and struck anyone they saw.

The steps of houses dripped with crimson blood and parts.

Marcus grabbed the leg of a broken market stand and brandished it as a weapon. The bandits began to engage with the guards. The bandits fled into tight corners as the guards chased. The narrow city made it hard to fight, giving the bandits with knives chances to stab at gaps in the armor.

Meanwhile, Marcus swung his makeshift weapon at a bandit attempting to climb through a window, knocking him to the ground.

The bandit snarled and lunged with a rugged knife, but Marcus dodged, trying to maintain distance. The bandit once again lunged at Marcus, but this time, Marcus jammed his attacking hand with his left and closed the distance to begin grappling. The bandit pulled and tugged Marcus, showing resistance.

Marcus locked the knife hand to his waist, hindering its use. The grapple was intense and frightful for Marcus. He knew weakening his grip would lead to his guts spilling on the floor. The bandit slightly cut at Marcus's hips. In response, Marcus let off grunts of frustration before finally head-butting the bandit.

The bandit dropped the knife in pain, clutching his nose. Marcus wound up a punch, landing on his opponent's temple with a sickening crack.

Marcus winced at the pain in his knuckles before stomping on the bandit's head. Blood and teeth stained the hoofs of Marcus's sandals. He collapsed to the wall of a house, hoping to catch his breath, but the battle raged on.

Marcus and the guards slowly gained the upper hand. The narrow streets were a battleground, but the guard's superior training began to turn the tide.

Marcus flailed in the streets, wary of danger. He had overexerted himself, and he was paying the price. Just as he had thought he had escaped the commotion, in front of him stood a gallant man carrying a gladius covered in the blood of the Ventenian civilians.

Marcus saw the man's earthy skin and deep-set eyes through his brass helmet. His sword was more crude iron than blade, oversized and thick. He was covered in bronze armor embedded with a five-pointed cross. His killer aura emanated as he stepped over the people he massacred, tilting his head at Marcus.

There was only one thing for Marcus to do—run.

With a sudden burst of energy fueled by adrenaline, Marcus turned on his heel and sprinted down the narrow street, his heart pounding. He could hear the clanking of armor and the heavy footsteps of the bandit behind him, gaining ground with every step.

Marcus darted into a side alley, the walls closing around him as he navigated the tight space. The alley was dark and cluttered with debris, but he pushed forward, leaping over discarded crates and weaving around piles of rubble. He glanced back, seeing the bandit still in pursuit, his bronze armor glinting dimly.

As Marcus emerged from the alley, finding himself in a small marketplace, now deserted and eerily silent. He dashed through the empty stalls, knocking over a fruit stand to slow his pursuer. The bandit merely shoved the stand aside, his eyes locked on Marcus with a deadly determination.

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Marcus spotted a narrow gap between two buildings and squeezed through, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He could hear the bandit's grunts of frustration as he struggled to follow.

The gap opened into another alley, this one even narrower and more convoluted. Marcus vaulted over a low wall, landing in a courtyard. In desperation, He yanked down a line of clothes hanging to be dried.

The bandit crashed through the courtyard, his sword slicing through the hanging garments as if they were nothing. Marcus didn't wait to see how close he was. He sprinted toward a narrow ally, listening to the battle cries ahead. Soon, Marcus was back at the center, where bandits and guards had been fighting.

Marcus dodged and weaved through them, but so did the bandit chasing after him. Marcus picked up a fallen blade and speared it at the bandit. The throw almost took his assailant's head off, yet unfortunately missed by an inch.

The assailant snuffed, steam coming out his nostrils like a bull in heat. A guard turned to strike at the gallant bandit, yet all he met with was a steel gladius through his throat. The stab pierced through smoothly like melted butter. Marcus retched in horror, watching as the man forced his blade out of the guard's throat.

Marcus arose, grabbing another fallen weapon in anger.

The gallant bandit charged, his sword raised high. Marcus, breathing heavily, feigned a desperate retreat, luring the bandit toward a narrow alleyway. The bandit, confident in his strength and skill, followed, swinging his gladius with deadly intent.

Marcus dodged the first swing, the blade narrowly missing his shoulder. He eluded the second attack with his weapon, the force of the blow reverberating through his arms. The bandit pressed forward, forcing Marcus to give ground.

Marcus stumbled back, feigning exhaustion, and tripped over a loose cobblestone. As he fell, he kicked up a cloud of dust and debris, temporarily blinding the bandit. The bandit swung wildly, his vision obscured. Seizing the moment, Marcus rolled to his feet and darted to the side, stabbing into the gaps of his assailant's armor.

The guard swung his blade recklessly while covering his eyes.

The bandit roared in fury and charged at Marcus, aiming to crush him with his sheer strength. Marcus was too slow to dodge, crashing into the alley wall. The impact dazed Marcus.

He was in the bandit's grasp and could not break free. The bandit plunged his blade deep into Marcus's side, unable to get a good angle due to the limited space. Marcus, with one last act of desperation, stabbed his blade into the thick neck of his assailant.

The bandit winced in pain, collapsing to the ground and dragging Marcus down with him. His colossal body pinned Marcus beneath him. He looked into Marcus's eyes, chanting through gritted teeth, "Vivant beyodha."

Marcus, confused and struggling for breath, tried to push the dying man off him.

"Vivant beyodha, Vivant beyodha," the bandit's chant grew louder, desperation and terror creeping into his voice as he faced the encroaching darkness of death.

With one final breath, he spoke, "Long live the warriors."

The bandit fell silent, his weight pressing heavily on Marcus. Marcus, gasping for air and exhausted, pushed with all his remaining strength, finally managing to roll the lifeless body off him.

The sounds of battle were fading, replaced by the cries of the wounded and the weeping of those who had lost loved ones. Marcus slumped back into the wall, seeping into death's eyes.

Marcus's muscles ached with every movement as he dragged himself back to his feet. The narrow streets of Ventenia were littered with the aftermath of the night's chaos. Bodies of bandits and guards alike lay strewn about, the blood-soaked cobblestones bearing silent witness to the ferocity of the clash.

He stumbled forward, his mind a whirlwind of confusion and exhaustion. The distant sounds of conflict had all but ceased, replaced by the sobs of survivors and the murmur of urgent voices tending to the injured.

Marcus reached the estate, its once-pristine walls now scarred by the night's violence. The guards he had ordered to stay behind, tending to the wounded, their faces etched with exhaustion and relief. Anca emerged from the doorway, her eyes widening as she saw him.

"Marcus!" Anca exclaimed, rushing towards him. She threw her arms around him.

"I'm alright," he murmured, though his voice was strained. "Are you?"

She nodded, tears glistening in her eyes. "I was so worried. What happened out there?"

"It's over for now," Marcus replied, his voice heavy. "But I don't know if it's truly the end."

Anca pulled back slightly, searching his face. "What do you mean?"

Marcus shook his head before grabbing at his wounds.

Marcus shook his head before staggering, his strength finally giving out. He collapsed to his knees, clutching at his wounds. Anca rushed to his side, catching him before he fell completely.

"Marcus!" she cried, her voice laced with panic. She eased him gently to the ground, her hands trembling as she assessed his injuries. Blood seeped through his torn garments, staining the ground beneath him.

As night fell, Anca stayed by Marcus's side, her vigil unwavering. She tended to his wounds as best she could, praying for his strength to return. Days passed in a blur of uncertainty and fear, and the city slowly recovered from the brutal attack.

Seven nights later, Marcus stirred from unconsciousness, his eyes fluttering open to the dim light filtering through the window. Anca sat beside him, relief flooding her face as she saw him awaken.

Marcus's brow furrowed as memories flooded—the battle, the bandits.

"We're rebuilding," Anca assured him softly.

Marcus closed his eyes, exhaustion pulling him back into the haze of sleep.

"Ancus, how is he?" Marcus asked quietly

"He's fine, he wants to speak with you when you're stronger," Anca replied, reassuring him with a smile.

Marcus chuckled weakly, the effort causing him to wince, "That sounds like work."

"Well, don't you have anything better to do, than treating me" Marcus inquired with a hint of playful sarcasm, his eyes flickering open briefly to meet Anca's gaze.

Anca bantered back, a fond smile tugging at her lips, letting a smile peek through. "Like weaving cloth and reading poetry?" Trust me, there's nothing better I could be doing."

She adjusted the blankets around Marcus, ensuring he was comfortable, before settling back in her chair beside him. Outside, the city bustled with the sounds of rebuilding. Hammers pounding, voices calling instructions, as life slowly returned to normal.

Marcus drifted off again, the steady rhythm of Anca's presence lulling him back into restful sleep. As he closed his eyes, Marcus couldn't shake the image of the bandit's eyes, the heightened emotion in his final words.

"Long live the warriors." The phrase echoed in his mind. In the silence, a chilling thought crept into Marcus's mind.

What if the actual battle had only just begun?