Alistair crouched at the top of the hill, hidden behind a bush, his eyes fixed on the mining site below. The sky was still dark, with about two hours remaining until dawn. Beside him lay a corpse, a single stab wound marking its neck. A few meters away, near a crackling campfire, another body rested on a bedroll—this one dead from a stab wound to the chest that pierced clean through the heart.

-Okay, you were right. They’re still here,- Ameera’s voice whispered into Alistair’s mind.

+Yup, and it’s the worst kind of worst-case scenario.+

-How so?-

Alistair scanned the area. The mining site lay nestled in a natural basin, surrounded on most sides by steep, uneven hills. A shallow but wide river bordered one side of the site, with a dense forest stretching between the river and a hill. The only convenient access was a narrow path between two hills. Alistair was currently perched on top of one of them.

He glanced at the campfire near him, then turned his attention back to the site and its surroundings. Three more campfires stood out in the distance: one on the hill opposite his position, another at the edge of the forest, and the last across the river.

+It’s the worst because it’s doable. I can attack this site,+ Alistair replied.

-How’s that the worst? Wouldn’t the worst be impossible to attack?-

+Depends on your objective. My objective is surviving. If it’s impossible to attack, I’ll just head back to town. But because it’s doable, now I have to attack it.+

-Oh, I see. But how is this possible to attack?- Ameera’s tone carried doubt. -I see three more guard camps. Assuming they have two guards per camp, that’s still only eight people you can ambush. There are still around twenty-two enemies, five of which are awakened. And look at that building over there—there’s lamplight and the sound of people. I don’t think you can sneak inside the site and start killing without alerting the others. What are they doing in that building anyway? There’s a big hole in the roof.-

+It’s probably the smelting building. They’re smelting the rest of the ore into ingots,+ Alistair said.

-They kept the smelters alive?-

+Nah. Emma said they killed the survivors. I doubt the smelters would want to work for them after witnessing that. Smelters are tough people—probably some of the first to die fighting.+

Alistair shifted his gaze back to the site and continued, +As for the plan, you’ve already covered the first part. Good. Yes, I’m planning to kill the guards first. The rest? We’ll use that.+ He pointed toward the forest at the edge of the site.

-The trees?- Ameera asked.

+Pine trees, easy to burn,+ Alistair replied.

-...We’re going to set the site on fire?-

+Something like that.+

Alistair began to move, heading down the hill away from the mining site toward the narrow path leading in. He scanned the area, selected a tree, and pulled an axe from his inventory. Without wasting time, he began chopping. It took only ten minutes before the tree fell.

Alistair glanced back toward the path leading to the site. He was far enough that the sound of the falling tree shouldn’t have reached the bandits.

After ensuring no one was coming, Alistair began dragging the tree along the path toward the mining site. About halfway there, he stopped at a spot where hills rose on both sides of the path. He looked up. The lowest point of the hill was about six meters above the ground. Nodding to himself, he started gathering dry branches and brush.

-What are you doing?- Ameera asked.

+I’m burning the tree to block this path.+

After gathering enough material, Alistair stacked the branches and brush on top of the fallen tree. He then raised both palms, aiming them toward the tree.

-What are you doing now?-

+Freshly cut trees are still wet, especially at night. The dry branches and brush will keep the fire going. Right now, I’m using fire magic to heat the inside of the tree. This should be enough to make it burn.+

-Can’t you just—-

+Shh! Let me concentrate.+

Ameera fell silent. After a while, Alistair touched the bark of the tree. Feeling it warm to the touch, he nodded. He pointed one palm toward the stack of branches and brush, and it suddenly ignited.

Alistair stepped back, watching as the wood beneath the pile began to burn. The warmth from earlier helped the fire catch quickly. Satisfied, he turned and ran back up the path, climbing the hill on the other side. Without hesitation, he headed toward the lone campfire atop it.

-You do know you have some lamp oil in your inventory, right?- Ameera remarked.

Alistair stopped running. He looked up at the sky and sighed, pressing a hand to his face. “I forgot about that…” he muttered under his breath. After a moment, he resumed running.

The inventory was a great boon, allowing him to carry items he normally wouldn’t bring during travel. At least, that’s what he told himself was the reason he forgot about the oil.

-Yeah, maybe next time you can let me finish my sentence.- Alistair could feel her smugness, along with a tinge of satisfaction and happiness. He just shook his head and kept running.

As he neared the campfire, he noticed the two guards were asleep. That made things simple. Alistair dispatched them quickly and continued toward the forest.

-Alistair…- Ameera’s voice echoed in his head. Alistair waited for a moment before finally responding.

+Yes?+

-Oh, you waited for me to finish. Good.- Alistair rolled his eyes, pausing briefly for her to continue.

-Some of the buildings are right below us. Should we throw some oil now?-

+No, there’s no need for that. We’re not touching the buildings. We’re only going to burn the forest next,+ Alistair replied, glancing back toward the burning tree. From his vantage point, he could already spot smoke and light rising from the area. He resumed running.

-Wait, I thought you said a fire attack. How is it a fire attack if we don’t burn the buildings?-

+Oh, it’ll work. I’ll show you when we reach the forest.+

____________________________________

The two guards near the forest were also asleep. Alistair dispatched them silently, without a sound.

-Why are they all sleeping? What’s the point of posting guards?- Ameera asked.

+This is likely their fourth night on watch. That’s enough for discipline to slip,+ Alistair explained. +Especially with these foot soldiers. They’re not much better than common bandits.+

-Okay. So what’s the plan now?-

Alistair pointed toward the mining site.

+This mining site is in a natural basin. Look, the site is even lower than the river.+

-We’re going to drown them?- Ameera’s tone carried a mix of confusion and intrigue.

+No. It’s still a fire attack.+

Alistair poured oil at the base of the trees and onto the underbrush nearby. He lit the fire from the far side, away from the mining site, ensuring he gave himself enough time to move into position before anyone noticed the flames. Once satisfied, he ran silently toward the river. Without hesitation, he began crossing it, heading for the last campfire.

The men at this campfire were both awake. They stood with torches in hand, turning toward the river when they heard the sound of splashing water.

“Hey! It’s me!” Alistair shouted, waving both hands in the air.

The torchlight didn’t reach the river, so the men could only see a shadow moving through the water.

“Who’s that?” one of them called out.

“It’s me, huff” Alistair replied, adding a fake pant for effect. “The boss is calling everybody back.”

As he reached the shore, Alistair walked calmly and slowly toward the men. One of them, curious, stepped forward, holding his torch out to get a better look.

When the torchlight finally illuminated Alistair’s black cloak, the man gasped. But before he could react, Alistair’s sword had already slashed through his neck. The man collapsed, clutching at his throat. Without hesitation, Alistair charged the other man.

“Hey! What the fuck!” the second man shouted, dropping his torch and drawing his sword. He raised his weapon, preparing to strike, but Alistair moved faster. Before the man could bring his sword down, Alistair’s blade had already cut through his stomach.

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The man dropped his sword, clutching his bleeding wound. A moment later, Alistair thrust his sword into the man’s heart from behind. The man slumped to the ground, motionless.

After ensuring both men were dead, Alistair positioned himself just before the shore.

-They probably heard that last one,- Ameera remarked.

“It doesn’t matter. The fire has already spread,” Alistair replied aloud, pointing at the growing forest fire with his sword.

-I still can’t see how the fire will reach the buildings. They’re not that close.-

“Not the fire. The smoke,” Alistair explained. “Especially with pine trees—they produce a lot of smoke when burned like this. With the mining site nestled in a basin, all that smoke will sink and stay trapped.”

-I thought smoke… goes up?-

“Only the smoke near the fire. The smoke farther away cools and settles on the ground.”

-Oh… yeah, it rises because of the hot air. So we’re… suffocating them?-

“Yes. It’s a pretty horrible way to die. Are you going to feel sorry for them?”

-…No.-

“Good.”

-Not all of them will die from the smoke, though. Most will probably try to run toward the path, which is probably burning now. The rest—the lucky ones—will cross this river.-

“Nah, I wouldn’t call them lucky,” Alistair said, inspecting his sword.

-No quick deaths?-

“No. I killed the guards quickly to maintain stealth. From this point on, nobody dies easily.” Alistair’s voice dropped as he stared at the mining site, his gaze cold.

____________________________________

It didn’t take long before smoke began billowing toward the mining site. The horses were the first to react. Their whinnies turned shrill and frantic, echoing through the camp. Eyes wide with terror, they strained against their tethers, muscles taut as if sensing the fire creeping closer.

With a desperate scream, one horse reared up, yanking at the rope tied to its post. The wood creaked, splintered, and finally snapped under the animal's raw strength. The others followed, bucking and jerking free of their restraints, their hooves churning the ground as they bolted in all directions. Before long, most of the horses had turned toward the river. They crossed the water, passing Alistair without so much as a glance.

Next came the shouts—sharp, confused cries piercing the predawn sky. Voices overlapped, rising in panic as the smoke slithered deeper into the camp, stinging eyes and choking throats. Confusion turned to chaos. Someone screamed for water, their voice cracking with desperation, but no one listened.

A single scream cut through the night—high, shrill, and unmistakably terrified. Then another. More people stumbled out of the buildings, freshly awakened from sleep, coughing and clawing for breath. Their silhouettes flailed in the thickening haze, frantic and directionless.

Alistair stood motionless in the shadows, unshaken. His cold gaze swept across the river, detached and calculating, as the camp dissolved into a writhing sea of smoke and chaos.

The first splash of water caught Alistair’s attention. He turned toward it and walked slowly to the nearest shore. A man emerged from the river, shirtless, wearing only pants. Black soot clung to his skin, and his chest heaved as he struggled for breath. Spotting Alistair, the man raised his arm toward him.

Swish.

With a single slash, the man’s arm fell to the ground. He stared at the gushing stump in confusion. Before he could react further, Alistair’s sword pierced his stomach. With a sharp jerk, Alistair pulled the blade free, and the man collapsed to the ground, clutching his bleeding stomach. His eyes locked on Alistair with a mix of confusion, fear, and anger.

Alistair lingered for a moment, coldly watching the man writhe, before turning back toward the shore. The sound of splashing water reached him again.

It didn’t take long before a dozen men lay writhing on the riverbank. Some had already bled to death; others were caught in their final thrashes. That was when four men emerged from the river, their movements purposeful. They wore uniformed armor and wet cloths covering their lower faces.

Alistair took a few steps back from the shore as the four men finally reached land. They glanced around at the bodies strewn along the riverbank. One of them, seemingly the leader, turned to Alistair. He removed the cloth covering his lower face, using it to wipe soot off his skin while keeping his gaze fixed on Alistair. The others followed suit.

“You’re the one who did this?” the man asked, gesturing toward the bodies. “And that?” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder, pointing toward the mining site behind him, now fully engulfed in smoke and eerily silent.

The man appeared to be the oldest of the group. Unlike the other three, who looked enraged and ready to pounce, he was much calmer—subdued, even. A veteran, Alistair surmised. Likely a career soldier. Judging by how the four moved as a unit, they’d probably served together for years.

“You deaf?” the man asked again, his voice steady but tinged with irritation. This time, Alistair caught a flicker of anger in his eyes, though his calm demeanor remained firmly in place.

With his torso and arms hidden beneath his cloak, Alistair discreetly stored the longsword he’d been using into his inventory. He then drew a shortsword with his right hand and a different weapon in his off-hand.

-That’s a unique pairing. Why not a shield?- Ameera asked.

+Because there are four of them, and they’re all slightly stronger than me. I’d rather have more attack options than limit myself with a shield. It also restricts my vision.+

-They’re all stronger? Should we run?-

+Nah, this is still manageable. Now silence, I need to concentrate.+

-Good luck.-

Alistair began observing his opponents closely. There were four of them. The one nearest to him held a kite shield and sword. To that man’s right stood another wielding a spear. The man farthest to the left wore a cloak, with no visible weapon—likely a ranger or assassin type. No bow, so probably an assassin. Lastly, the leader in the middle gripped a bastard sword.

“The silent type, huh,” the leader remarked, turning his head toward the cloaked man.

“I don’t sense anyone else,” the assassin said. “He’s alone.”

“Alright,” the leader replied, shifting his focus back to Alistair. “I want him alive.” He rubbed his stubbled chin thoughtfully. “I don’t mind a missing limb or two, though.”

The soldiers grinned at their leader’s remark. With a signal, the four began to close in on Alistair, the shield warrior and the spearman taking the lead.

“Where’s the fifth one?” Alistair suddenly asked, his voice cutting through the tense air. “There were five of you, right? Did he die in the shitter or something?”

The callous remark caught the soldiers off guard. The shield warrior, in particular, scowled, his face twisting into an ugly expression.

“Bastard! I’m going to make this hurt!” he bellowed, charging at Alistair. Alistair immediately sprinted toward him as well.

Just before Alistair entered his range, the shield warrior lifted his shield, lowered his stance, and increased his speed. “Shield Bash!” he roared, activating his skill.

A moment later, confusion flashed across the soldier’s face. There was no impact. Before he could lower his shield, his balance gave out, and he crashed to the ground.

The remaining three soldiers froze in surprise. From their perspective, they’d seen Alistair subtly shift his body to the right just as the skill was cast. For a brief moment, they thought he’d fallen—only to realize it was their comrade who was sprawled on the ground instead.

“Argh!” the shield warrior screamed, clutching his left leg. His foot had been severed cleanly at the ankle, and blood poured from the stump.

“Watch out!” the leader barked, his voice sharp. “He’s holding something in his left hand!”

Without hesitation, Alistair sprinted toward the spearman next. The spearman quickly regained his composure, lowering his stance as he prepared to strike. He waited patiently for Alistair to enter his range.

The moment Alistair stepped in, the spearman thrust his weapon forward. Alistair sidestepped to the left, deflecting the spear with his shortsword. The impact sent the spear off course, but the force staggered Alistair, leaving his hand momentarily numb. The spearman recovered with ease, retracting his weapon for another thrust. This time, Alistair barely avoided the attack; the spear tore through his cloak as he fell to the right.

The spearman smirked, retracting his weapon once more. This time, he will aim for Alistair’s head. But just as he prepared to strike, his spear stopped short.

He glanced and saw the bearded axe in Alistair’s left hand. The hook, still slick with blood, had locked onto the spearhead.

Before the spearman could fully comprehend what had happened, Alistair threw his weight backward, yanking the spear toward him. The sudden pull forced the spearman off balance, staggering forward. As he struggled to stabilize himself, Alistair closed the gap, his axe raised high, ready to crush the spearman’s skull.

But Alistair abruptly leapt to his right. Three throwing daggers sliced through the air where he had just stood, embedding themselves into the ground. The assassin emerged from the shadows beside the spearman, dual knives gleaming in his hands.

Alistair landed and immediately rolled backward, narrowly evading a horizontal slash from the swordsman who had joined the fray.

The leader watched Alistair with a cold stare, his brow slightly lowered. He realized he had underestimated the enemy. Glancing briefly at his two remaining men, he then refocused on Alistair.

“You alright back there?” he called to the spearman without breaking eye contact with Alistair.

“Yes, sir. I’m just… I’m fine,” the spearman replied, though his face was still pale from his near-death experience.

The assassin stepped closer, positioning himself just behind the leader. “I don’t think he’s a ranger,” the assassin said to the group. “He’s too strong.”

“Yeah. He managed to sever a foot through a thick greave with that little axe,” the leader noted. “He’s definitely using mana infusion. Don’t try to clash weapons with him—just support me.” His voice remained steady as he began advancing slowly toward Alistair.

Alistair noticed the spearman was still shaken, lagging slightly as he moved to get into formation. Not wanting to give the enemy time to regroup, Alistair charged straight at the swordsman.

The swordsman met his rush, and the two began exchanging blows. Alistair quickly realized his opponent was also skilled in mana infusion. The longer reach and heavier momentum of the bastard sword neutralized the advantage of Alistair’s dual weapons. Despite his best efforts, he couldn’t push the swordsman back.

Alistair sensed the assassin stealthily moving behind the swordsman to his right. To improve his position, he shifted left. At the same time, the spearman approached from his left, and Alistair deduced that the assassin was waiting for the perfect moment to strike in tandem with the spearman.

Pressuring his weapons with more mana, Alistair executed a powerful diagonal slash with his axe, forcing the swordsman to step back. His focus remained on tracking the assassin’s movements. When the spearman entered his range and the assassin began emerging from behind the swordsman, Alistair acted decisively.

Reinforcing his arm with mana, Alistair brought his sword up and hurled it toward the empty space just left of the swordsman. Borrowing the momentum of his throw, he spun his body left and flung his axe backward toward the spearman.

The movements were partially concealed by Alistair’s cloak, and the spearman realized the danger too late. The axe struck him squarely in the head, killing him instantly.

Clang!

Alistair turned toward the sound and saw the swordsman leap into the air, deflecting the thrown sword with his own. Behind him, the assassin emerged, using the swordsman’s back as a springboard to propel himself toward Alistair.

“Bastard! Die!” the assassin shouted, both knives in a reverse grip, raised high above his head, ready to strike.

Seeing no way to evade, Alistair instinctively grabbed a knife from his inventory and hurled it at the airborne assassin. Expecting the assassin to deflect the knife and create an opening, Alistair was caught off guard when the assassin didn’t even attempt to dodge.

The knife struck squarely in the assassin’s chest, piercing deep. But momentum carried the assassin forward. One knife sank into Alistair’s left arm, while the other plunged into his right shoulder. The force of the impact brought them both crashing to the ground.

The assassin, now on top of him, gasped his last breaths. Blood oozed from the knife embedded in his chest, piercing his heart, yet he smiled through bulging, bloodshot eyes.

“Fucking knave,” he rasped, glancing toward the fallen spearman. “That was my brother.” His pale face twisted into a grim smile as he stared back at Alistair. “And now… you’re coming with me to greet him in hell, heh.” His head slumped forward, his body going limp atop Alistair.

Before Alistair could free himself, the swordsman stood over him, sword drawn back, ready to thrust. His face was red with rage, his previously calm demeanor shattered.

“Move a fucking muscle, and I’ll kill you,” the swordsman growled, his voice barely controlled. “We’re going to stay like this for a while. Those knives are laced with paralyzing poison—it won’t take long to kick in.” A smirk spread across his face.

“I’ll take my time,” he continued, his tone dark. “Don’t you worry. I’ll keep you alive as long as I can. You’ll tell me everything—who sent you, why you’re here. We’re going to have so much fun.”

“Oh, that?” Alistair said suddenly, his voice calm. “Emma sent me.”

The swordsman hesitated, surprised by the response. “What?”

Alistair raised his hand toward the swordsman, pointing with his index and middle fingers.

“Who the fuck is Emma?” the swordsman demanded, confusion overtaking his rage.

Alistair didn’t answer. His voice remained steady as he said, “Ice Shard.”