Lucas could hardly contain his excitement as he and his father left the yard with the small cart hitched to his father’s mule. The bench seat wasn’t very comfortable, and, had Lucas been grown, it wouldn’t have fit both his father and himself. The bed of the cart wasn’t overly large, but it was big enough to hold enough supplies to get the family through the whole year if need be, according to his father. Lucas knew that the last time they came back from the village the cart was almost rubbing on the wheels and the sacks of flour, beans, tools, and various other items needed to keep a household running were stacked higher than Lucas was tall. To be fair, that wasn’t much since Lucas was only a little over four feet tall even now, a year later.

The village was about four hours away by cart. Lucas knew that a trip to the village meant a night at the inn and the chance to play with some of the village kids in the morning as Mr. Baker loaded up the cart with all of the supplies that his dad ordered.

Lucas spent the first two hours fantasizing about being the king of pirates like in his dream last night when he noticed his father looking around, nose in the air, as if scenting something. Lucas’ father was a hunter who lived on the edge of a beast range and made his living tracking dangerous beasts for their cores and his sense of smell was especially sharp due to his [Bloodhound] trait.

Without saying a word, his father pulled a dagger with a sheath from the bag in the back of the cart and handed it to Lucas. With a nod towards the cart’s bed he said, “Trouble ahead. Get under the hide, stay down. If it comes to it, do just like I taught you.”

Lucas took the dagger, a veritable longsword in his tiny hands, and crawled under the bear hide.

A few minutes later he felt the cart come to a stop and his father’s voice rang out. “Afternoon folks, seems to be a branch blocking the path here. Ya’ll need a hand clearing it outta’ the way?” he asked.

The next thing that Lucas heard was raucous laughter from multiple people in front of the cart.

“This here is what you might call a toll path, and that tree that is so conveniently blocking your path is our toll gate,” yelled the voice of a man who sounded like he gargled with rocks every morning. “We’re going to have to insist that you step down from the wagon and give us all your valuables and weapons. In return, well, me and the boys here will let you go in one piece.”

“I was afraid you folks was gonna’ say that,” replied Lucas’ father. “’Fraid I can’t let you have my stuff. Got mouths to feed n’ can’t afford to have to go back empty handed. I’m gonna’ ask nice. Will you move outta’ the way, please?”

“You hear that, boys?” replied the gravel voiced man. “This hick thinks we’re just gonna’ let him keep all his stuff cuz’ he asked nice. Well, hick, looks like me n’ the boys are gonna have to teach you a lesson.”

The wagon gave a jerked side to side as Lucas’ father’s weight suddenly left the seat. Immediately after there was a loud thunk as a crossbow bolt splintered through the seat and the wall of the bed. About a foot in front of Lucas’ face was a quarrel with a wicked barbed tip shoved through the wagon bed. Lucas then heard a meaty thwack and a scream of pain from someone who wasn’t his father.

“Damnit, what’s wrong with you useless pieces of shit. It’s one hick farmer with a rusty machete,” yelled gravel voice. The next sound that Lucas heard was a second scream from one of the would be bandits.

Lucas decided that it was probably safe to take a peak and stuck his head over the edge of the cart. He saw his father crouched in a fighter’s stance, knees bent, elbows in, just like he taught Lucas. His 6’2” frame was compressed into a bundle of death with the machete he used to clear brush in the forest in his right hand and a second dagger in his left, held point out and slightly below the diaphragm, again just like he preached to Lucas. Lucas’ dad called this stance the gut ripper. If someone came in too close, he could stick the dagger in the left side of the abdomen and make a swift left to right slice. If he was lucky, his opponents “innards would become outards.”

On the ground behind his father were two bodies. One was about sixteen or seventeen, it was hard to tell because a large part of his face was missing and there was a huge gash in his throat. Lucas’ father must have gotten a good strike from above as he jumped out of the wagon. A few feet from the body was the lower jaw and a few missing teeth from the strike and a second body. This one wasn’t as badly damaged, just a simple slice through the area between the fourth and fifth rib. The rib cage was spread apart Lucas thought he could see some dark grey tissue and a massive pool of blood under the man.

I wonder if there’s a use for human organs like with the bear. I bet the alchemists can make some kind of potion from it, Lucas thought to himself. Dad must have used his [Bull Charge] to get through the man’s guard and get the hand above the head. So, that’s why he had me practice keeping my feet planted while he pushed me. Maybe I should tell him about my new [Dodge] skill.

Lucas didn’t feel any true fear for his father. His father taught Lucas to fight and went out into the beast range every few days to hunt creatures that would make most men pass out from fear. As far as Lucas was concerned this was simply another training exercise.

Arrayed against Lucas’ father was the man that Lucas had named Gravel Voice in his head and two other bandits. One was bleeding profusely from a wound just above his right eye. Lucas’ father had a gash on his left shoulder, but, if it was bothering him at all, nobody could tell. Stan’s tan, weather beaten face was blank, there wasn’t any anger or fear on it. His light brown hair, bleached from years outdoors, was tied into a queue that fell to his shoulders. His emerald green eyes were narrowed in concentration. Lucas watched with rapt attention as his father dodged a lazy swing from the bandit on his left and struck out at the bandit on his right, scoring a small strike to the uninjured bandit’s sword arm. With any luck Stan would sever the bicep, but that was unlikely with just one fairly minor strike.

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Stan reset and began backing and circling to prevent the bandits from flanking him. Luckily the trail was not too wide and could use the natural obstructions to keep them in front of him.

Lucas wanted to focus on his father’s fight, but something was nagging him. It didn’t take long for him to realize what the reason for the uncomfortable feeling was. The crossbow, he thought to himself.

Using every bit of skill with stealth that he had, Lucas crept out of the back of the cart and into the brush on the right. He was following the angle of the crossbow bolt back into the forest, moving as carefully as he could, and keeping to the shadows to maximize his stealth ability. It didn’t take long for him to zero in on his target. The crossbowman was busy working some contraption, the crossbow was pointed down into the ground, and the man stood on a pair of stirrups while working a lever up and down. Every time the lever came up the string of the crossbow would move up a little more.

Lucas gripped his dagger tightly with both hands as the man let out an explosive breath, slotted a bolt into the crossbow, took a knee, and raised the crossbow to his shoulder.

I’ll only get one shot, Lucas thought. He moved forward soundlessly until he was within striking distance of the would be assassin. His vision narrowed to a single point as lessons that his father had drilled into him for the past year came to the fore. When attacking from behind versus humanoids like goblins and gnolls, the three best areas to strike are the base of the skull where the spinal column enters the skull or either kidney. Trying for a heart strike will almost certainly result in a deflected bone strike. Lucas could almost hear his father in his head while Lucas was forced to strike at a dummy made from a bristle boar and various items his father had in the barn.

Lucas bent his knees, corrected his grip on the dagger, and lunged. There was a grunt, a sudden twang of the crossbow firing, and a thud as the would be assassin fell to the ground, dead.

Sneak Attack Critical Success!

Your attempt to attack your opponent from stealth was extremely successful. Your target was completely unaware of your presence and you struck a vital area.

Bonus Applied to Initial Attack: Death Strike (normally 150% increased damage)

Sneak Attack Progress: 2%

Sneak Attack Skill Level 3: 0% towards next level.

(Experience rewards for all levels gained in skill deferred until full System Access is acquired)

Congratulations!

Sneak Attack has leveled up.

Sneak Attack Level 2 > Level 3

Sneak Attack Level 3: Progress 0%

(Experience rewards for all levels gained in skill deferred until full System Access is acquired)

Achievement Unlocked!

Cold Blooded

You have assassinated your first target. The path of an assassin is dark and lonely, but you thrive in the shadow’s cold embrace rather than huddling over the fires of hearth and home with the rest of humanity.

Class Option Available: Assassin (You do not currently meet the minimum requirements to select this class)

Title Gained: Manslayer. This title is optional as you slew an individual who had the Manslayer title active.

The skill [Sneak Attack] may be upgraded to [Assassinate]

(Experience rewards for achievements deferred until full System Access is acquired)

There were more notifications about his experience gained from the kill available, but Lucas quickly acknowledged them and moved on. This was no time to play with the blue boxes. He looked through the bushes where the crossbowman was aiming and saw a truly remarkable site. The bandit with the cut above his eye was now laying on top of the bandit with the cut on his arm. The first bandit had a crossbow bolt sticking out of his back, and his sword was jammed all the way through the second bandit's chest.

With those two out of the way, Stan was quickly dominating the bandit leader. Gravel voice was attempting to ward off Stan’s savage blows, but he didn’t seem to have near the strength or dexterity that Stan did. In fact, he appeared to be weaker in pretty much every area. Only a truly stupid man would attack a [Hunter] in his own territory and a man with any wisdom would have retreated as soon as the first two bandits died.

With a savage strike that pushed Gravel Voice’s weapon out to the side, Stan finished the fight with brutal efficiency. The machete came back in and sliced Gravel Voice’s head clean from his body. There was furious fountain of blood and the body fell to the ground with its legs twitching. Stan turned to see his son coming from the forest, bloody dagger held in both hands and seemed to completely deflate.

“Come here, boy,” Stan said. He knelt down and took the dagger gently from Lucas’ hands. “I told you to stay in the cart.” He didn’t wait for a reply but continued immediately. “I’m glad you didn’t. You most likely saved my life just then. Did you get the title?” asked Stan.

Lucas hesitantly nodded his head yes.

“I’m sorry, son. No child should ever have to earn that title, but we don’t live in a pretty world n’ with your…gifts…I figure that you’re prob’ly gonna’ earn a lot more. It’s ok, son. As long as I’m here I’ll do my best to keep you from havin’ to do something like that again,” Stan said as he pulled his son into a tight hug. “Let’s get to town and get you a bath and some food, in that order.”

Lucas didn’t say anything for the remainder of the trip. All he did was sit and replay the memory of the bandit falling to the ground, a lifeless husk, and remembered the feeling of his dagger sliding into the bandit’s skull.