[Chapter 5 - Night Raid]

Death was dealt, silent and merciless.

Beneath my hand the man struggled, eyes bulging in fear as I slid the knife across his throat.

His head was pinned against the floorboards, my hand smothering his attempts to scream.

A slight sense of satisfaction came to me, almost savouring the pain I was inflicting in a cold, sadistic way.

The scene around me had caused this.

Many of the bandits’ victims lay sprawled across the floor, their bodies maimed and tortured as the bandits had laughed and drunk themselves to sleep.

The numbers ticked away, a sight I had learned to feel gratification for.

-16, -18, -13

They were higher now, likely because of the experience which had culminated behind them.

Over a dozen bandits had been killed in the same way.

Trash. All of them.

None deserved to live.

Blood now covered my front, the black of the fabric long since disappearing beneath a layer of wet crimson.

I felt his body go limp, a gold +29 exp projected as he fell motionless to the ground.

A slight disappointment, that still it had not led to any broader change.

The tablecloth would suffice, a trail of red marked by my wiping of the blade. With its movement, the glow of the fireplace reflected in a dance across the black metal coating.

The crackling of wood was all that could be heard, disturbed by the occasional snore which the Eickhorn soon silenced.

Food sprawled across the room, many soaked in the puddles of spilt wine and blood which had streamed onto the table and wood floor.

With each death, I felt the same sensation of growing confidence in my arms. A familiarity of where to cut, as if guided by some newly-forged intuition.

As I turned to the next raider, a pair of eyes fixed upon me.

A woman, her body battered and bruised, weight held up against one arm on the far side of the room. Eyes wide awake, open in fear.

One of the villagers.

I lifted a finger to my lips, and she nodded in understanding.

I must have looked nightmarish, an unknown figure in that dimly lit hall, blood smothering my face and clothes.

Still I continued my task.

The numbers ran thrice more before I was finished, the bodies now motionless against the very chairs they had slept on.

I felt a sense of relief wash over me when I stood up.

Gone was the tension, in the great hall at least, replaced by a weird sense of calm.

Although the manor was not yet empty, this room had still been cleared.

That offered me some respite, however brief.

I made my way back to the woman. She was shivering, partially from the cold but also from the fear.

“Is that everyone?” A question I already knew the answer to.

Ansgar and Kallas were missing, they were not amongst the dead which now lay behind me.

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My mouth spoke in a tongue I did not know, yet the words were rendered in a confident, if exhausted, manner. If not for my encounter with the two earlier, I would have been surprised.

Now I was just drained. Too much had happened today.

She shook her head. “One.” Her voice weak, a trembling finger pointing towards the stairs spiralling upwards against the corner.

And then it fell, drifting instead towards the door on my left. “More.”

Judging from how they had left together, Ansgar and Kallas must have gone through there.

The door was firm in its frame, it would not open without sound.

My gaze moved back up to the bannisters which ascended the edge of the hall.

I would head up first, clearing every room as I made my way back down.

I was lucky that the manor was so quiet.

It worked in my favour as much as it hindered me, my ears alert to any sound which might indicate the approach of bandits.

Yet still I could not help but wince at every creaking of wood as I moved up the staircase.

The blue stair runners occupying the floorboards were of some help, dampening my footsteps as I left a trail of red boot marks in my wake.

At the top, the door stood half-closed.

I leant against it, grasping the handle as I stole a glance inwards.

It was the master bedroom, obvious from the colossal four-poster bed which dominated the centre of the room.

The owner lay dead at his desk, a sword buried halfway across his chest, embedding him against the chair he had been tied to. Judging from the blood, he had not died quickly, the one responsible taking great satisfaction in prolonging the pain.

As I made my way through the books scattered across the floor, I appreciated how fortunate I was that the bandits were so arrogant. Along with its victim, the sword had hewn through some half a meter of solid oak. A display of an almost inhuman strength.

Not that it mattered of course.

He too fell beneath a single clean knife stroke. A death far too painless than he deserved.

Making my way out, a small glint in the corner of my eyes stopped me.

A lip of glass, peering out from beneath a fur cape, draped lazily across the table.

I knew what it was before I had even picked it up.

A vial of red liquid, one I carefully slotted into my vest.

The rest of the manor I could scavenge at my own leisure later. This however, I would take first.

The rest of the rooms downstairs were cleared without much difficulty. Soon there was only one left, its entrance half open, embedded amongst the stone tiles which made up the kitchen floor.

Even here was a mess, food strewn haphazardly, alcohol rendering the surface sticky to the touch. The bandits clearly cared little for any sort of organisation.

I headed down slowly. Descending was not a comfortable position to be in, especially when I knew my presence was not one to be welcomed.

A grim sight quickly greeted me.

The few torches flickering along the left wall comprised the majority of the light.

Opposite stood beams of corroded iron, latticed into a screen that spanned the entire length of the room.

And behind it, people.

Rags draped across their bodies, expressions gaunt and anguished.

Some, those that had not slept, either because of the pain inflicted or the trauma suffered, turned to look at me as I stepped into the light.

They were not alone.

Beneath the torches lay a circular wooden table, the candle set upon it illuminating the three men hunched over, cards still in hand. A guard I did not know sat closest with his back towards me, whilst besides was Ansgar and Kallas.

All three, still awake.

Shit.

Instantly I leapt across, abandoning caution for haste. The knife was in Ansgar’s neck before he could even comprehend what was happening.

I spun around, twisting the cut before using the momentum to bear upon his ally as well.

Kallas was first to respond, roaring out, arms swinging to grab me as Ansgar staggered back, hands to his neck while the blood gushed forth.

Their friend fell to the ground, body writhing, mouth open as they desperately tried to speak. Nothing came save for the gargling of fluid.

Even then I was still disadvantaged. Kallas had kept his gambeson on even here. The knife would not penetrate the jacket without difficulty, especially when it reached up to cover his neck.

Worse still, their swords lay only a metre away to the side, propped up against the wall in front of which they had been playing cards.

“Fucker.” A snarl, transitioning into a shout as he tried to alert the others. “INTRU-”. I dashed at him before he could finish.

His companions were all dead, each one personally ensured by my hands, but I did not want him to know.

Ansgar stumbled forwards to stop me. The blood loss knocked him out almost immediately after, but that brief second he stalled me for was all Kallas needed.

Kallas leapt across, grabbing the sword and unsheathing it all in one smooth arc.

Fuck.

A drawn out fight here would only end with me dead. I would have to finish it quickly.

We gazed at each other, weapons poised, Ansgar’s spluttering body lying in between.

I was lucky that he was at a disadvantage. The room was too narrow for him to comfortably swing, constrained by the walls which restricted his two handed blade.

Nonetheless the tension lay heavy.

Kallas made the first move, rushing forwards to greet me.

An arc was not possible, my suspicions confirmed by a thrust poised straight for my chest.

I pushed myself to the right, the metal narrowly whistling past beneath my arm.

Momentum carried him forwards, it would take only a second before he recovered his stance.

But that second was all I needed.

As I landed, I spun myself round, my far leg turning my body as I perched my weight upon the ball of my front foot. It served as the perfect springboard, pushing me away from the cobblestone tiles right into Kallas’ exposed side.

We collapsed into one another, a grunt of breath ripped from his mouth as my elbow rammed his solar plexus.

He fell to the floor winded, myself on top, his sword dropping to his side. I held my forearm against his windpipe, forcing his jacket open with my fist, strangling him as I pushed him to the ground. His hands tried desperately to grasp at my face but I ignored it, bringing the knife into his chest.

Once, -80, twice, -65, thrice… and it was over.