Minutes ticked by until all the raiders who had received the whisper had gathered in the area. Silence blanketed the group, their attention fixed on the old raider, who stood staring intently ahead.
"Surround the area. There are about seven of them," he commanded in a low voice.
"They're all strong, so you'll need to be extra careful," he added, his tone firm but laced with caution.
The raiders dispersed quietly, moving like shadows. No one dared to step on dried leaves or make the faintest sound that might betray their positions.
Each group, made up of four raiders, was tasked with taking on one individual. It was a calculated approach, yet daunting—four against one, with their leader emphasizing the strength of their targets.
From his vantage point, the old raider kept his eyes on the distant house. His unease grew with every passing moment.
They're already making their move. This can't wait until morning, he thought grimly, his gaze never leaving the small house ahead.
Jim and his team crept silently behind a stall reeking of decay. The moonlight illuminated the narrow path ahead, revealing several dead rats scattered along the way. The stench was unbearable, and the disgust was evident on their faces.
"Why the hell are we doing this again?" one of the raiders whispered, his voice shaky as he fought the urge to vomit.
"Swallow it, or I'll shove my boot down your throat," Jim snapped, his expression a mix of annoyance and revulsion.
"Don't make this worse than it already is. Move those tiny feet of yours, and save your whining for later, ladies," he added with a sneer, mocking his companions, who looked as though they had lost all will to go on.
"Secure the perimeter, I'll handle this myself, you cowards," Jim muttered, shooting a scornful glance at his companions.
He moved stealthily toward one of the houses, his steps muffled as he approached his target- a figure perched atop the roof, seemingly waiting for something.
Drawing his gun, Jim aimed it squarely at the back of the figure's head. "Don't make a sound, or your brain will be the dinner of these rats," he growled, his voice low and menacing.
As Jim's eyes adjusted to the darkness, he noticed a bow slung across the figure's back. The bow's surface shimmered faintly with runes, marking it as an aether-powered weapon.
The figure slowly raised their hands, revealing something unexpected-a metallic, rune-etched prosthetic arm.
The realization dawned on Jim too late. Before he could act, the figure spun around with alarming speed, wrenching the gun from his grip. With a single blow from their metal arm, they sent Jim flying onto the roof.
The sound of his landing startled the other three raiders. They turned to see Jim sprawled on the ground below, groaning in pain.
"Don't move!" Jim barked, though it wasn't clear if he was warning them to stay put or to avoid provoking their opponent.
The figure on the roof glanced down at Jim, their face obscured by the shadows. "Look who's crashing the party," they remarked with a mocking tone.
He thinks I'm alone, Jim realized, his mind racing as he assessed his options.
The figure leapt gracefully to the ground, landing a short distance away. Jim stood, his chest aching from the earlier blow, as they faced each other in tense silence.
There's no way I can win this fight, Jim thought, eyeing the glimmering prosthetic arm.
His skills and tactics were no match for someone with such enhancements.
If I can't win by force, I'll need another approach, he decided, forcing a confident smile as he studied his opponent.
"You think you're the only one with an enchanted weapon?" Jim taunted, removing his gauntlet to reveal a metal bracelet etched with glowing runes.
The enemy tilted his head, amusement flickering in his eyes. "What a cute little accessory you've got there," he mocked.
Jim poured his aether into the bracelet, the runes flaring briefly before dimming. Without hesitation, he charged, seemingly forgetting how easily he had been overpowered earlier.
The enemy smirked, clearly entertained. He braced himself, charging forward. "You're not bad," he admitted, readying his metal arm. "But courage alone won't save you!"
As the gap between them closed, the enemy swung with his metal fist, the sheer force of the strike creating a gust of wind that brushed past the nearby raiders.
However, instead of falling back, Jim clung to the enemy's midsection, locking him in place. "It wouldn't be a party without surprises, right?" he said with a strained grin.
"The more, the merrier!" he shouted, signaling his companions to join the fight.
The enemy's confidence faltered. Glancing around, he realized reinforcements might soon overwhelm him. Desperation took hold, and he began hammering Jim's back with his metal arm. Each strike was brutal, enough to incapacitate most, but Jim held firm.
"What are you made of?" the enemy growled, frustration building as his blows had no effect.
Jim smirked.
But as the moments passed, no help arrived.
The enemy looked around again and realized there are no other raiders.
"I said, the more the merrier!" Jim shouted, his voice tinged with desperation.
The raiders exchanged glances. "Stay put," one of them murmured. "He's treated us like tools. Let him handle this."
Jim gritted his teeth as the enchantment on his bracelet began to fade. "No... not now," he muttered just as the enemy landed a devastating blow to his back, sending him crashing to the ground.
The enemy wasted no time. Grabbing Jim by the neck, he hoisted him into the air as Jim gasped for breath. "A party needs entertainment," the enemy sneered before slamming him into a nearby wall. The impact left cracks in the stone as Jim's vision blurred.
Before he could recover, the enemy hurled him into the stall they'd been hiding behind earlier.
Jim's body lay limp on the cold, dirt-covered ground, blood streaking his face. His blurred vision caught the silhouettes of his companions, still watching from a distance.
You damn cowards...
Jim coughed up blood as the enemy stomped on his stomach repeatedly.
"Don't crash my party and get me all worked up for nothing!" the enemy roared, his voice echoing in the stillness.
As the metal guy continued his brutal stomping on Jim's chest, something inexplicable occurred. Without warning, his neck twisted unnaturally with a sharp snap, ending his life instantly and without a struggle.
His lifeless body collapsed next to Jim's unconscious form, blood staining the ground. The eerie silence that followed was thick with tension.
The three remaining raiders, still hidden, heard the sudden halt in commotion but dared not move. Fear gripped them, suspecting it could be a trap.
From the shadows, a figure began to emerge, fading into visibility as though materializing out of thin air. The faint light revealed the old raider, his gaze fixed on the nearby house.
This is beyond my expectations, he thought, his expression unreadable as his form became fully visible.
Without acknowledging the hidden raiders, the old man moved with purpose. He hefted Jim's unconscious body onto his shoulder and, with a firm grip, dragged the metal guy's corpse along the ground.
When he returned to the rendezvous point, the other raiders had already completed their mission. Six captured enemies knelt in a row, their hands bound with specialized cuffs that nullified aethered powers.
The old raider tossed the metal guy's lifeless body at their feet with a dull thud. The prisoners recoiled, their resolve crumbling at the sight.
"Nobody speaks," the old man said with icy finality, his tone sharp and commanding. "And you'll be joining him."
The captives lowered their heads, their fighting spirits extinguished. The reality of their predicament was undeniable. None dared to challenge the unyielding presence of the old raider.
The old raider gestured to one of his men, a bulky figure who had left with Victor earlier, to take Jim's unconscious body and provide him with first aid. With that handled, he turned his attention back to the captives.
Crouching down to the level of one prisoner, he placed a firm hand on the captive's shoulder.
His cold, calculating eyes flicked to the raider behind the captive, silently signaling him. The raider raised his gun, pressing it lightly against the back of the prisoner's head.
The captive stiffened, feeling the pressure of the barrel.
"Who's behind this?" the old man asked, his voice calm yet unyielding.
"I don't kn-" The captive's plea was cut short by the old raider's signal. The gunshot echoed sharply, and the captive slumped forward, lifeless.
The old man stood, his face devoid of emotion, and moved to the next captive. The remaining prisoners now had guns pressed against the backs of their heads. The tension was suffocating.
He crouched again, repeating his question. The second captive remained silent, his eyes wide with panic as he stared at the ground.
Another signal, another gunshot.
The cycle continued until one of the captives, unable to endure the pressure, vomited onto the ground.
The old raider crouched in front of him, his expression unchanging. "Who's behind this?" he asked.
Before the prisoner could answer, the raider behind him interjected, pressing the gun harder against his head. "Cherish your life."
"It's the Wardens!" the captive blurted out, his voice trembling. "They ordered us to keep an eye on this kid!"
The old raider's gaze hardened as he crouched down to meet the captive's eyes. His calm demeanor did nothing to ease the fear in the man's trembling voice.
"They told you nothing else?" the old raider asked, his tone still measured but carrying an edge of menace.
"N-no... nothing..." the captive stammered, sweat beading on his brow. He swallowed hard before continuing, "They just told us to look for someone from the slums."
The old raider leaned in slightly, his expression unreadable. "Describe him."
The captive hesitated but quickly answered, knowing hesitation might cost him. "A male... black hair, black pupils... about five-eight. Young, probably twenty or younger."
The old raider stared at the man for a long moment, his piercing gaze making the captive shift uneasily.
"Who gave you this description?"
"The captain!" the captive blurted out, his voice cracking. "Our captain! h-he directly gets the order from the Wardens!"
The other captives turned to him, shock and disbelief etched across their faces.
"You brainless fuc-" one started, but another signal from the old raider silenced them all.
Gunfire rang out as the remaining captives were executed without hesitation.
"You heard him," the old raider said, his gaze fixed on the captive but clearly addressing his colleagues. His tone carried a weight that made the other raiders stand at attention.
"Black hair, black pupils, young, and from the slums," he repeated, his voice deliberate and commanding. "Keep that in mind."
The raiders exchanged nods, each silently committing the description to memory.
The old man turned back to the informer, now trembling and drenched in cold sweat, tapping the man's shoulder with a rare hint of almost patronizing reassurance.
"That wasn't so hard, was it?" he said, his tone calm and almost fatherly.
He rose to his feet and signaled for the informer to be released. The raider obeyed, removing the cuff behind the man before pushing him forward. The informer stumbled away, his freedom a cruel irony in the face of what he'd just witnessed.
All the raiders turned to watch the man who had spilled the truth sprint away, disappearing into the night. The old raider's gaze lingered briefly before he spoke again.
"Where's Ariel?" he asked the whisperer from earlier.
The raider glanced around nervously. "It seems like he's not here, sir."
The old man's expression hardened. "We'll set up camp here. Tell him to be here within five minutes."
"Understood," the whisperer replied, already turning to leave.
The old raider added sharply, "And let him know, if I don't see him in five minutes, he's off this job."
With that, the old raider walked toward the small house where Lily had been resting. As he neared, he noticed a small figure peeking through a gap in the stoned walls. It was a young girl. Her wide, fearful eyes met his briefly before she quickly ducked out of sight.
He paused and called out gently, "We're your brother's friends." His voice softened as he took in the condition of the house. It was small, barely standing, clearly too cramped for even two people.
"We're not going to hurt you," he added, waiting patiently for a response.
Minutes passed in silence. The girl didn't answer. Deciding not to press further, the old raider returned to the newly built campfire, where some of the raiders had already gathered. Others were patrolling the slums or cleaning up the mess left behind.
The gunfire earlier had been loud, yet not a single soul in the surrounding area had come out to investigate or even seemed alarmed.
Are they used to this kind of thing? the old raider wondered, his thoughts heavy.
After a while, Jim stirred and woke, groaning as he sat down near the fire. He glanced at the old raider, hesitant. "Thanks... I thought I was a goner back there." His voice betrayed lingering disbelief and shame.
"You must be lucky," the old raider replied without much sympathy. "Next time, think more carefully about your approach."
They exchanged a few words, the old man offering curt advice while Jim mostly nodded in silence. Eventually, Jim stood and excused himself, still visibly shaken by the events.
That kid's still reeling, the old raider thought grimly, watching Jim shuffle away. This isn't helping him move on.
A few minutes later, a commotion broke out nearby. The old raider rose and walked toward the noise. As he approached, The old raider's sharp gaze shifted, catching sight of Ariel standing opposite Jim who was on his knees, disheveled and beaten once again.
The scene was so routine it barely fazed him. I should've expected this.
"That's enough," the old raider ordered, his voice cold but commanding. His sharp gaze flicked over the pitiful sight of Jim, whose earlier ordeal seemed to have repeated itself at Ariel's hands.
With that, he issued a new command. "Everyone, begin the search."
As the raiders dispersed, he gestured for Ariel to follow him. The camp grew quiet, the tension lingering in the air as they moved into the night.