The Ruthless Lord

Crouching at the edge of the dense forest near the local street with dim light, Lysandra maintained her watchful stance, keeping a vigilant eye on the mysterious figure from her hidden position.

Fear tightened its grip in the depths of her stomach. Rain poured down relentlessly, drenching her, while her clothes clung cold and damp against her skin.

I had to stay focused. I couldn't afford to mess this up, she muttered under her breath.

She strained her ears, desperately trying to pick up any sound over the deafening crashes of thunder from the raging storm. The noise was so intense that it felt like nature itself was roaring, making it a challenge to discern even the faintest of sounds.

Once more, those voices came again–maybe two or three of them, from somewhere down there.

Peering down from her vantage point, she closely observed the unfolding scene. From her elevated position, she tracked the movements of those guys, shadowing the hooded man with a watchful gaze.

It became evident that the hooded man held a leadership position, given that the others were reporting back to him.

Attempting to overhear their conversation, her focus intense as she strained to catch any snippets of the dialogue below.

"Milord, we've been sweeping the area as ordered. We've combed through the east sector, and it looks clear. No sign of any intruders or unusual activities so far, but the storm is making it a bit tricky."

The Lord, the hooded man, turned his head and spoke sternly with a low baritone voice, "I don't care about the storm. Our mission is crucial. Keep searching every nook and cranny. What about the outskirts?"

The second man replied, "Cleared them out, milord. No stragglers and zombies. It's all under control."

"Good. Keep your eyes sharp. We can't afford any chaos. What about the west sector? Any disturbances there?"

"West sector is quiet too, milord. No unusual movements, and the team is proceeding with caution. We're covering ground systematically."

"Very good. Remember that we must secure this area. Any danger to our plans mustn't be tolerated. Take a thorough look around and don't miss anything."

"Understood, milord. We're on it. The team's committed to ensuring the safety and control of the entire zone."

"Great! We can't let anything jeopardize our plans. Continue the sweep, and make sure there are no loose ends. Report back immediately if anything unusual happens."

Lysandra strained her neck to catch every word of their conversation, her heart pounding as she realized the gravity of their mission. 

The conversation continued as they discussed the intricacies of their operation, revealing the Lord's strategic approach to securing the area.

As she observed the exchange below, questions swirled in her thoughts like the raging storm.

Why the need for such tight security and systematic sweeping?

What kind of operation are they doing in this area?

Who is this hooded man they refer to as Lord, and why are they reporting to him?

While she mulled over the questions swirling in her mind, a sudden movement below caught her attention. Another figure appeared, with a captive being dragged along, as though he was a prey in this ominous scene.

The newcomer approached the Lord. "Milord, we've got one. Found this guy lurking near the outskirts, acting all suspicious-like."

"Interesting. Who do we have here?" 

"Claims he's just a wanderer, but something doesn't sit right. Figured we'd bring him in for questioning."

"Good call. Let's get some answers from him. We need to know if he poses any threat or if he's just a lost soul wandering in the wrong place."

The Lord leaned forward, his gaze fixed on the captive. "Hey you! What brings you to this neck of the woods? Spill, and speak the truth."

Captive, weak and trembling, the captive replied, "I-I'm just a wanderer, sir. I swear, I have no ill intentions."

"Wanderer, eh? In times like these? Explain yourself, or my associates here might not be as patient as I am."

"I-I heard rumors about safety here. J-just seeking place away from the chaos. No harm intended, sir."

The Lord seemed skeptical as he replied, "Rumors, you say? Safety is a rare commodity. What makes you think we'd believe your tale?"

"I've got nothing to offer, sir. No weapons, no threat. Just a man trying to survive."

"Survival is a precarious game. We can't afford to take chances. Tell me more, and be certain your words hold weight. Otherwise, consequences might be severe."

The interrogation went on, showing how feeble the captive's state was and the kind of intense vibe hanging around, making it clear that his being there was raising some questions in Lord's turf.

The fourth man who found the captive chimed in, "Milord, his story doesn't add up. I saw him lurking around, acting all shady-like. I believe he's got more to spill."

"Is that so? Speak up, dude. Seems my friend here has a different version of tales. What were you really up to?"

The captive nervously replied, "I-I swear, sir, I wasn't lurking! Just trying to find some shelter from the storm. Must be a misunderstanding."

The fourth man responded dismissively, "Nah, I've got a keen eye for trouble. He wasn't seeking shelter, milord. He was poking around where he shouldn't have been."

Lord stared at the captive sternly, "Cut the crap! If you're lying, it won't end well for you. What were you really doing, and who do you work for?"

Stammering nervously, the captive replied, "I swear, sir, I'm not lying! I'm just a survivor trying to stay alive. No one sent me; I'm on my own, just looking for a place to lay low."

"Listen closely, dude. If you continue with these half-truths and games, the consequences won't be pleasant. You're in my territory now, and I have ways of making people talk. So, spill it–the truth, the whole truth, or you'll find out just how creative my methods can be."

The captive mumbled something, but the words were too soft for Lysandra to catch.

Out of nowhere, a few minutes later, the fourth man repeatedly kicked his captive... and then he viciously stabbed the helpless captive with a knife.

Blood...

She smelled blood.

It's in the air... The scent of blood lingers in the air...

It's getting thicker! So much so that it's making her feel queasy.

What's going on?

Suddenly the fourth man aimed and fired, hitting the captive in the leg without any warning.

"Argh!"

As Lysandra's nerves were on edge, a heart-wrenching scream suddenly pierced the air from that direction. She raised her hand and covered her mouth to keep her from screaming.

"Ah! Kill me, sir! Just kill me!"

As the evening settled in with its eerie silence, that high-pitched scream sent shivers down her spine. Lysandra stood frozen, not daring to budge an inch.

She cautiously peeked through the leaves, trying to get a glimpse of the horrible scene below. From her vantage point, all she could seen was the captive sprawled on the ground covered in blood...