Budding Overlord

The bandits stared, frozen like rabbits in a trap, their earlier bravado crumbling into something much less charming—sheer, unfiltered terror.

Lyrasia let out an exaggerated sigh, her sword still raised. "Oh dear, did I scare you?" she asked, feigning innocence. "I promise, I didn't mean to."

The bandit clutching his cheek—the one now decorated with a fresh, crimson cut—snarled. "You little brat—!"

She tilted her head, her expression darkening. "Now, now. That's no way to talk to someone holding a sword, is it?" She tapped her blade lightly against her shoulder, watching the group flinch. "Really, you should be thanking me. I could've gone for your throat instead."

Another bandit, perhaps the least idiotic of the bunch, took a cautious step back. "Tch… Kid, what do you want?"

Her lips curled into a slow, wolfish smile. "Oh, so you can use that brain of yours. Good! That means you're capable of answering a few questions."