Strike the camp

Dismas moved through the darkness like a ghost, silent and unseen, blending completely into the shadows of the night. His eyes were fixed on the brigand patrolling the eastern perimeter. The man held a knife in his hand, moving sluggishly, occasionally pausing to use the blade to push aside the underbrush. He seemed unconcerned about his surroundings, showing no real vigilance.

After a short while, the brigand seemed to grow tired. He strolled slowly to an old tree, leaning heavily against its trunk. Stretching lazily, his eyelids drooped slightly as if preparing to take a brief rest. Just as his gaze sluggishly swept toward the distant woods, Dismas moved.

Without making a sound, he glided forward, his steps silent against the earth. Not a single leaf rustled beneath his feet.

Dismas extended his hand like the talons of a hawk, swiftly seizing the brigand's throat and yanking him back forcefully. Before the man could react, Dismas' other hand had already formed a fist, striking his nose with brutal precision.

The brigand, caught off guard in his moment of rest, saw stars from the impact. A flicker of terror flashed in his eyes. He instinctively tried to cry out, but a firm hand was already covering his mouth. Then, in the next instant, a cold gleam of steel flashed before his eyes, followed by a sharp pain at his throat. Blood gushed instantly, soaking his chest in a crimson wave. He struggled weakly, but then came the sensation of another blade piercing his chest—once, twice. The strength in his limbs drained away, his vision blurred, and darkness swiftly consumed him. His body collapsed against the tree roots with a dull thud, making only the faintest sound—no more than a whisper in the night. The distant camp remained silent and unaware.

Dismas straightened, exhaling quietly. A glint of satisfaction flickered in his eyes before he turned and disappeared into the forest, heading toward Caedmic and Reynauld.

Moments later, a voice quietly cut through the night. "It's done."

Caedmic, who had been preparing his weapons, turned his head upon hearing Dismas' voice. He saw the man leaning against a tree, catching his breath.

Reynauld rose to his feet, rolling his injured shoulder from where he had been shot earlier. He spoke in a low, steady voice, "Then we begin the assault." With that, he tightened his grip on his greatsword.

Dismas nodded, beckoning Caedmic to follow.

Caedmic wasted no time. Under Dismas' lead, he silently advanced along the forest path. Occasionally, Dismas motioned for him to watch his step, indicating hidden traps. Though Caedmic's movements lacked the effortless grace of Dismas, he still managed to keep pace. As they progressed, the rundown hunter's lodge loomed closer. Dim remnants of light flickered atop the roof—evidence of the brigands' camp. They were roughly fifty meters from their target.

Dismas tightened his grip around his pistol and whispered, pointing to the left thicket, "We'll circle around from here. Use the shadows for cover. Make no noise."

Caedmic nodded slightly, his breath growing softer as the tension in the air thickened.

The surroundings were eerily quiet. The camp seemed entirely unaware of their impending approach.

Dismas whispered again, "Wait here. I'll scout ahead."

Before Caedmic could respond, Dismas had already vanished into the darkness, blending seamlessly into the dense foliage.

Caedmic watched his silhouette disappear, his heart tightening with unease. He knew, however, that this was the safest method. Dismas would clear the way undetected before signaling the next move.

Minutes later, Dismas returned, a certainty in his gaze. He whispered, "The man checking the supplies is right next to the hunter's lodge, near the fire. The flickering light will help obscure our approach."

Caedmic glanced around. The night had deepened, and everything remained deathly still, as though the world itself held its breath.

Dismas continued, "He's focused on the supplies. The veteran hasn't moved." He gestured toward a patch of underbrush ahead. "We'll circle around this way and stay out of their line of sight."

They moved stealthily, slipping through the undergrowth, nearing the lodge. Dismas advanced effortlessly, while Caedmic followed, his pulse quickening as the tension of the imminent ambush filled the air.

Finally, they reached a distance of ten meters from the brigand. He remained oblivious, focused entirely on his task. Caedmic's eyes caught sight of a long-barreled flintlock resting nearby, untouched.

"Get ready," Dismas whispered near Caedmic's ear. "Once the fire dims a little more, we strike."

Caedmic nodded, his gaze locked onto the brigand. Time seemed to slow, his heartbeat hammering in his chest, but he forced himself to remain calm. His mind cleared, sharper than ever.

Then, Dismas disappeared into the night once more.

A sound broke the stillness—a sudden clatter near the fire, followed by an enraged shout. The flickering flames darkened slightly.

Caedmic seized the moment, stepping forward and raising his pistol, taking aim at the brigand's back—

"Bang!"

The gunshot shattered the night, its chilling echo cutting through the air. The bullet struck the brigand's right shoulder.

But the brigand had turned at the last moment, avoiding a fatal shot to the heart. Caedmic cursed under his breath. The planned one-shot kill had failed. "Damn it!" But he didn't hesitate—he dropped his pistol, drawing his sword as he charged forward.

The wounded brigand staggered but didn't fall. Pain only fueled his fury. He tore a dagger from his belt and lunged at Caedmic like a wounded beast.

Meanwhile, the battle elsewhere had begun. Reynauld clashed fiercely with the veteran. Though the surprise attack had given him an initial advantage, his injured shoulder prevented him from fighting at full strength. The veteran deflected every strike with skill honed through years of combat.

This was no mere deserter. His sharp eyes tracked Reynauld's every move, immediately noticing the stiffness in his left shoulder—his obvious weakness.

"You're struggling, aren't you?" the veteran sneered, pressing the attack.

Reynauld gritted his teeth, parrying blow after blow, but the pain in his shoulder was slowing him down.

Dismas emerged from the shadows, aiming his pistol at the veteran's head—

"Bang!"

The veteran instinctively tilted his head, dodging just in time. The bullet merely grazed his hair.

Despite missing his mark, the attack forced the veteran to halt. Fury burned in his eyes.

"You—" The veteran turned, rage surging, but before he could react, Reynauld saw his chance. Summoning his remaining strength, he swung his greatsword in a devastating arc.

The veteran barely managed to block, but the impact sent him stumbling backward.

Caedmic, having dispatched his own foe, now rushed toward the fire, ready to finish the fight.

At the dimming campfire, the veteran, despite his injuries, fought with wild ferocity.

Then—

"Gun!"

The veteran instinctively dodged right, but no shot followed. It was a bluff.

Too late.

Reynauld saw his chance and delivered a powerful kick, knocking the veteran off balance.

Dismas moved in for the kill, but the veteran, refusing to die, pulled a hidden pistol from his ankle and fired—

"Bang!"

Dismas dodged, but the bullet grazed his leg, sending him tumbling.

"Dismas!" Caedmic and Reynauld shouted, rushing toward him.

The veteran, seeing an opening, turned and bolted toward the hunter's lodge.