Leaving the Dungeon & a Heavy Burden

The dungeon's entrance loomed behind them, the heavy air of the cavern giving way to the crisp, open sky. The group staggered onto the dirt path leading back to town, their bodies sore, armor scratched, and energy completely drained.

Tomas exhaled, adjusting Gerald on his arm like the shield had become a part of his soul. "Alright, we survived. I say that calls for a celebration."

Leila, wiping blood and dirt off her cheek, gave him a deadpan look. "We nearly died, Tomas."

Tomas agreed, patting his shield. "That wont every happen again now that Gerald is with us"

Mira groaned, stretching her arms. "I don't care about Gerald. I care about a hot bath. I swear, I still have stalker guts on me."

Beren adjusted his grip on his axe. "And we still have to sell the loot."

Arlan, walking slightly behind, listened to the banter with a faint smirk. Bones and Shade kept quiet for once—both of them likely as exhausted as the rest of the group. The only thing on Arlan's mind was getting back, selling what they could, and maybe collapsing into his bed before Tomas could start another speech about his beloved shield.

The group continued down the road, passing through a narrow stretch of trees.

Then—the mood shifted.

Mira slowed her steps. Leila's eyes flicked toward the treeline. Tomas, despite his usual goofiness, tensed slightly.

Beren muttered under his breath. "Something's off."

Arlan sensed it too.

The forest had gone silent. No rustling. No distant bird calls. No wind.

A trap.

A whistle rang out—a sharp, deliberate signal.

Then—they came.

The Bandit Ambush

Figures emerged from the trees, stepping onto the road with practiced ease.

Six men, dressed in worn adventurer gear, each carrying weapons that had seen more use than care. They weren't wild, ragged bandits. They were seasoned fighters.

The leader, a broad-shouldered man with a notched sword, smirked. "You lot look tired."

Tomas sighed, lifting Gerald slightly. "Oh, good. Bandits."

"We're not bandits," the man corrected, voice calm, almost conversational. "We're… opportunists."

Leila scoffed. "Right. And I'm a nun."

The leader chuckled. "Smart girl. You already know how this works." He gestured lazily to his men. "You hand over the loot from your dungeon run, and you walk away with your lives."

Beren spat on the ground. "Try it."

One of the men chuckled. "Tough guy, huh? Look around, friend. You're exhausted. You just walked out of a dungeon. You don't want this fight."

Mira gripped her staff. "You're making a mistake."

Arlan's fingers twitched near his wand. This wasn't like fighting monsters. These were people. Not mindless beasts, not undead horrors—real people with real blood.

But that didn't mean they weren't killers.

The leader tilted his head. "I see hesitation." His gaze flickered toward Leila and Mira. "The girls don't want to fight. That's good. That's smart."

Leila stiffened. Mira clenched her jaw.

Then—one of the bandits lunged.

It happened too fast.

Tomas stepped forward to block the strike, but the force of the impact drove him back. His shield rattled, his boots sliding through the dirt.

Beren reacted instantly. His axe swung in a brutal arc—too fast for hesitation, too heavy for second thoughts.

The bandit didn't dodge in time.

The blade sank deep into his shoulder, cutting through flesh, bone, and armor like butter.

A choked scream.

A wet, sickening sound as the body collapsed.

Silence.

Leila stared, wide-eyed. Mira swallowed hard, her grip on her staff trembling.

Beren exhaled, pulling his axe free. "That's one."

Then—the fight truly began.

Chaos Erupts

The bandits hesitated only for a moment before charging.

Tomas gritted his teeth, blocking a sword strike with Gerald. The impact jolted through his body, his arms burning from exhaustion. His shield held and then exploded outwards with energy. Sending the bandit flying.

Leila moved instinctively, dodging a strike with [Shadow Step]—but when she reappeared, her hands shook.

She had a shot. She could kill the man in front of her.

But she hesitated.

Mira fired a blast of fire—but it went wide, barely grazing one of the attackers. Her breathing was uneven. She wasn't ready to kill.

Beren had no such hesitation. He was already on the next man, his axe carving through defenses.

Arlan clenched his wand. His heart pounded. His mouth was dry.

He wasn't afraid.

But he knew what was about to happen.

A bandit rushed at him, sword raised—

Arlan raised his wand—

[Shadow Bolt.]

The dark magic shot forward, striking the bandit dead center.

The impact was horrifying.

The man screamed.

Not a normal scream—a wretched, skin-curling shriek.

The magic ate into him, spreading across his body like rot, his skin blackening, bubbling, peeling away.

He dropped his weapon. Fell. Twisted. Writhing.

His fingers scratched at the ground—like he was trying to crawl away from his own death.

The sound of his agony filled the air.

And then—he stopped moving.

Arlan stood there, breathing heavily, his wand still aimed forward.

Mira had stopped casting. Leila wasn't even holding her bow correctly anymore.

The remaining bandits turned pale.

"Monsters," one of them whispered.

"Run," another gasped.

And they did.

They ran.

The Aftermath

Silence.

The dead man at Arlan's feet still had his mouth open, frozen in agony.

Leila looked sick.

Mira slowly, carefully, lowered her staff. Her gaze flicked to Arlan, but she said nothing.

Tomas, still breathing hard, lifted his shield. "…I think I'm dying."

Leila blinked at him, still shaken. "…You have a scratch."

Tomas pointed weakly. "It hurts."

Beren kicked one of the fallen bandits. "Loot them."

Arlan didn't move. He could still hear the scream.

He looked down at his hand, gripping the wand. His fingertips tingled. The magic had felt different.

It had felt… powerful.

And that scared him.

Mira finally spoke. "We need to go."

No one argued.

As they left the bodies behind, Arlan didn't look back.