The First Step

Morning arrived in the mercenary camp with the muted glow of dawn light filtering through the ragged tents. Smoke curled from a handful of small fires, and the smell of charred meat hung in the air. Though the sun was only just peeking over the horizon, the camp was already stirring. Men and women moved about, tending to weapons, packing supplies, and preparing for another day of survival.

Zhao Feng emerged from his makeshift sleeping area, every muscle in his body protesting the movement. The previous night's skirmish still clung to him, a reminder that while his mind remained sharp, his body was far from its peak. But he couldn't afford to show weakness. Not now, when the mercenaries were beginning to pay attention to him for the first time.

He made his way toward the center of the camp, where Raik—grizzled leader of this ragtag band—stood in deep conversation with two of his more seasoned fighters. They paused as Zhao Feng approached, the hush of their words suggesting that the topic at hand was sensitive.

Raik acknowledged him with a curt nod. "You're up early," he said, voice rough as gravel.

Zhao Feng shrugged, forcing a casual tone despite his sore muscles. "Hard to sleep when you know the world's out to kill you."

One corner of Raik's mouth twitched—something that might have been amusement under different circumstances. "You're not wrong," he said. "But you made it through last night. That's more than I can say for most new recruits."

Zhao Feng inclined his head. He knew he had to tread carefully, balancing humility and confidence. Too much bravado would make him a target; too little would paint him as prey.

Raik looked him up and down, as if assessing whether Zhao Feng's apparent injuries were genuine. Finally, he gestured for him to follow. They walked a short distance away, stopping near a rickety wooden table where a faded map of the region lay pinned beneath a dagger.

"I've got a job," Raik said, resting a hand on the table. "We've been tracking a group of bandits squatting in an abandoned village a few miles east. They're well-armed, well-organized. Not your average thugs."

Zhao Feng leaned forward, scanning the rough outlines of the territory. He saw a scattering of symbols—watchtowers, rumored supply caches, patrol routes. "And you want them gone?"

"Gone or crippled," Raik replied. "They've got weapons we can't afford to let them keep. Food, too, from what we hear. Maybe even maps of the area. We need those."

Zhao Feng studied the map, his mind already churning through possibilities. A direct assault would be suicidal if the bandits truly were as fortified as Raik claimed. But infiltration? That might be doable. He turned to Raik. "And you need someone to sneak in and grab what we need."

Raik gave a terse nod. "I've got a small team in mind. You, for one."

"Me?" Zhao Feng hid his surprise. After all the skepticism, it was unexpected to be chosen so quickly.

Raik's expression hardened. "Don't get cocky. You want to be more than a stray dog in this camp? Prove yourself. Show me you can pull your weight. Otherwise, you're just another mouth to feed."

Zhao Feng straightened, meeting Raik's gaze without flinching. "I'll do it."

"Good," Raik said. "You won't go alone. Lian will go with you."

At the mention of her name, Lian stepped forward from where she'd been listening, arms crossed. She was tall and lean, her dark hair braided tightly against her head. Her eyes flickered with an unimpressed glare. "So I'm to babysit him?"

Raik shot her a warning look. "You'll watch each other's backs. That's all."

Lian didn't bother hiding her skepticism. She gave Zhao Feng a once-over, then turned back to Raik. "Fine. But don't expect miracles."

Zhao Feng suppressed a smirk. He could sense Lian's distrust, but that was fine. He'd dealt with doubters before. If anything, it would motivate him to prove her—and everyone else—wrong.

---

They set out within the hour, traveling east through dense forest. The canopy overhead filtered the sunlight into scattered patches, making it easier to move undetected. Zhao Feng walked a few paces behind Lian, quietly observing the way she navigated the undergrowth with practiced ease. She had the poise of a seasoned hunter, every step measured, every glance purposeful.

Meanwhile, Zhao Feng used the journey to assess his own condition. The dull ache in his muscles hadn't subsided, and the faint spark of power deep within him still felt distant. But his mind was clear, sharper than it had been in centuries. That would be enough.

By midday, they reached the outskirts of the abandoned village. It was a grim sight—roofless buildings, charred remnants of what might have once been a tavern, and a collapsed watchtower at the far end of a weed-choked street. But not all of it was in ruins. In the center stood a makeshift fortification, hastily constructed but effective enough to guard the main thoroughfare.

Lian crouched behind a toppled cart, scanning the area with narrowed eyes. "There," she whispered, pointing to a half-hidden figure atop a wooden platform. "They've got sentries. And I count at least four more patrolling the perimeter."

Zhao Feng nodded. Through the cracks in a crumbling wall, he spotted more movement—guards in mismatched armor, brandishing spears and crossbows. Torches flickered, even in the daylight, a sign that these bandits wanted to keep every corner illuminated. They were wary, which meant infiltration would be tricky.

"Any bright ideas?" Lian asked, her tone edged with sarcasm.

Zhao Feng ignored her skepticism. He scanned the setup, noting the bandits' positions and the routes they seemed to patrol. A direct assault was out of the question. They'd be swarmed in seconds. But a plan was already forming in his mind—one that involved exploiting the bandits' paranoia.

"We need a distraction," he murmured. "Not just any distraction. Something that makes them turn on each other."

Lian arched an eyebrow. "You think we can break their unity?"

Zhao Feng's lips curved into a faint smile. "Greed and fear are powerful motivators. If we can plant the idea that there's betrayal brewing from within, they'll tear themselves apart before they realize what's happening."

Lian studied him for a moment, her expression skeptical but not dismissive. "Fine," she said eventually. "But we'll need proof—something they can't ignore."

Zhao Feng nodded. "Then let's find it."

---

Slipping deeper into the outskirts of the village, they waited until a lone bandit patrol strayed too far from the main group. He was a tall man with a scar running down his cheek, his armor mismatched, and a crossbow slung over his shoulder.

Zhao Feng and Lian pounced with practiced efficiency. Lian snared the bandit's legs from behind while Zhao Feng clamped a hand over his mouth, muffling his shout. A brief struggle ended with the bandit unconscious on the ground.

They dragged him behind a collapsed wall. Lian crouched down to rummage through his belongings while Zhao Feng stripped away the man's ragged armor and insignia—a crude patch stitched onto a leather strap, marking him as a member of the bandit clan.

"Here," Lian said, holding up a small scrap of parchment covered in scrawled handwriting. It looked like a roster or a shift schedule. Perfect.

Zhao Feng's eyes lit up. "We can use this."

Working quickly, he produced a charcoal stub from his pouch and began forging a short note on the back of the parchment—something cryptic but damning, hinting that a faction within the bandits was plotting against the leader.

Once satisfied, he slipped the note inside the bandit's armor, pinning it so it would be easily discovered. "We'll drop him somewhere they'll find him," he explained. "They'll assume he got ambushed, but not before he learned something he wasn't supposed to."

Lian watched silently, her skepticism warring with a grudging respect. This wasn't brute force or flashy power; it was cunning. "I still think we should just kill him," she muttered.

"Dead men can't spread rumors," Zhao Feng replied, his tone even. "We need him alive. We need them to question their own."

---

With the false evidence planted, they propped the unconscious bandit against a half-collapsed fence near the fort's perimeter. Then they retreated to a vantage point behind a broken window in a deserted shack, waiting for the inevitable discovery.

It didn't take long. A sentry spotted the bandit, called for help, and within minutes, a small crowd had gathered. Shouts echoed across the courtyard as the note was found. Confusion and accusation rippled through the group.

Zhao Feng watched through a crack in the wall, his heart pounding with anticipation. The bandits' voices rose, some blaming each other, others demanding answers. The tension was palpable.

Lian leaned in beside him, her breath warm on his ear. "I don't believe it," she whispered. "They're actually turning on each other."

Zhao Feng allowed himself a faint smile. "Fear is a powerful tool."

They watched as the argument escalated. A couple of the bandits even drew their weapons, pointing them at their own comrades. The entire camp seemed on the verge of unraveling.

Zhao Feng's pulse quickened. This was the moment he'd been waiting for—the perfect distraction. If the plan held, they could slip inside unnoticed, gather what they needed, and be gone before the bandits realized they'd been played.

He glanced at Lian, whose eyes were now alight with a mix of excitement and disbelief. For the first time, Zhao Feng saw something other than skepticism in her gaze. Perhaps she was beginning to understand that his strength lay not just in muscle, but in strategy.

The time had come. Zhao Feng nodded toward the fort's entrance, where torches burned brightly, drawing attention away from the side routes. "Shall we?" he asked softly.

Lian answered with a curt nod, a slight grin tugging at her lips. "Lead the way."

Zhao Feng rose, his body still sore but fueled by adrenaline. The bandits were too consumed by their own paranoia to notice two figures slipping into the shadows. Step by silent step, Zhao Feng and Lian crept closer to the heart of the hideout, tension coiling in the air like a drawn bowstring.

They had set the stage for chaos. Now, they would step into the fray, unseen and unstoppable—if all went according to plan.

With the bandits distracted by their internal disputes, Zhao Feng and Lian slipped into the hideout under the cover of night. The shouts of arguing men filled the air, masking their movements as they weaved through the ruined village. Shadows stretched from flickering torches, but Zhao Feng guided their approach with careful precision, mapping out paths through collapsed buildings and narrow alleys.

Lian remained skeptical, her sharp eyes watching Zhao Feng as he silently motioned toward key areas—the supply caches, the armory, and the bandits' quarters. He wasn't moving blindly. He was thinking like a strategist, pinpointing weak spots, escape routes, and opportunities to bring destruction upon their enemies with minimal risk to themselves.

Reaching the storage room, they pressed against the rough wooden wall. Lian peered through a gap in the planks. "Clear," she whispered.

Zhao Feng eased the door open, and they slipped inside. Crates of supplies lined the walls, sacks of grain and dried meat stacked beside them. A wooden table held maps and scrawled notes. Zhao Feng scanned them quickly, picking out the most valuable information—routes, supply chains, and fortifications. These weren't just scraps of intelligence. They were the key to crippling the bandits permanently.

But just as he rolled the maps into his belt, a heavy set of boots stomped outside. Voices barked orders, and the rising argument beyond the camp suddenly fell silent.

"Someone's taking control," Lian muttered, her expression darkening.

A high-ranking bandit officer strode into the camp, rallying his men. "Enough! We've got a rat problem. Light the torches! Search every corner!"

The hideout snapped to full alert. The storage room's only exit was blocked. Zhao Feng and Lian were trapped.

Lian tensed, hand tightening around her dagger. "We fight?"

Zhao Feng exhaled slowly. No—fighting now would be reckless. Instead, he needed to collapse the entire camp. He scanned the room, eyes narrowing on a stack of volatile-looking casks marked with crude symbols—likely containing oil or alcohol. That would be their key to destruction.

He motioned for Lian to help as he carefully unsealed one of the casks and began spreading its contents across the storage room and out into the narrow alleyways leading to other key buildings. The armory. The supply shed. The main hall. Soon, the scent of fuel filled the air.

Lian caught on quickly. "You're going to burn them out."

Zhao Feng nodded. "Not just that—destroy their ability to fight back."

As footsteps approached, Zhao Feng ignited a small spark in his palm, the weak energy within him flaring for just a moment before he flicked it toward the fuel-soaked ground. Flames erupted in an instant, racing along the paths they had set, leaping onto wooden beams and crates. The fire roared to life, consuming everything in its path.

Shouts of confusion turned to screams of panic. Bandits rushed to put out the flames, but the fire had spread too quickly. The armory detonated in a thunderous explosion, scattering burning debris across the village. Zhao Feng and Lian used the chaos to slip through the collapsing camp, cutting down any bandits who strayed too close.

As they moved through the burning ruins, Zhao Feng ensured their mission was complete. He knocked over stacks of weapons, rendering them useless under collapsing beams. He slashed open sacks of food, letting their contents spill into the flames. Every move was calculated to ensure the bandits had nothing left to rebuild with.

By the time they reached the forest's edge, the bandit hideout was an inferno. Structures caved in, weapons cracked under the heat, and any hope of salvaging their stronghold was gone. Those who survived would scatter, leaderless and broken.

Lian glanced at Zhao Feng, her expression unreadable. "You didn't just want to steal from them. You wanted to erase them."

Zhao Feng didn't answer. He just smirked and pressed forward.

By dawn, they arrived back at camp. The mercenaries gathered, murmuring as Lian tossed down a bundle of stolen supplies. Zhao Feng handed the maps to Raik, who studied them carefully before meeting his gaze. There was approval there—but also caution.

"You think ahead," Raik said, his tone neutral. "But you don't take half measures."

Zhao Feng only smiled. "Half measures don't win wars."

Raik gave a small nod, recognizing the unspoken message. Zhao Feng wasn't just here to survive. He was here to take control.

Zhao Feng had proven himself. But this was only the first step.