His question sliced through the rhythm of their footsteps. Mola, walking ahead, offered a noncommittal shrug.
Mola: "What would you like to know?"
Xayn: "First... I'd like to know what kind of vision you had that showed you this is the way to go. As it stands, it seems awfully convenient that you just so happened to leverage a discarded pamphlet to plot our next destination."
A long, theatrical groan erupted from Bazren, who trailed behind them.
Bazren: "There you go again... Give it a rest already, Xayn! What've you got against going? It'll be great practice!"
Xayn: "I simply struggle to understand how this is the most efficient way to get what we're looking for, that's all... Plus, you should get no vote in the matter. Clearly it's bloodlust driving you, Bazren... not the mission."
Bazren: "UGH! The mission, the mission... there are more than one ways to skin a cat. So what if this isn't the *best* path? You heard the witch! The ear of lords, the wealth of kings, and the fear of all who stand against us... Seems like a pretty good way to get what we need!"
Xayn: "It also seems like a pretty good way to get a bullseye on our backs. So, Mola. Care to explain?"
Mola's shoulders stiffened, the heavy burlap sack shifting with the movement.
Mola: "E-explain what? Your friend, or enemy, I admit I'm still a bit confused about what role she plays in all of this... She pointed us in this direction. It's her judgement, not mine."
Xayn: "... Tentoria wants us to go fight in a tournament?"
A single bead of cold sweat traced a path down Mola's temple, hidden from their view.
Xayn: "I'm at a loss."
He shook his head, his face a mask of disbelief.
Bazren: "Ohoho! What's the matter, Xayn? Not fond of being leashed and guided where you don't want to go? Well, that's been my damn cross to bear ever since we came back to this world! About time we traded places, see how much you like it."
Xayn: "Don't be so childish. Is this about the damn dagger incident...?"
Bazren: "Oh, I don't know. Would we be here if it wasn't for that stupid dagger? I told you we should've got rid of it..."
Xayn: "Like it or not, the dagger and Mola ended up being our only lead so far."
Bazren scoffed, kicking a loose stone from the path.
Bazren: "No wonder! We've been stuck to her practically since we arrived, there wasn't even any chance to look for other leads...!"
Xayn: "Everyone, *don't move*."
His voice changed, dropping to a low, intense frequency that cut through their bickering. It wasn't a suggestion.
Xayn: "Don't make a sound."
Bazren froze mid-stride. Mola stopped, her body rigid, glancing back over her shoulder.
Mola: "What're you-"
Xayn: "SILENCE."
The word was a whip-crack. He tilted his head, his gaze sweeping the dense foliage lining the dirt road. The cheerful chirping of birds had ceased. The gentle hum of insects had vanished. The air itself felt suddenly watchful.
Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
Xayn: "There's movement around us."
Neither Mola nor Bazren could hear anything beyond the whisper of the wind.
Mola: "... I don't hear a thing."
Bazren's new lips peeled back from her teeth in a faint, predatory smile.
Bazren: "Neither do I... Good. Means we still have time to prepare!"
Mola: "Can one of you tell me what's happening...?!"
Xayn's focus didn't waver from the trees.
Xayn: "I sense an ambush -- at least five men."
Mola: "A-are you joking right now?"
Bazren: "Joking? Xayn? Hah, good one! No, his hearing is just extremely sharp... One of the perks undeath granted him."
Xayn's gaze flickered to Mola, his cyan eyes hard.
Xayn: "You brought us through these roads, Mola... how dangerous are they?"
Mola: "What?! What does that matter! It's the fastest way to the city. Who cares about an ambush, a flash of my spellbook and they'll..."
Her voice died, her eyes widening as the phantom weight of the lost tome passed through her memory.
Bazren let out a short, humourless chuckle.
Bazren: "Good luck with that."
Xayn: "So, intimidation, is it...? If that's all it takes, this should be over quick."
Bazren: "Got a plan?"
Xayn: "Sure. Just keep walking."
Mola: "A-are you sure?"
Her voice trembled, another crack in her wall of apathy.
Bazren: "Ah, c'mon! Don't tell me you don't think we can take a fistful of bandits...?"
The fear in Mola's eyes was genuine now.
Xayn: "*Keep. Walking.* Mola, get in between us."
With a shared, tense glance, they resumed their pace. Xayn took the lead, his posture deceptively relaxed. Bazren fell in behind Mola, her gait slow and deliberate, a predator stalking unseen prey.
The rustling in the bushes became audible now, the snapping of twigs too deliberate for any foraging animal.
A faint, almost cruel smile touched Xayn's lips.
Twang. A sudden, sharp sound, followed by a whistle of displaced air. An arrow slammed into the dirt mere inches from Xayn's foot, its feathered shaft quivering with the force of the impact.
Bandit: "Let's stop right there! Shall we...?"
The voice was rough, uncultured. Three men melted from the foliage, blocking the path ahead. They were thin, their faces hollowed by hunger and greed, their patched leather armour stained with the grime of the road.
Bandit: "Ahh... three travellers! Two fair maidens, and one gentleman."
The leader, a man with a scarred lip and a missing tooth, let his gaze linger on Bazren and Mola with a wet, leering appreciation. He noted their simple clothes, their lack of visible weapons.
Bandit: "Awfully unprepared to face the *dangers* of the road... But, I suppose that is no trouble. Provided you've enough coin to make up for that kind of mishap, that is."
One of his cronies, brandishing a bow, kept it trained on Xayn's chest.
Xayn: "Coin? That's all what you want?"
The leader laughed, a foul, rattling sound.
Bandit: "Isn't it what we *all* want at the end of the day? C'mon, fork it over."
The third bandit stepped forward, flashing a rusted dagger with a menacing grin.
Bandit: "Let's make this quick. We'll let you be on your way, then."
Xayn: "Sorry, you're out of luck. We're penniless."
The leader's eyes narrowed, his gaze sweeping over their ragged attire, the absence of any packs or horses.
Bandit: "Hmph. You do look like you've only the rags on your body to your names... But."
He jabbed a grimy finger towards Mola.
Bandit: "That one carries something. I suppose we can --"
Her demeanour shifted. She clutched her bearings tighter, baring her teeth.
Mola: "N-no... Fuck off!"
The words were quiet, but they cut through the air as sharply as any metal blade. The clearing fell silent.
Bandit: "... What's that?"
After all she had endured -- cosmic forces, ravenous artifacts, the ghost of her own mentor -- to be threatened by this common, roadside filth was an indignity too far.
A spark of her old, suicidal arrogance flared to life.
Mola: "You *deaf*?"
She took a step forward, her eyes blazing with a cold fire that had been absent ever since she had taken her Master's life.
Mola: "I said, fuck --"
A blur of motion from the bushes beside her. A fourth man lunged, his hand clamping over her mouth, stifling her curse. Her heavy sack of scrolls and books tumbled to the ground with a soft thud. A strong arm wrapped around her waist, lifting her off her feet as the cold, flat edge of a dagger pressed against the soft skin of her throat.
Bandit: "You oughta be more careful with your tongue, miss..."
The new bandit's breath was hot and sour against her ear.
Bandit: "Lest you'll lose it before noon."