A moment of stillness.

A quiet wind stirs the dust and rustles the bandits’ hair. They stare in stunned silence as the masked man calmly waits, hands above his tophat. He turns his head.

“Hello? Can you hear me? I’ve surrendered.”

His voice carries to all those present, but all the [Bandits] do is give each other incredulous looks and a few murmurs of, “What the fuck?” Even Cirdel, who had been ready to unleash a swarm of arrows and then run as fast as he could, remains rooted in place.

“Hm. I- Well…” The refined man looks across the stupefied men and women, and then up at Fiona and James, staring down into the pit from above. The undead are still as statues.

Every eye continues to stare at him.

The masked man looks at Butch. Butch, noticing the attention, lowers his head back down behind the rock and huddles. A cold sweat trickles down his brow. Ciridel can clearly see a constipated look upon the poor [Geophist]’s face.

Cirdel doesn't understand it. He’s never seen Butch cower before, not once.

Cirdel mentally raises his evaluation of the danger from, “Retreat!” to “Oh fuck!”

“You behind the boulder! Yes, you! I’m your prisoner! I surrendered. Get out here already!”

A shiver runs down his back. Nobody ever surrenders to them without a fight. Heck, to him, it looks like the masked man has the upper-hand with his instant take-over of Fiona's unde-

Cirdel’s minds stops as he processes the thought a bit more. This man single handedly just took over four undead and just made himself into an easy target by jumping into the pit.

“What the hell kind of [Bandits] are you people? Stop staring at me with your feet up your ass, and get some handcuffs already. Or tie me up. Just get over here.”

When still no one moves, the man sighs and drops his hands, disappointed. He digs his hand into his cloak and retrieves a sack. With a casual flick, he rips the pouch open and the contents spill across the ground. Crystals shimmer and glitter in the sunlight.

“See? Look at all my priceless shiny crystals! That's why you’re here, right?”

He asks casually. But Cirdel only watches as Fiona, James, and all the bandits take a step back at the sight of the crystals sparkling on the ground around him.

“Now, let’s try that again.” He raises his hands again. “I fucking surrender.”

Cirdel watches Fiona and James share a look. A hard look of determination fills Fiona’s eyes, and she turns back to face the absolute buffoon who couldn’t predict the obvious outcome of his actions.

“RETREAT!” she screams. Her words, though not empowered with skill, startles her people into action. Every [Bandit] turns around and starts running away from the high-leveled maniac. Cirdel merely tightens his grip on his bow, fearing that escape won’t be that simple.

His fears are borne out when the loony [Gentleman] drops his arms.

“Oh come the fuck on! Don't run away! You're supposed to capture me! Take me hostage, or something! I’m your goddamn prisoner!”

The masked man leaps into the air and lands on the edge of the pit. He sprints after the retreating [Bandits].

“GET THE FUCK BACK HERE AND CAPTURE ME, YOU LITTLE SHITS!” he roars.

His shout has the opposite of its intended effect. The [Bandits] activate all the skills they have to run faster.

The masked man, noticing their speed increase, slows down. He growls.

“Fine. Fine! FINE!”

Cirdel, quietly preparing his own escape, goes rigid as the ground trembles. Stones and boulders shake and roll as the dirt beneath the masked man bursts apart. A worm-like skeletal monstrosity rips through the ground and lifts the [Necromancer] twenty meters into the air.

But one is just the beginning. Four more worms tear through the stone walls of the passes, cutting off the paths of retreat.

All of the [Bandits] stop, terror mounting as the pale eyeless worms open their mouths to reveal thousands of mismatched, shark-like, serrated teeth.

“Now then,” the masked man's voice calls over the clamor of the blanching [Bandits].

“I'm going to give you all a choice.”

A menacing violet glow emerges from deep within the worms’ throats.

“Accept my surrender or die.”

 

______________________________________________________________

 

It’s been a while since Cirdel was in a bar and listened to the [Bards]. The storytellers weave grand tales of monsters and magic, of horrors and heroes, romance and gossip. So long as their audience is entertained, they’ll speak, sing, or dance about whatever may enrapture.

[Bards] are charismatic charlatans, liars and whores who sleep with anything that breathes, and some things that don’t. Honestly, Cirdel cares little about the latter; it’s not his business unless it’s him. Lies, on the other hand, infuriate him. [Bard]s’ stories are fake stories meant to make you believe in the impossible, fables of Divers and Mercenaries finding themselves in unbelievable situations and triumphing. Then reality teaches you that those dreams are rubbish.

At least, that was what he had believed. Now, as he stares at his ‘Prisoner’, he can't help but believe that some of the stories may have held a grain of truth. A tale of [Bandits] being threatened into accepting a superior foe’s surrender would make anyone laugh at its absurdity.

And the [Bard] telling the tale would have been derided by a teenage Cirdel.

What's both grim and funny is that the story has yet to end. The masked man who calls himself Bone is currently walking forward, hunched over, a rope binding his wrists connecting to the unfortunate [Bandit] that has to lead him. The nervous man is barely holding onto the rope, looking as though they are ready to bolt at the first sign of trouble.

“Are those things still below us?” he asks Butch.

Butch nods. “It’s faint , but they are following.”

Cirdel suppresses a groan. They are currently heading back to the main camp with the absurd number of crystals and the prisoner. The viciously armed prisoner with giant undead worms that burrow deep underground. Thankfully, Bone did not demand that they also take his companions as prisoners, so they have been left behind, completely untouched. No reason to bring home another crazy someone with enough strength to kill them all.

“Are you sure your mother will be able to keep us safe?” James asks, interrupting the somber silence of the marching [Bandits].

Fiona glares at James, but the man doesn't back down.

Fiona sighs. “Yes. Mom’s a [Death ArchKnight]. A [Necromancer] is no threat to her. She could probably take over his undead if she wants to.”

Butch perks up. “Oh. Isn’t she the one who taught you magic?”

“Yes. Mom is an expert in that area. She taught me everything and helped me get my initial [Dark Witch] class.”

Butch smirks. “And now you’re a [Death Princess].”

Fiona rolls her eyes as Butch emphasises the Princess part of her class. Ever since her father became king, her [Noble] class changed to [Princess] and then combined with her [Dark Mage] class when she hit level one hundred into the [Death Princess] class. Which, if Fiona is being honest, doesn’t seem princessy at all.

She feels more like a weak [Necromancer] with leadership and minion empowerment skills. It's complicated, but clearly nowhere near as strong as whatever class Bone has. She suspects [Necromancer], or maybe even a [Grand Necromancer]. She’s not sure, nor does it seem like [Analyze] works on Bone. He seems to block it somehow, either with a skill or his enchanted clothes nobody was willing to remove.

“Shut it,” Cirdel interrupts, “we’re getting close to home. Lets just at least look like we’re transporting a prisoner instead of our jailer.”

 

__________________________________________________________

Who’d have thunk that being a [Bandit] does not necessarily mean you’re a bandit. Granted, these [Bandits] do kill and steal, but it’s now clear to me that they aren't unclean men who rape and pillage… Hm. Maybe. No, I've come to realize that they’re a little like vikings. Mountain vikings. Just now, from entering their underground city? Caravan? Trailer Park? I’m not sure how to describe it, but I was not expecting to hear cheering from mothers and children as I’m led past their mobile homes.

I’ve been robbed in a metaphorical way rather than a real one. I was promised bandits! Where the fuck are they!?

I feel tension on my wrist and turn my head towards the [Bandit] who was supposed to be leading me. He’s fallen behind. I pull on the rope and he picks up the pace so I don’t have to drag his ass.

I shake my head.

How can they be so incompetent? How hard is it to transport a prisoner properly? They didn't even bother to remove my clothes, and the ropes on my wrists keep coming loose. I’ve had to constantly tighten the damn things.

Me! The prisoner has to work to keep himself imprisoned!

This is stupid.

I feel cheated.

My day is ruined.

I release an audible groan and the [Bandit] drops the rope in panic at my noise. Realising his mistake, he leans down and fumbles three fucking times before getting a good grip.

And by good, I mean that he’s barely even holding the damn thing. Like seriously, all I did was threaten their lives and then they act all scared and shit. Even the four elites are keeping a good distance behind me.

Which is bad. You’re supposed to always be close to high value prisoners in case they attempt to escape. That way you can react fast enough.

I shake my head and continue walking at a slow pace, marveling at the huge number of people and the many coaches and carts turned into homes. It's quite amazing, especially since I can see that it would only take minutes to pack everything up and start traveling.

Eventually, we pass through what looks like a food market next to an underground lake. Carts filled with dirt line the path by the lake shore, each one sporting a weirdly colored fungus that is somehow able to survive underground without sunlight. I also see several animals that look like a long deer with razor sharp teeth… and fish. Lots of fucking fish. Also [Fishermen]. Lots of people are fishing in the lake.

That’s when I see it. One of those weird deer monsters shits out a smoking, bright green sludge. One of the people nearby scoops up the glowing poop and tosses it in with the mushrooms.

Okay! So they fish, feed fish to the weird carnivorous deer things, and then they throw poop on the fungus as manure.

Seems like it works for them, but it’s weird as fuck.

Hopefully they won’t haunt me like the Gejan’s shrooms.

 

_____________________________________

After another hour of walking, I am finally led to what looks like a better made underground camp with tents and closed off walls. Several carriages are connected and blocking a wall with a partial tent hanging from the ceiling.

Most of the [Bandits] disperse except for the leaders and the poor [Bandit] holding on to my ropes. He looks sad too, watching their brothers run away full speed.

I am led inside.

When I enter, I see the [Bandit King]. He sits on a boulder wearing “regal” robes (I don’t think grey’s a good color for him) while his daughter sits on his lap.

“My [King],” I hear the [Elite Bandit Scout] exclaim, seizing the king's attention. ”The ambush was a, uh, complete success… and,” he looks at me, “we have a prisoner,” he squeezes the words out.

“A prisoner?” the king repeats, an eyebrow rising.

With those words, I push mana through the unenchanted, cheap, poor quality rope holding me. It frays, disintegrates, and falls to the ground. The [Bandit] holding my rope screams in fear before rushing out. At the same time, the daughter hops off the king's lap and in a fluid moment, lets two long chains drop out from her sleeves. I sense a powerful aura of death emanate from her petite form.

The chains twirls around the boulder, herself, and the [Bandit king] in a defensive way.

Hm?

With a quick blink, I pull-up the girl's status.

 

 

Ah, right, that's his wife, not daughter. Damn this world and the stupid vitality stat making people look so freaking young. For all I know, she could be several hundred years old.

Still, it doesn't matter. I’ve come prepared and I have more levels.

Before things can turn violent, I grab my hat and quickly do a most majestic bow.

“Allow me to introduce myself.” I begin releasing my own aura which counters, but does not overpower the woman's. “I am Bone, a leader of men, monsters, and I come bearing an ultimatum.”

With a mental order, the [Corrosive Boneworms] rise up from below, causing the cavern to rumble.

“Surrender your kingdom or die.”

My shadow stretches out behind me.

I watch carefully as Misty’s muscles tense. Her own mana pumps to her chains, strengthening them for immediate usage. I also feel her mana reach out, as though to claim my undead.

And finally, the [King] stands, a serene smile on his face. He looks back to face his people, then turns to look me in the eyes. Indiscernible emotions seem to fill his sockets.

“It’s all yours. Have fun.”

…

…

…

What?