The bandit camps around the mountains were decimated by the Deadman. Einar, who was watching the fight with a view from above, could only watch as the Deadman hides around the shadows, killing bandits, and picking them off one by one.

“Killing stealthily,” Einar said. “We can take care of them without a problem.”

“We can,” the Deadman said. “But it would be better if we take them out just like that time. One enemy at a time, until they are dead. Isolate them, and then kill them. Make them pay."

The Deadman went out of the bushes, grabbed hold of the bandit’s Achilles heel, dragged him back and killed the bandit with a dagger to the carotid artery. The Deadman’s patience was enduring, he waited for the enemy to stray from their camp and neutralized them. They weren’t stupid, so when they started to act after noticing their comrades haven’t returned. They started going in groups, only to be taken down by the Deadman in groups as well. The bandit camps numbered about a thousand strong men. It was no wonder that they were planning to join the war between the West and the North. The Deadman didn’t rush in and just ambushed them while they were patrolling. He halved the numbers of the bandits by the week he was slaughtering them.

To put the fear of the Lord in them, he started stringing up trees with their stomachs gutted. He would hang them in spots where they find it relaxing. Or when they open up their barrels, they would find their friends chopped up parts inside. The Deadman showed no mercy to these heathens who would force a young woman to fornicate with a pig.

They showed no mercy to the slaves so he gave them no mercy as well. He would butcher their pigs, behead their pigs, carved the inside of the pigs, and masked those who he killed with pig heads. He remembered the faces of the bastards who watched that disgusting show. Einar had no reason not to enact justice, he had heard the degeneracy of these bastards, but he didn’t know that there’d be sick bastards who would do such a thing. It was cruel, but they needed to put fear inside the hearts of these men would do such a thing.

They continued attacking, slowly, but surely, they hunted down the bandits. Sometimes, the Deadman would hunt down a group of ten by pit trap, making them fall into a pit of spikes made of obsidian. From time to time, they would found themselves hanged by a magical rope that crunched their necks. The Deadman placed their bodies into the water source of the enemy. With their waters polluted, they turned their attention to the nearest stream. However, the Deadman waited for them and butchered them, and at night he carried the bodies and placed them in front of the entrance of the bandit camps. The Deadman has encircled the bandit camps and by the third week since he started harassing the enemy. Their number dwindled to less than five hundred
 
***
 
The nightmares of the bandit became true. Those who were brave were killed and their bodies were strewn around the bandit camp. Outside their camps were bandits lined up, their stomach opened, and their heads covered in pig heads. Their leaders, the men who were in charge of these bandits were displayed with their buttocks pierced by obsidian spikes. The bodies were rotting, and the camp was suffering from hunger and dehydration. All the food they had were polluted with the blood of their brothers, and their waters had rotting human heads floating. The slaves who did the work were taken, and they couldn’t find a single trace of them. Even those who tried to use them as shields were killed without anyone knowing who did it.

The Deadman had made use of the tactics that he learned from the past. He could have slaughtered them now that their numbers were low. But bandits would rose again and the only way to make sure that they wouldn’t come back was to create a nightmare for these bandits.

So the Deadman waited until there were only five bandits who were grabbing their heads, shaking, laughing dryly with madness as they were surrounded by the corpses of their friends. They weren’t allowed to die. They were all fed by berries and waters. They were being toyed at and the only thing they could do was cry and plead to however monster was playing them.

It was then that the Deadman appeared before them with his body covered in a thin layer of obsidian flesh. He emits a glowing aura and approached the surviving bandits with the sigil of the Deadman burning in his eyes. The bandits could hear the screams of those who they killed as they look at the eyes of the Deadman. They could hear those who departed screeching, cursing them for surviving. They were rooted on the spot, and they could breathe raggedly as the Deadman continued his nightmarish gaze on them.

“I want you all,” the Deadman said, “to remember these weeks for the rest of your lives. I want you all to tell your fellow scum about what happened here. Tell them, that if they ever come back into my mountain, then the Deadman will find them. I will find you all and make you suffer hell once again. Now leave this place before I changed my mind and have you butchered like the rest of these scums!”
 
The bandits could only see a monster before them. They could only shake uncontrollably as the Deadman disappears out of their sight. Their legs couldn’t stop shaking, and their pants became muddy as they stare at the sky blankly. The surviving bandits stood up and suddenly sprinted out of the Camps. Their screams resounded the mountain as they passed through the forest where the bandits where bandits were hanged, gutted and impaled. They could only shout in terror as they realized that the forest became a place where their companions were displayed. They were cruel, but the sight before them was a picture from hell itself.