I picked my way through the dozen or so bodies, trying to find one among the wounded who was lucid enough to answer a few questions. It took me a minute, but I eventually settled on a young man with a slowly spreading bloodstain on his abdomen. He had dirty hands pressed against the wound, his face showing fear and pain in equal measure, and his breathing came ragged.

  "Nasty wound," I said, kneeling beside the young man. His eyes flicked towards me, and I saw the contempt and blame within them. Another brief flicker of guilt shot through me, and I pushed it down before continuing, "Painful, too."

  The bandit gritted his teeth but did not reply. I considered him for a moment, then leaned in closer.

  "Where is your camp?"

  He remained silent, his glare unbroken. I could not say if his silence came from the pain of his injuries, loyalty to his fellow bandits, or hatred towards me. It might be some mixture of all three, and I almost respected his conviction. Almost being the operative term.

  I needed him to talk. How? I considered more forceful measures for a moment, but the idea turned my stomach. Butchering these people had been one thing. I could understand it, even if I would prefer not to make it a habit. But torture was another matter entirely.

  Besides, I had no way of knowing whether or not the information extracted through those means was reliable. The same was true for standard, non-violent means, but at least I could look myself in the eyes afterward.

  "Your allies left you," I said, gesturing around us, "And your leader ran. If you fought together, you might have won. Instead, they abandoned your lives to save their own. Why keep their secrets?"

  "G-go to—" he tried to say, but the words caught in his throat. His speech turned into wet coughs that left red flecks on his lips.

  "I can end it," I said, gesturing towards his wound, "Just tell me what I need to do, and this can all be over."

  Still, he remained silent, and I pushed down my discomfort and added, "Or, I can heal your wounds. Not enough to save your life, but sufficient to extend this ordeal. Do you want that?"

  I saw the moment when his resolve broke. His eyes softened, and he nodded a few times, his face relaxing a little.

  "E-east. They're east of here, in the forest nearby. We built a camp there," he said, his voice wavering near the end as his eyes fluttered.

  "Thank you," I said, nodding to the young man.

  Then, I pulled one of my Aether daggers from my belt and stabbed him through the heart. I had given no warning, and he seized up at the sudden attack, then relaxed with a soft exhale.

  I wiped my dagger off on the man's pants, tucked it back into my belt, and stood, glancing up at the sky. There were only a few hours left until sunset, which meant pressing the attack now would force me to fight in darkness.

  Was that wise? No, not for a typical warrior. But I was a mage. I had abilities no ordinary man could match. More importantly, I had bigger things to do than waste multiple days dealing with a group of bandits. So, I adjusted the straps of my backpack and set off east, diving into the dense forest beside the road.

  Fortunatus and I moved east, picking our way through tangled undergrowth. I took my time, keeping my eyes and ears open for any signs of incoming attacks. My Traveler's Armor was already in place, so there was likely not much to worry about, but better safe than sorry.

  Darkness had begun to creep into the forest when I caught the first hints of human life.

  It began with the scent of smoke in the air. I caught the sharp, acrid smell with a hint of cooking meat. As I drew closer, I became aware of the murmuring of voices and the muffled clamoring of a camp. These, coupled with the flickering firelight I spotted through the dense branches, all spoke of the same thing.

  I debated walking closer, then paused. My talents as a spy and assassin left much to be desired, but I wanted to take a look at the camp before attacking. No sense in being reckless, even with magic on my side.

  Then, I remembered the half-asleep cat lying in my backpack.

  I glanced around, spotting a tree with low-hanging branches not far from me. One Flicker Step carried me the eight feet up, and I caught one of the boughs in my grip, hoisting myself up without trouble.

  Fortunatus was already yawning when I pulled my backpack off and flipped it open. The feline hopped out without pause, stretching out along the branch before turning his attention to me.

  "Where?"

  "We—" I started, catching myself and altering my speech from verbal to mental, "We are within a forest, a few hundred feet from a bandit camp. I need your help taking a closer look before I attack."

  Fortunatus stared at me, curiosity thrumming down our bond. Then, I felt his assent as clear as day. I returned that impulse with one of my own, attempting to convey gratitude. Then, I closed my eyes and focused more deeply on our bond, trying to clear any distractions from my thoughts.

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  I had not invested much time in practicing our familiar bond. Drawing upon the feline's mana had helped save my life, but the facts were that Fortunatus still had not demonstrated any unusual magical talents. That, coupled with other responsibilities, had left it a secondary concern.

  Still, I had puzzled out a few tricks. And this was one I had taken pains to work on often these past few months.

  My vision was dark at first, with only rippling patterns of green and a single, braided rope of green mana within my mind's eye. That construct, our familiar bond, rippled with power. Months of growth had made it stable and powerful enough to push my senses down that bond and into my partner.

  I felt my head spin, my vision seemed to fuzz, and then I was looking at my own body.

  Seeing through Fortunatus' eyes always disoriented me. His vantage point was that of a cat, which was enough to unsettle. But it was the rest, the way his senses differed from mine, that I found hardest to accept. Smells and sounds were sharper, shadows fell away in his eyes, and the feeling of four legs and a tail remained unpleasant.

  I pushed past that discomfort and said within the cat's mind, "Move carefully, Fortunatus, and run if you are caught. Understand?"

  "Yes."

  I—or rather Fortunatus, jumped down to the forest floor. He crept from shadow to shadow, moving without so much as a single sound to the edge of the camp. There, I could see a man standing guard with a pitchfork in one hand and a piece of still-smoking meat in the other. He tore a chunk off it, then half-turned to speak with someone else. In that moment, Fortunatus slipped past him and entered the camp proper.

  It was a larger camp than I expected, clearly built with long-term shelter in mind. The bulk of it was cleared land with stumps marking where they had chopped down trees to make room for tents, bedrolls, and cooking fires. Large clothes hung everywhere, tied up to grant some protection from rain or snow, and I spotted several tents, which I assumed must protect their supplies.

  About twenty figures moved about the camp. Most appeared thin, malnourished even, and all had at least one weapon on their persons. Sure, these 'weapons' were little more than repurposed tools, but it was still something to note for the upcoming battle.

  One particularly large tent stood at the far end of the camp, built atop a ledge overlooking the rest of the camp. It appeared like the type of shelter a wealthy merchant might purchase, and I wondered who they had robbed to acquire such a thing.

  It was a larger bandit crew than I had expected, so much so that I wondered if I was missing something. Then, I decided that it did not matter. No wealthy or influential person would set up something so...banal. More likely, their leader was charismatic and intelligent, having done a better job than most would-be bandit kings to keep his roving band together.

  Night would fall soon, likely within a half-hour. That left us plenty of time to finish checking out the rest of the camp.

  Fortunatus caught my intent, following the unspoken order without a word. He crept along the camp's outer edge, taking pains to avoid notice as he moved. Slowly, we made our way to the leader's tent.

  As he was about to slip through the hanging cloths, a figure stepped out. I recognized him immediately as the bandit leader from earlier. He had changed into a set of more comfortable clothes and no longer had the sword from before buckled to his hip, but his attire still looked decidedly higher quality than the rest.

  The man's gaze landed on Fortunatus, and I saw him raise an eyebrow. He knelt with a smile, his eyes softening as he reached out towards the feline.

  "Hey there, friend. Where did you come from?" the man asked, his voice almost gentle.

  Fortunatus backed away, a feeling of instinctive distaste radiating down our bond. The man's smile faded, and he shifted closer, holding his hand out as if trying to beckon the cat closer.

  My familiar turned and fled, bolting towards the edge of the camp at full speed. The sudden movement disoriented me, and I pulled my mind back from our bond with a wince. Already, the first hints of a headache throbbed behind my eyes.

  I shook my head, clearing the sense of disorientation that always accompanied breaking that connection before glancing up to the sky. Reckless impatience and caution warred in me, and I settled on the wiser choice. Waiting for the camp to fall asleep was not the end of the world.

  Hours passed as I sat in the tree's boughs, waiting for the clamoring of the camp to die down. Fortunatus returned just minutes after I cut off our connection, climbing up to return to his makeshift bed within my backpack.

  Finally, it was time. I gripped my spear in one hand, drew mana into my body, and slipped off the branch to land on the forest floor. Aether burned through my flesh, and though I could not see through the nighttime gloom, I could still make out the faint glow of fires through the branches and leaves.

  As I crept closer, I finished preparing the rest of my spells. Our past fight had demanded more caution, as those bright flashes of green clearly spoke to magic. Traders talked, and the last thing I needed were those kinds of stories spreading. But here, within this isolated camp? What did it matter? Even if a bandit or two survived, who would they tell?

  They must have changed out whoever was on guard duty, as the tanned youth with the ax propped against his shoulder looked unfamiliar. I could have driven my spear through his heart...but I wanted to test something. Grim as it was, this felt like a good opportunity.

  I swept back my cloak, revealing the two daggers I carried in my belt. The other two were still in my backpack, partially because I could not hold them on my person but mainly because controlling more than two at once gave me a splitting headache.

  Aether flowed, and I pulled one of the daggers from my belt with a flex of will. It shot forward faster than an arrow, glittering green in the starlight to slam into the guard.

  I heard the soft thud as the blade sunk deep, driven into his chest through nothing more than the strength of my will. He stumbled back, glancing down and fumbling at the hilt before collapsing in a heap. I tore the blade free, pulling it back towards me even as I slunk closer.

  When I reached the bandit's body, I made sure to drag him into the forest proper. I could do nothing about the blood, but this might buy me a few seconds if someone came looking.

  Slowly, I moved around the edge of the camp in search of anyone else still awake. I spotted two others on watch, both carrying weapons and both too far to hit with my daggers.

  The old-fashioned way it was, then.

  Julian had never gotten around to teaching me how to move with any sort of stealth, and I had never much seen the purpose of the talent. I did now, but that was the benefit of hindsight.

  I could not say if I had made a noise if luck had turned against me, or if it was something else entirely, but the guard chose until I was just a dozen feet away to turn around. Their build suggested they were a woman, but I could not see their face. Still, the way they straightened suggested they saw enough of me.

  My Aether flowed, and I cast Flicker Step. I closed the gap in a brief flare of green, my lunge carrying more than enough force to drive my spear into and through her heart. It tore through her back, sending droplets of blood spraying out into the night. She died with a gurgle, and I caught her body before it collapsed, lowering it to the ground.

  There was no grand fight or climactic battle. Aside from that brief hiccup, the rest of my grim task passed without incident. I killed the last watchman, then moved on to the sleeping bandits. Most of them were spread out far enough that their death rattles, brief exhalations of surprise, and occasional twitches and thrashes went unnoticed.

  Soon, there was only one foe left. I had saved the bandit leader for last, suspecting his isolation made him least likely to notice anything was amiss. It felt overly cautious, but I had made plenty of reckless mistakes in the past.

  I crept up the incline to his tent in a crouch, staying low as I drew mana through my body in smooth currents. If he showed so much as a hair, I could close the gap and kill him.

  He did not. There was no movement from the tent's entrance, surprise attacks, or unforeseen danger. I reached the hanging cloths that served as a door, paused momentarily to search for any mana signatures, and then pushed through and into the tent itself.

  The inside was warm and pleasant, lit by a lantern flickering on a small table. The bandit leader sat in a chair not far from that, reading a book with his legs crossed and propped up on a stool. His eyes flicked up, a scowl on his face as he went to reprimand whichever of his lackeys had dared to bother him.

  Then he saw me.

  Neither of us spoke. His eyes narrowed, and I could see the thoughts running through his mind. He was clever, and I knew he was trying to find a way out.

  "Good evening—"

  I shot across the gap between us, driving my spear through his heart in a single, clean strike. His words cut off with a soft 'oof,' both hands rising to grasp at the shaft that had pinned him to his chair. He tugged at it, a struggle that would have failed even if he was not bleeding to death.

  But he was dying. And he did. For all his cleverness, his charisma, and his talent as a leader, the man died in that dark tent with little fanfare. And I was left to wonder what had driven me to hunt and slaughter these people like wild animals.

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