The house of the village head stank of sweat, stale beer, and terror.
Four men sat inside, pretending to be merchants. They lounged around a low wooden table littered with pilfered trinkets, scraps of dried meat, and a lantern that flickered with sickly light.
Piles of looted goods—sacks of grain, cheap jewelry, and iron tools—were stacked haphazardly in the corners.
Marco sat at the head of the table, leaning back in the only cushioned chair the house possessed. From the room next door came the sharp, broken cries of a woman.
Each cry rose high, splitting into wet sobs before dissolving into the guttural grunts of the men inside with her.
The walls shuddered with every movement.
Marco leaned back in his chair. The lantern light caught the jagged scar along his jaw and the sheen of sweat on his arms.
He was the temporary leader of this scouting unit, an Initiate with a Strength attribute high enough that no one in this miserable village dared to look him in the eyes.
The other three bandits were mere mortals. They clung to Marco's shadow like flies to honey, greedy for whatever scraps of safety or power he let fall.
One of them shifted uncomfortably, his nose wrinkling at the noise drifting from the next room.
"Garbage," he muttered, slamming his cup down. "This whole village is garbage. The food is bland, the beer is flat, and the women..." He shuddered mockingly. "Bleh. Wrinkled prunes or bony nags. Not a single looker in the bunch."
Marco chuckled. "You idiots don't understand the countryside."
He gestured lazily with his tankard. "Think about it. These peasants are weak, but they aren't entirely stupid. They know who runs the world. They know that if they marry a beautiful woman, men like us will take her first."
The bandits blinked, looking at him blankly.
"So," Marco continued, a cruel smirk twisting his lips, "they deliberately choose the plain ones. The ones nobody else would look at twice. It's a survival tactic. The strategy of cowards."
He looked down at the floor near his boots. Old Harven, the village head, lay there in a heap. His face was a ruin of purple bruises, and blood leaked steadily from a split lip, pooling on the floorboards.
His body twitched weakly, the only sign he was alive.
"Isn't that right, old man?" Marco asked. He didn't wait for an answer. He lifted his heavy boot and stomped down on Harven's face.
Crunch.
Harven whimpered.
"Smart," Marco mused, grinding his heel. "Ugly wives live longer. But you forgot one thing." He jerked a thumb toward the back room, where the screams suddenly spiked in pitch. "The new recruits... they aren't picky. They don't care about faces. They only need holes."
Harven squeezed his eyes shut, tears mixing with the blood on his cheeks as the sound of his daughter-in-law's agony tore through the house.
Marco watched the old man suffer for a moment, then frowned. He tapped his fingers on the table, the rhythm agitated.
"Where are they?" he muttered.
"Boss?"
"The three idiots," Marco snapped. "They left hours ago. Said they'd bring back a 'surprise' worth tasting."
Silence fell over the table. The three mortal bandits exchanged uneasy glances.
"Maybe they got lost?" one suggested weakly. "Or drunk?"
Marco's frown deepened. "They wouldn't dare get drunk on their first test. They are desperate to join us, so much so that they are ready to submit their wives and daughters."
An icy trickle of paranoia began to seep into Marco's gut. He was arrogant, yes, but he wasn't a fool. The Bandit King had given strict orders: Do not draw attention in the Redfern. The military patrols were active, and worse, the chances of Guild members being nearby were high.
Marco had ignored the warning, believing a backwater village like this was beneath the notice of the Kingdom's soldiers. But if three men were missing...
Did they run? Marco thought, his heartbeat quickening. Did they get caught?
If a patrol was nearby, they could handle a few soldiers. But if a Guild team was here... or an Awakened hunting party...
Fear pricked at his spine. He couldn't let his men see it, but the thought of the Guild terrified him.
"You two," Marco barked, pointing at the bandits closest to the door. "Go find them. Now. If they're drunk in a ditch, drag them back so I can skin them."
The two men scrambled up, grabbing their weapons and rushing out into the night, glad to be away from Marco's dark mood.
Marco let out a long breath, trying to calm his nerves. The screams in the next room were rhythmic, almost hypnotic.
The scent of blood and fear in the room was potent. It was hitting him now, a dark cocktail that stirred his blood more than any woman could.
He stood up, his chair scraping loudly against the floor. He slowly unfastened his belt, his tongue swiping across his dry lips.
His gaze didn't go to the back room. Instead, it dropped to the floor.
To Old Harven.
Marco crouched down, his shadow swallowing the broken old man. He gripped Harven's chin with a hand like an iron pincer, forcing the weeping man to look up into his eyes.
"You know," Marco whispered, his voice trembling with a twisted, pathological excitement. "I've always found the women boring. But the men... the men here have so much more character."
Harven's eyes widened in horror. He tried to scramble back, but Marco's strength was absolute. Marco laughed, a low, wet sound, and lowered himself toward the trembling figure on the floor, just as the daughter-in-law's scream in the next room reached a fever pitch.
Outside, the two bandits rushing to execute Marco's orders skidded to a halt.
From inside the house, the old village head's terrified screams tore through the air, freezing them in place. They exchanged a glance, a visible shudder running through them both.
"That sick fuck prefers men," one muttered, his face twisting in disgust.
"Then why is he asking for women?" the other asked, bewildered.
"He likes to do it to a man while listening to a woman moan. He's a twisted bastard." The first bandit spat on the ground and jerked his head toward the path. "Come on, let's find those three idiots. If he picked them specifically, he probably intends to use them."
The other nodded hurriedly, his face pale. "Right. We have to find them. Before he gets bored and decides to change targets to us."
"Bah. Shut your mouth."
"I'm just saying, it's a possibility."
"Fuck the possibility. Just move."