The splintering of the headman's door was the final, ugly sound that sealed Oakhaven's fate. Greem stepped through the wreckage, his senses immediately assaulted by the stark contrast to the chaos outside.
Here, the air was still, thick with the scent of dried herbs, woodsmoke, and a new and sharp odour: Fear.
Albert, one of his men laughed: "Stay where you are. Sit down if you want to keep your heads"
[Name: Albert. Attributes: Strength - 1.4 | Agility - 1.3 | Vitality - 1.6. Skills: White Tiger Swordsmanship (35), Banditry (30)...]
He was not half bad. If it were not for his foul language and uncontrollable spike of anger, he would have considered making him his second. He was, after all, part of the stronger bandit warriors, even by the White Tiger Bandit Group's standards. Regular soldiers stood no chance against him, but like all of his underlings, Greem had beaten them down in a fair share of spars to earn his loyalty.
[Scanning environment... Four lifeforms detected. Threat Assessment: Low. Categorizing...]
His biochip painted the scene in cold, clinical data. In the corner, huddled around a cold hearth, was the family.
[Name: Headman. Attributes: Strength - 0.4 | Agility - 0.5 | Vitality - 0.6. Skills: Unknown. Anomaly: Faint, unidentified energy signature detected. Source: Pending. Status: Fear.]
[Name: Headman's wife. Attributes: Strength - 0.8 | Agility - 0.5 | Vitality - 0.9. Skills: Unknown. Status: Fear, distress.]
[Name: Headman's son. Attributes: Strength - 0.6 | Agility - 1.1 | Vitality - 0.7. Skills: Unknown. Status: Aggression potential rising.]
[Name: Headman's daughter. Attributes: Strength - 0.3 | Agility - 0.5 | Vitality - 0.4. Skills: Unknown. Status: Extreme fear.]
"Plunder it all", Greem commanded, his voice flat and devoid of emotion, a stark contrast to the weeping from the corner. "Coin, metal, tools, fabric. Anything we can use or sell."
His orders were simple, direct. His mind, however, was racing.
'What's that unidentified energy signature?', he pondered.
The biochip was something that awakens after he turned 15. It allowed him to scan his surroundings, analyse situations and even give him pointers on how to raise the proficiency of his skills. Thanks to it, he even managed to learn how to read and write, a rare skill reserved to those with education.
Although his position of squad leader had been given to him for his military achievements, partially obtained thanks to his proficiency in the group's swordsmanship, he was famous for finding high-value treasures. Coins, hidden chests were his specialty. That's why Ragnar offered to take him on a raid. Otherwise, he would have only taken the most barbaric bandits in the group for this task. Less men is more coins, as they said.
His men, a squad of five hardened bandits, including Jask, moved with the grim efficiency of a well-practiced routine.
[Squad Status: Vitality optimal. Morale: High. Compliance: 98%]
They began overturning stools, slashing open bedding, and pulling drawers from cabinets, their movements creating a discordant symphony of destruction.
The elder, the man with the anomalous energy reading, moved.
He stepped forward, his hands raised. They were the hands of a scholar, not a farmer—thin, with ink-stained fingers.
"Please", he begged, his voice trembling yet clear, trying to project a calm he clearly didn't feel.
"Take what you want. Take it all. But I beg you, spare my family. We are simple people. We have no fight with the White Tigers"
Greem's biochip registered the lie instantly.
[Vocal stress analysis: Deception detected. Subject is concealing information]
The "simple people" line was false. The energy signature was proof.
Jask didn't need a biochip to sense it.
He moved like a shadow, without a word or a change in expression. His short sword was a mere extension of his arm. There was no dramatic swing, just a short, brutal thrust upwards, under the man's jaw. The blade tip punched through the soft palate and into the brain.
The elder's plea ended in a wet, gurgling sigh. His eyes, wide with a sudden, profound understanding, locked onto Greem's for a single, endless second before the light in them died. He crumpled to the floor, a puppet with its strings cut.
A scream tore from the wife's throat, raw and piercing.
The young son, who had been shaking with fear, now froze, his body rigid. His face, pale a moment before, flushed a deep, furious red. His hands clenched into white-knuckled fists, and his eyes, burning with a hatred so pure it was almost physical, fixed first on Jask, then on Greem.
"Eyes on the task", Greem said, his tone unchanged, breaking the son's stare. He turned his back on the scene of mourning and hate. Sentiment was a weight that would drown you in this life.
He had learned that lesson young.
He focused on the chip's input, letting it guide him through the clutter.
His men were efficient, but they were brutes. They looked for obvious treasure. His chip looked for secrets.
[Structural Analysis: Western wall composition irregular. Timber density variance suggests a hollow space behind primary support beam. Probability of concealed compartment: 87%.]
He walked to the wall, his fingers trailing over the rough-hewn wood. His eyes, enhanced by the chip's subtle highlighting, found the a hairline crack that was too straight to be natural. He pressed hard on a knothole nearby, and a section of the wall, about the size of a large book, swung inward with a soft, definitive click.
Inside the dark space sat a single, iron-bound chest. It was smaller than he expected, unadorned.
"Heavy", one of his men grunted, hauling it out and dropping it at Greem's feet.
The lock was a simple, cheap thing. A single, sharp blow from the pommel of Greem's sword shattered it. He lifted the lid.
The contents were… underwhelming. A small pouch held a handful of silver coins. A tarnished silver medallion bore the symbol of a stylized eye. And then, there were the other items.
A book, bound in a leather that was unnervingly supple and warm to the touch. Next to it, a single scroll of parchment, tied with a black cord and sealed with wax the color of dried blood.
Greem picked up the book first. The cover was inscribed with swirling, arcane symbols that made his vision blur if he tried to focus on them for too long. But beneath them, stamped in clear common script, was the title: BasicArcane Meditation Technique.