During his travel to the base, Moon encountered a group of outcasts. The outcasts had surrounded him and Mirage with their weapons drawn, and their smirks wide.
"Stop right there!" the leader called out, a scarred man wielding dual daggers. "End of the road for you. Hand over everything you've got—weapons, potions, coin, and especially that storage ring—and maybe we let you walk away with your lives intact."
Moon sighed internally. It was the usual bandit script, predictable, tiresome, and most importantly…a waste of his time.
Moon could instantly tell they were weaklings, at least compared to him. They were all level nineteen to twenty, a few levels below his current strength.
Their group consisted of six people total: three warriors with basic equipment, an assassin trying to look menacing in the bunch, and two mages already channeling spells as intimidation displays.
