A woman.
Kelly's eyes lit up with greed as he stared at the figure stumbling through the underbrush. He licked his lips, his hand tightening around the dagger at his waist. The woman was clearly lost—her clumsy, unsteady gait screamed that she'd never set foot in the wilderness before. But what was she doing out here, in this godforsaken place? Had some fool botched a robbery and let her escape? Didn't matter…
His gaze raked over her slender waist, pale skin, and cascading lavender hair, and he drew a deep, hungry breath. He was already imagining the sounds of her screams as he took her, imagining the sweet triumph of breaking her will. How long had it been since he'd had a woman? A fortnight, maybe? The last one had been too fragile, gone too soon—but no matter. Women were like clothes; if you wore one out, you just stole another.
"Captain?"
"Move out. Surround her. And remember—bring her back alive."
At Kelly's command, the other bandits broke into knowing grins.
"Captain gets first dibs? Then can I go second?"
"Don't break her too bad! I call dibs on the back door!"
The men snickered and jeered, exchanging crude jokes as they fanned out, moving swiftly and silently through the bushes. But Kelly did not move. He stood watching the distant figure, his earlier lecherousness replaced by a sudden, cold seriousness.
"Captain… could this be a trap?"
A younger bandit lingered beside him—Kelly's second-in-command, his most trusted man.
"Doesn't look like it."
Kelly shook his head.
"I can tell she's completely useless out here. Haven't you seen her? She's been wandering in circles for the past hour. Any half-decent adventurer knows how to find their way in the woods, but she's got no clue. And besides—you boys haven't spotted anything suspicious nearby, have you?"
"Not a thing."
"Good."
Kelly nodded, pushing himself to his feet.
"Signal the men. Let's finish this. Tonight, we're gonna have ourselves a party!"
The young lieutenant said nothing. He plucked a blade of grass, rolled it between his fingers, and placed it to his lips.
A clear, melodic birdcall echoed through the trees.
Ofalil frowned, staring at the men who had suddenly emerged from the undergrowth, her face twisted with unbridled disgust. She had sensed their presence long ago. In her human life, she might have been terrified by such a sight—but now, as a spectral being, she possessed innate gifts. One of them was the ability to perceive the presence of living souls, to sense their movements even when they hid in shadow. She had seen through their pathetic camouflage from the start—but that did not stop the surge of anger and revulsion that washed over her when she finally laid eyes on them.
"Who are you? What do you want?"
Ofalil stepped back, her voice sharp with contempt as she glared at the bandits. But her words only drew a chorus of mocking laughter.
"What do we want? Come on, sweet thing—you're a woman, we're men, and we're miles from anywhere. Use your pretty little head and figure it out."
One bandit sneered, twirling his scimitar as he sauntered closer, his eyes drinking in her figure. By the Holy Light, she was a knockout. He'd had his share of women, but none half as beautiful as this… He was already debating whether to take her right here, right now. The captain would be furious, but so what? A prize like this was worth the risk. If he broke her, he could always find another.
"Hmph."
Ofalil's jaw tightened, but she did not rise to the bait. Unlike sheltered noble maidens who cowered at the first hint of vulgarity, she had traveled the kingdom extensively in her life. She was no stranger to gutter talk—and she knew that retaliating with anger or insults would only egg them on. Better to say nothing at all. Besides, a royal princess's dignity forbade her from exchanging words with such lowly scum. They were not worthy of her attention.
"Tch, feisty little thing, aren't you?"
The bandits scowled, their amusement fading into anger. They had expected a simpering noble girl, one who would burst into tears and beg for mercy at the first threat. There was nothing they enjoyed more than breaking the haughty spirits of the upper class—those who had always looked down their noses at men like them. But this woman? She looked at them like they were dirt beneath her feet.
Rage boiled in their veins. They bared their teeth, advancing on her with deliberate slowness. What had started as a game of cat and mouse had turned into something far uglier. They would not just take her—they would break her, humiliate her, make her beg for death before they were done with her. Then she would learn not to look at them with that disdainful glare.
By then, Kelly and his lieutenant had joined the circle, standing before Ofalil. Kelly's eyes narrowed as he studied her—and unlike his ignorant underlings, who saw only a beautiful woman, he saw something else. To survive as a bandit leader on the Golden Trade Route, you had to be sharp—and sharp enough to spot a trap when it stared you in the face. A beautiful noble girl, alone in the wilderness, surrounded by armed men—and yet she showed not a hint of fear, not a flicker of panic. That was not normal.
Could this be—
A gust of wind howled.
Kelly's years of life-or-death experience kicked in. He threw himself sideways, barely dodging the blade that whistled past his back, its tip embedding itself deep in the dirt.
*BOOM!*
The impact was the signal.
In the blink of an eye, shadowy figures dropped from the trees. The bandits had no time to react, no time to draw their weapons. Cold steel pierced their flesh, snuffing out their lives before they could scream. And then something even more terrifying happened: as the bandits fell, their bodies convulsed, and faint, blue flames flickered to life above their corpses. The flames danced along the blades of the attackers' swords, then vanished into thin air. By the time the black-armored warriors pulled their blades free, the bandits' bodies had shriveled into desiccated husks—nothing but skin and bones, as if every drop of blood and ounce of flesh had been drained from them.
What in the name of the Holy Light are these things?!
Kelly's blood turned to ice as he watched the carnage. But he had no time to ponder. He rolled to his feet and lunged at the woman standing a few paces away. He was no fool—he knew this was a trap the moment the shadows struck. And the only leverage he had now was her. Whatever she was, Kelly was certain she knew no combat skills. If he could take her hostage, he might just survive this.
Kelly's movements were lightning-fast—faster than any ordinary man could manage. From dodging the blade to rolling to his feet to charging at Ofalil, it all happened in the space of a heartbeat. Ofalil's eyes widened in shock; she had not expected him to move so quickly. He was almost upon her before she could even think to defend herself.
But Kelly's speed was not enough.
Just as his hand reached out to grab her, a figure stepped between them, blocking his path. Two cold points pressed against his neck—sharp, unyielding, and deadly. Kelly froze mid-lunge, forced to abandon his prize.
"One should always treat a lady with gentleness, care, and respect," a voice said, soft and amused. "I suspect that is a lesson you never learned."
Black stood before Ofalil, his smile warm and elegant—but there was a cold glint in his eyes that sent a shiver down Kelly's spine. Flanking him were two of the black-armored warriors, their swords pointed at Kelly's throat, cutting off any chance of escape.
I've walked right into a trap!
Kelly cursed inwardly, his hands shooting up in surrender as he dropped his dagger. He could see the writing on the wall—his men were slaughtered, his gang decimated. But one question nagged at him: his men had scoured the area for miles. How had they missed these monsters?
And who *are* these people, anyway?
Kelly's eyes darted to the young man before him. He looked barely twenty—slender, dressed not in the leather armor of an adventurer, but in the fine clothes of a noble. That confused Kelly. Nobles? No, that couldn't be right. Arrogant lords loved to dress up as adventurers when they slummed it in the wilderness—but this man wore his noble robes openly. And he didn't look like a bandit, either. Or a mercenary, for that matter. His gaze flicked to the black-armored warriors surrounding him. At first glance, they looked like nothing special—but then he saw it: a faint, iridescent glow shimmering across the surface of their armor.
Kelly's blood ran cold.
Mid-tier Swordsmen? By the Holy Light—*mid-tier Swordsmen*?!
Mid-tier Swordsmen were the elite of the continent's warriors. Their defining trait was the aura of protective magic that clung to their armor—a visible sign of their mastery. Once a warrior reached the mid-tier, they could generate this aura, making them far stronger and more resilient than ordinary fighters. Everyone knew how fearsome mid-tier Swordsmen were—and they were almost unheard of among bandits. In fact, the only reason Kelly recognized the aura was because the leader of his own gang was a mid-tier Swordsman. It was what had made their band so successful.
But this—this was madness.
Kelly's heart threatened to stop beating. His face turned ashen white. He had always known that the life of a bandit ended with a noose or a blade—but this? This was overkill. They were just common thieves, preying on caravans. They hadn't done anything to warrant the attention of *mid-tier Swordsmen*! Not even the rebel army that had tried to invade the kingdom fifteen years ago had faced such a fearsome force!
Kelly's mind raced with questions, but he forced himself to stay calm. They hadn't killed him yet—which meant he was useful to them. With two swords at his throat, he had no choice but to cooperate.
"What do you want from me?" he asked, his voice surprisingly steady.
Bandits had no honor—they lived to survive, and they would do anything to keep breathing. If answering their questions would buy him a little more time, he would spill every secret he had.
"No need to be so tense," Black said, his fingers brushing the hilt of his sword. His smile was still warm—but it made Kelly's skin crawl.
"I only need you to do me a small favor…"