The gold coin sits heavily in my palm, its weight unfamiliar, heavy. It’s more money than I’ve ever held in my life, enough to live comfortably for some time. But the thought sours quickly. This isn’t a coin I can simply hand over at the baker’s stall or use to buy a mug of ale at the tavern. Its value is far too high for that.

  I could trade it for silver and copper, smaller coins that pass easily through the hands of merchants and common folk alike. But doing that would bleed away its worth. No, I'll hold onto it until I find something truly worth buying. Maybe that Lucien guy has something I need, I didn’t really get a good look at his wares before leaving.

  Until then....

  I better get to work on Zaenith's task. 20 copper suddenly seems a much less enticing reward, but... I still need money to spend and realistically 20 coppers is an incredible amount for the work being asked.

  I step through the town gates, the same guards from yesterday giving me a dismissive nod. The cold chills through my cloak, even harsher outside the town's thick walls. Snow blankets the ground, obscuring the road, but I try my best to follow it, keeping to Zaenith's directions.

  "Fuck it's cold. The winter here is even worse than back home."

  The sky above is a dull slate gray, the dark clouds obscuring the sun and promising more snow. Though it's still before noon, it feels like I'm running out of daylight.

  After what feels like an eternity, but is really little more than an hour, the distant sound of waves crashing against the frozen shore reaches my ears, and I sigh in relief.

  The shoreline emerges over the next hill. The snow thins here, revealing jagged rocks slick with ice and a thin layer of frost. The herbs I seek are supposed to grow close by, in the cracks between the stones, hardy plants that survive even in this frozen wasteland. I pull out the sprig from the sack Zaenith gave me, and crouch low, scanning the ground, my fingers trembling as I push aside patches of snow.

  Finally, I spot it, an identical sprig, a little ways ahead of me, its leaves poking through the icy crust. The plant seems fine despite the cold, its green vibrant against the bleak surroundings. I snatch it up carefully, brushing off the frost and comparing it to Zaenith's sample. The match is perfect. Tucking it in the sack, I stand, looking around. Now that I know what to expect, finding more shouldn't be an issue. I've always had a good eye for finding things, comes in handy in my profession.

  It takes several hours, most of the day in fact, but at last, the sack is filled. Not overstuffed, just full enough to keep the plants intact. I hold it up, inspecting the haul and let out a small, satisfied huff. "Even old Zaenith should be impressed by this," I mutter, with a smidge of pride.

  Turning back toward the hill, I take a moment to stretch, feeling the deep ache in my legs and back. The hours of crouching and scouring the frozen ground have left me stiff, my muscles protesting with every movement. The sky above has transitioned from gray to black, it's truly night now. "Huh, I didn't think it was so late. Bloody clouds, can barely tell night from day."

  The path back to Ravencroft stretches ahead, longer than I would like. A good rest will help, I think, trudging forward. Maybe even another bath—if Zaenith takes me back to the bath-house tomorrow.

  After half an hour, the outline of the town finally comes into view, its dark silhouette rising against the pale snow. Though it will take me at least another twenty minutes to reach the gates, I let out a sigh of relief.

  CRUNCH

  But that relief is fleeting. A sound behind me, a faint crunch of snow, sends a shiver down my spine. My heart skips a beat as my mind flashes to the memory of those giant spiders and to the night outside Zaenith’s house, there was something following me. I’m certain of it.

  I turn, my breath clouding the air, but there’s nothing, just the barren trees and the frozen snow. My heart thuds in my chest as I pull my cloak tighter, the fabric offering little comfort against the chill creeping down my spine. I quicken my pace, safety isn’t far, Ravencroft is just a few miles away.

  But I hear it again. Then again. The crunch of snow, faint but deliberate. Someone is trailing me, I’m sure of it now. The cold suddenly feels sharper, each step heavier as the hair on the back of my neck rises.

  I stop and spin, my cloak whirling as I look back.

  A flash of movement, a brown cloak darting behind a tree, catches my eye. My muscles tense, every instinct telling me to run, but as I process what I saw, I almost feel... relief. It wasn't a shadow, at least, I don't think so.

  "And what do we have here?"

  A voice cuts through my thoughts, rough and menacing. I turn back to face it, my heart sinking as two men emerge from behind the snow-laden trees lining the road. Their thick cloaks are wrapped tightly against the cold, their hoods pulled low, hiding most of their faces.

  "Saw him carryin’ a sack o’ some sort, like Lumina herself gifted it to 'im." Another voice growls behind me, rough and mocking. He wears a similar brown cloak. The flash I saw earlier, the one who's been following me.

  I take a step back, my instincts screaming caution. They don’t look friendly, at all, everything about them is menacing. I recall what the guardsman said, Hamza and William too.

  Brigands. They prowl at night, in town and apparently just outside it, too.

  They probably target travelers on the roads. A town like Ravencroft likely attracts ample marks.

  I shouldn't have listened to that carriage driver.

  Stick to the roads my arse. Who gives a fuck about monsters and demons? Men like these are the real threats. I should have cut through the damned fields.

  Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

  "Hand over yer coin and anything worth takin’. Don’t make us ask twice," the leader growls, his voice rough and slurred. The men close in, one hefts a heavy butcher’s blade, its edge dulled but still deadly; another twirls a knife, similar to my own; and the third, their leader, clutches a thick wooden club in both hands, gripping it tight.

  I step back, my boots crunching against the icy road, heart pounding in my chest. Their leader, the one with the club growls, "Don’t make us say it again, yer dumb bastard."

  Under ordinary circumstances, I’d just hand over my purse, I've dealt with brigands before, they won't hesitate to gut me if I refuse, and a few coppers aren’t worth dying over.

  But giving up this gold coin....

  No, I can't do it. I've never had this kind of money in my life, I won't give it up that easy. Not to a pack of motherless, goat-fucking brigands.

  “I don’t have anything.” I say, trying to sound sincere. "I’ve just got this sack, nothing but herbs inside. See?" I hold it up, trying to keep my voice steady as I open it to the brigands.

  "Hmph, that so?" the leader sneers, his voice thick and rough. "We’ll see 'bout that... after we turn yer pockets out."

  My hand instinctively hovers near my knife, though I know the odds aren’t in my favor. My breaths fog the air as I weigh my options.

  I can't defeat all three of them.

  I'm no stranger to a fight, especially lately. But three armed men? I can’t take them, not with just this knife. My grip tightens on the hilt regardless, instinct driving me... but I don't draw it. Instead, I think, desperately trying to figure a way out of this.

  "Last time. Hand over yer stuff now, or we’ll crack yer skull open and leave yer for the crows." The leader taps his club against his palm. His two allies grin, one spitting into the snow while the other sneers, his broken teeth on full display.

  "Oh yeah, this one’s hidin’ somethin’ good. Just look at ‘is face," the shorter one sneers, his dagger spinning lazily in his fingers. My eyes flick to him, my chest tightening.

  "That ain’t the look of someone givin’ up without a fight," the other continues, his voice mocking. The three of them inch closer, their movements slow and deliberate, like wolves cornering prey. I step back again, my boots crunching against the icy ground. My pulse thunders in my ears as I search my mind desperately for an idea.

  And only one comes to mind.

  "Shit!!"

  I run.

  Turning tail, I sprint back in the other direction, my boots pounding against the icy ground as the brigands' shouts echo behind me. I'm confident in my physicality at least, and my legs are longer. I should be able to outrun them!

  But the crunch of snow and the snap of branches tell me they’re close. Too close. I glance back and catch a glimpse of the leader, his long club swinging dangerously close to my head. He’s fast, faster than I expected.

  I veer off the road and into the trees, my breath clouding the freezing air. The uneven terrain slows me, but it also gives me an idea. As I run, I swipe at low-hanging branches with my knife, sending cascades of snow crashing down behind me. The muffled curses and shouts tell me it’s working, but it’s not enough. They’re still gaining. My lungs burn, and my legs feel leaden, I was already exhausted before, I can’t keep this up.

  But with no other choice, I sprint deeper into the snowy woods, weaving through the undergrowth and using the trees to my advantage. The leader is relentless, his heavy breaths and pounding footsteps far closer than I’d like. I glance over my shoulder again, catching a glimpse of his determined sneer as he raises his club, ready to strike the moment he gets close enough.

  I dart to the left, hoping to circle back toward Ravencroft, but the other two are already there, their movements rough, but coordinated as they spread out to cut me off.

  Fuck.

  My mind races.

  No other way.

  It will have to be the leader, I need that club.

  I stop dead, my boots skidding across the snow. Spinning around, I face him. The leader's eyes widen before a wicked grin splits his face. He knows he’s close enough now, that club poised high, ready to smash my skull into the icy ground.

  I just need to survive one blow. One clean move, while he's right in front of me, before the others close the gap. Timing is everything now.

  It comes, the heavy club a blur I can barely see as he swings it with all his might.

  "GaaahhH!!"

  I groan in pain, the club smashing into my shoulder.

  But it's only the shaft.

  "Gllrkkk..."

  Stepping into its range, I take the blow, my knife driving deep into the brigands stomach, the blade slipping easily through cloth and flesh. His scream is guttural, agony ripping from his throat and echoing through the dark woods. He drops his club as he stumbles backward, clutching at the wound, his legs giving out beneath him.

  I grab the falling club as it hits the ground, its weight solid in my hands. If I'm going to fight two people at once, I need this kind of range.

  His allies are already closing in. One lunges at me from behind, his knife flashing in his hand. I swing the club hard, forcing him back, but he ducks and counters with a slash aimed at my ribs. I twist away, the blade missing by inches.

  The second man charges in with a cleaver raised high. I pivot and bring the club down on his hand, the long haft crossing the distance long before his blade. The sickening crack of bone is followed by a scream as the cleaver sinks into the snow.

  He stumbles back, clutching his shattered hand, groaning. I shut him up with a swift strike, turning to the knife-wielder, who is still moving, circling me like a predator.

  I did it.

  Two of them taken care of, and I'm still alive.

  It's a miracle.

  My shoulder is killing me, but otherwise I'm fine. There's just one left, I can do it. I can win.

  He lunges. I swing wide, trying to keep him at bay, but he’s fast, too fast. His knife grazes my side, and a hot bloom of pain spreads across my abdomen. Blood soaks into my clothes, and panic grips me.

  How bad is it? Can I keep fighting?

  He sees my hesitation and presses the attack, his blade slicing across my arm. My fingers go numb, and the club falls from my grasp.

  "Got yer now, yer big fuck," he snarls, lunging for the kill. Instinct takes over. My hand shoots out and grabs his wrist, stopping the blade just inches from my stomach.

  "Grrnnghh! You-" He grits his teeth, struggling to push the knife forward, into my belly, but I hold firm.

  While not particularly muscular, the fact remains that I am a large man, far taller than this bandit. My shoulder is weak and my arm bleeding, but even so, our strengths are far from equal.

  Using my weight, I twist his arm. He lets out a pained groan as the knife drops from his grip.

  In one motion, I seize my own knife and drive it into his throat. His eyes widen in shock as blood spills over my hand, hot and sticky. He collapses with a gurgling gasp, leaving me standing over him, breathless and trembling.

  The last man, the one I knocked out, is already awake and retreating, clutching his broken arm. "F-Fuck!" he stammers before turning and bolting into the shadows. I don’t chase him. Instead, I lean against the tree, sucking in ragged breaths. My body aches, my wounds sting...

  But... I’m alive.

  Results

  + 1 Brigand's Club

  + 1 Strength

  + 1 Skill

  Stats