Uncle Flo crouched beside me and muttered the plan. “We slip in quietly. Don’t pick a fight unless I say so. Focus on watching my back. No heroics, no theatrics. Understand?” His intense gaze made my stomach twist with worry. Once I nodded, he continued, “We’ll take out as many of them as we can while they’re asleep. Use a big rock. Strike them on the temples or behind the ears, and hit hard. Don’t overestimate your strength. You’re still growing. Once fighting starts, aim your javelin at their legs or shoulders. Watch out for the man with the hooked spear. It has a long reach, and he can pull you in with it. Against swords and axes, your javelin gives you an advantage as long as you stay on the defensive, which you should.”

  He let out a heavy sigh. “Try not to kill if you can. These aren’t real bandits. They’re probably just half-starved peasants who can’t feed their families after many of Veridia’s fields burned and never recovered. There are work camps in the eastern kingdom where they can be put to use as labourers. It’s hard work, and they won’t get paid, but the country will recover faster if they’re alive rather than dead.” Even though he sounded steady, I saw a trace of guilt on his face.

  When I asked about Ancair, his expression hardened. “If they put a knife to his throat, we keep fighting. That’s their decision, and they’ll face the consequences. Don’t feel guilty, and don’t risk your life needlessly."

  A few hours in, Uncle Flo scouted ahead, sniffing the air and estimating a dozen bandits inside. Since he couldn’t get any closer, he retreated until darkness could cover our approach. Tonight, with only Tunus out, the darkest of three moons orbiting this world, the forest was so black that an average human couldn’t see their extended hand, but we wolfkin could see far better at night. It wasn’t full night vision or anything, more like I could still see shades from even the tiniest of light sources and distinguish individual shapes much better than I otherwise could in my old body under the same conditions.

  Uncle Flo gave a two-finger signal to split up. We prowled toward the cave entrance from opposite sides. My heart pounded as I still wasn’t used to this kind of action. The lookout’s chin kept dropping to his chest. He jerked up every so often as he tried to stay awake. Uncle Flo moved quickly and wrapped his arms around the man’s throat and mouth, preventing him from making even a squeak. The lookout’s legs kicked at first, then went limp as he passed out, as the supply of blood to his brain was expertly cut off.

  I crouched with my javelin ready, listening hard for any sounds from the entrance. My hands trembled slightly with adrenaline. Only distant snores drifted out. Uncle Flo frisked the unconscious man, tossed his sword into a faraway brush with a soft rustle, and gestured toward the cave. We crept in, and my eyes slowly adjusted. The passage opened into a huge chamber with stalactites hanging from the ceiling. Natural rock formations in the centre supported the hollowed-out hill and offered us extra cover for our stealth approach. A few torches and lamps cast dim light, revealing several caverns that functioned as individual rooms. Then the smell hit me: stale beer and unwashed bodies.

  About twenty steps ahead, we found our first target. Inside a makeshift kitchen and dining area, a man was sprawled on a bench next to a table full of empty bottles, snoring loudly. Uncle Flo looked at me, put a finger to his lips, and moved forward quietly. He wrapped his arm around the bandit’s neck in one quick motion. The man’s legs kicked once, then went still, just like the previous bandit.

  “Mmmh, Rubert?” A drunk crawled from behind a barrel where he was napping, hidden from sight. In an instant, I lunged toward him, rock in hand, and made a wide, arching swing toward his head. Moments after it connected with his temple, he lay flat on the ground. Shaken, I checked his pulse, and thankfully, he was still alive. I took his knife and passed it to Uncle Flo, who had just finished disarming his own target. With no rope to bind them, this was all we could do.

  Uncle Flo plunged the weapons into the water barrel with barely a splash. The liquid swallowed the metal, leaving only ripples dancing across the surface. We moved forward on the cold stone floor. Three more “rooms” gaped ahead, yellow lamplight flickering from within each one. Two had cloth hanging at the entrance, and another was barricaded by a makeshift wooden door. I peered inside the first one to see lumps of blankets rising and falling with the heavy breaths of sleep. Uncle Flo pointed to the bandit on the left for me and took the one on the right for himself, then he raised three fingers. Two. One. My rock hit a skull with a dull thud. Next to me, Uncle Flo’s target slumped over quietly.

  Blankets rustled as two figures jolted upright. Uncle Flo lunged, his arm a blur. Another body hit the floor. My target managed to scramble backwards just before my attack reached him, his eyes wide with terror.

  “ATTACK! WE ARE...” His scream cut short as my second swing finally found its target.

  “Don’t worry, we got half of them. This was going to happen sooner or later. Ambush anyone who comes in, then run to the open area so we have more room to manoeuvre. Back to back, okay?” Uncle Flo said, trying to reassure me.

  “Yes,” I responded, my voice wavered, betraying my frustration with myself.

  Just as we had planned, two bandits rushed in through the cloth doorway, their shadows stretching in the torchlight. My javelin shot forward, finding flesh where the bandit’s shoulder met his chest. He howled, dropped his grip on his weapon, and grabbed the shaft with both hands, yanking it sideways. Our eyes locked for an instant: his wide with pain, mine calculating. With both his hands busy, it was safe to lunge forward and drive my knee upward between his legs. His breath escaped in a strangled wheeze as he crumpled, face contorting. Before I could wrench my weapon free, Uncle Flo's fist connected with the man’s temple with a sickening crack. Beside us lay the second bandit, a throwing knife protruding from his leg, face already swelling from what must have been a flurry of blows.

  Upon exiting, a shadow darted out from the second cloth-covered cavern. In the torchlight, the curved hook of his spear flashed as he jabbed at us; once, twice, three times. Each thrust is followed by a quick retraction, like a fisherman trying to snag a prize catch. Uncle Flo's eyes narrowed. On the fourth jab, he lunged in, grabbed the spear shaft just below the hook, and held it tight. The bandit’s eyes widened with surprise. I lunged and drove my javelin into his thigh. The bandit released the spear as he fell to one knee, blood soaking his pants. Uncle Flo immediately kicked him in the jaw, and the bandit collapsed face-first onto the stone.

  The second cavern was empty except for vacant bedrolls and scattered belongings. We moved to the wooden door, the last cavern remaining. Abruptly, a shout pierced the silence, making my fur bristle. “Help! Please!” The voice was unmistakably Ancair’s. Uncle Flo kicked the door, splintering it inward with a crash. A body tumbled backward, sprawled across the dirt-packed floor. As we moved inside, we saw the last two bandits: the weirdo with a cooking pot helmet and the guy wearing an animal-fang necklace. I guess they were ‘the brains of this operation,’ as they say in movies.

  Uncle Flo tackled the fang-bandit while the 'pothead,' as I called him, charged at Ancair. The bandit raised his blade, probably planning to take Ancair hostage. Instinctively, I threw my javelin and hit the bandit in the back with a solid thunk. He staggered but pressed forward. My throw hadn’t gone deep enough to stop him. I drew my hunting knife, feeling the worn leather grip in my paw, and darted toward him. I feinted left, and his eyes followed me, his weight shifting. Ancair’s eyes widened in surprise as I circled around the bandit, my claws scraping on stone.

  The bandit sliced his sword through the air. I dodged right, then feinted left again. His boots scraped against stone as he tried to follow. Sweat dripped from beneath his absurd pot helmet. He lunged and finally overextended. I shot my arm forward, pushing his sword wrist, and drove my knife into the gap between his collarbone and shoulder. I let the knife go and leapt back, leaving it in him. My heart pounded as I grabbed my dropped javelin.

  “Surrender, now!” Uncle Flo bellowed. He'd finished with his target and now pressed our advantage to end the fight fast. ‘Pothead’ glared at him, shifting looks between his fallen friend and us. He finally let out a defeated wail and dropped his sword.

  “Smart choice. When you wake up, we’ll talk again.”

  “When I wake up?” he barely had the chance to finish in his confusion as Uncle Flo knocked him out with a quick punch to the face. Once he caught his breath, Uncle Flo turned to Ancair.

  The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  “You are surprisingly calm, not the first time being captured by bandits?”

  “Sadly, no. Still, I appreciate the help. My name is Ancair, and I owe you big time.”

  “Florent, you know Zar.” Uncle Flo tossed me a coil of rough hemp rope. “Take this and tie up the lookout outside. He’ll probably wake up first.” I nodded and stepped outside. After just a few steps, a whistling sound cut through the air. White-hot pain shot through my side as a heavy wooden club hit me. The blow lifted me off my feet, and the rope flew from my hand. A huge, sweaty man grabbed me by the scruff of my neck, dangling me like a rabbit caught in a snare. His other hand pressed cold steel to my throat.

  “You fuckers, don’t even move or I will cut this runt down, I mean it!”

  Damn, he’s got me up in the air. I can’t adjust my body to hit any weak spots, and my arms can’t reach his face to claw at his eyes. I’m just too damn small. What can I do?

  “You, stop wiggling, or I will cut your eyes out!”

  “Fmhrrr… [move].”

  “What was that? Shut up, I said!”

  “[Create... spark,]” I gasped, pointing my mana-filled fingers at his head. A shower of sparks blew right in his face. He shouted and instinctively dropped me as he tried to shield himself. In the confusion, Uncle Flo threw a knife that struck deep into the attacker’s eye socket. The bandit collapsed instantly, unmoving on the ground.

  “Zar, are you hurt? How do you feel?” It was rare to hear genuine panic in Uncle Flo’s voice. It was appreciated but also contagious, now I worried too, I might be in shock and look worse than I feel.

  “I’m… okay. That hurt a lot, but I don’t think anything’s broken. Thanks, Uncle Flo. I missed him.”

  “You and me both. This is why fighting adults at your age isn’t a good idea. But you did well, quick thinking, as always. Stay with the merchant. I’ll go tie up the lookout and the others. I’ll also check if anyone else is still lurking around.” Uncle Flo said as he collected rope and left the cavern.

  “So, kid, you are a mage? Any chance you can do some healing magic?” Ancair asked while slowly stumbling toward me.

  “No, I’m still learning the basics, but let’s see what we can do for your wounds. At the very least, we can clean and patch them up. Do you think there’s anything close to clean cloth in this cave?”

  “There should be some in my goods. Check that pile over there, you will also find some distilled alcohol in small white vials with red cork. If these bastards didn’t drink it all, that's what it is.”

  We spent the rest of the night tending to our wounds. I helped patch Ancair up, then it was my turn as Uncle Flo’s rough paws dabbed stinging alcohol on my bruised ribs while I winced. We dragged the bandit that didn’t make it outside, his boots leaving dark marks in the dirt, and buried him in a shallow grave. Ancair couldn’t take all his cargo with him, so he asked us to leave it for him to pick up later. As for us, we pocketed sixty-seven silver coins, a few decent-quality steel daggers with bone handles, and a small pouch of uncut gemstones, but nothing worth writing home about.

  The following day blurred into a haze of throbbing pain and exhaustion as the three of us trudged along the forest path with our prisoners shuffling ahead, hands bound and connected by a length of rope. As promised, Uncle Flo interrogated the ‘pothead’, revealing that they were in fact just a bunch of peasants who mostly preyed on wandering beastkin in the Sleeping Valley, hoping that way they wouldn’t earn any ire from the Veridian soldiers.

  I still had to get back my gear and trophy that I left behind, so we had to stop by the sacred stones. That wasn’t much of a detour, but still. By the time we reached the wooden palisade of the nearest Veridian settlement, my paw pads were cracked, leaving tiny crimson prints on the cobblestones. After a small commotion at the gates, we rented a room at the local Inn. Once inside, I immediately collapsed onto a straw mattress, my fur matted with dirt and dried blood, and didn't stir for two full days, sprawled motionless while the world continued without me.

  Dear X.,

  My profound apologies for the delay in communication. I was recovering from an encounter with a rowdy, unaffiliated group from V. More of their type are crossing the border these days, which could pose a problem.

  Local clans, on the other hand, are content with their current lot. I don’t foresee them causing any problems for S. in the near future. I will update you if the situation changes.

  P.S. I believe I encountered a former asset by the name of F. of a certain, bestial, pedigree. I’ve never met him before, but he matches a description I’ve got from mutual friends. His kin, who goes by the name of Z., is very young but shows aptitude for our line of work. Would love to share all the details at our next meeting.

  Yours faithfully,

  The Sleeping Mule

  1.1 - I finished a thorough line editing of this entire chapter. Removed unnecessary lore pertaining to the three moons. I already dump enough lore onto my poor readers. I should only do it when it is important for the story.

  1.1.1 - Noticed they killed only one bandit, but for some reason buried two bodies. Fixed.

  1.1.2 - Fixed another typo.