Chapter 11 – Crimson Blade Bandits
The forest whispered with the rustle of leaves and the crackle of fire. A circle of tents sprawled around a central bonfire, its light dancing across crude banners painted with streaks of crimson.
The Crimson Blade Bandits were no simple highwaymen. Their camp was a fortress of sharpened stakes and watch towers, their ranks disciplined, their weapons polished and cared for. Dozens of scarred men sat sharpening blades, cleaning crossbows, or drinking from heavy kegs. Every man bore the same crimson streak painted across his weapon, the mark of their allegiance.
And at the heart of the camp, a giant of a man sat sharpening a great curved blade.
His tusks gleamed in the firelight. His muscles, scarred and knotted with years of battle, rippled beneath leather straps. His eyes were not the dull eyes of a brute, but sharp and calculating—like a predator studying prey.
Dika, the Half-Orc Blademaster.
Each stroke of his whetstone sang across the steel, steady and precise. Men gave him a wide berth, for even among killers, Dika's presence was suffocating.
A drunken bandit staggered too close, spilling ale onto Dika's boots.
The great blade moved once.
The man's head hit the ground before his body knew it was dead. Silence followed, broken only by the hiss of the whetstone resuming its work.
No one dared breathe too loudly.
At the edge of the camp, a hooded figure emerged—slender, graceful, and out of place among the bloodthirsty brutes. His cloak was marked with the sigil of a noble house: a silver hawk clutching a spear.
He bowed slightly. "Master Dika. The Goldbear merchants grow bold. Their caravans travel without fear, as though they believe your Crimson Blades nothing more than shadows."
Dika did not look up from his blade. "And why do I care?" His voice was low, gravelly, and calm.
The noble smiled faintly. "Because they prosper. Because if they rise, your bandits will be hunted. And because we—" He tapped his chest, emphasizing the sigil of his house. "—pay you well to make certain the Goldbear family bleeds."
At that, Dika's lips curled into something resembling a grin.
"Coin is good. Blood is better." He stood, towering over the noble, the great curved blade gleaming in the firelight. "Tell your master this: the next Goldbear caravan will not merely be robbed. It will be butchered. I will leave their corpses hanging from trees so that all who pass will know the Crimson Blade owns these lands."
The noble's smile widened. "That is all we ask. Leave no survivors."
Dika's laughter rumbled across the camp, dark and eager. Around him, the bandits cheered, slamming their weapons against the ground.
"Blood! Blood for the Crimson Blade!"
The night filled with their roar, echoing through the Fae Wood forest like the cry of wolves on the hunt.
Word of the massacre spread quickly. Two merchant caravans had been found destroyed, their wagons burned, their guards slaughtered. Survivors spoke of a half-orc wielding a crimson blade, cutting down men as though they were wheat before a scythe.
In the study of Goldbear Manor, Glic sat in silence as his steward reported the news.
"The Crimson Blade Bandits, my lord. They've grown bold. Witnesses claim their leader fights like a demon—a half-orc who wields his blade with mastery far beyond common brigands."
Glic's fingers drummed on the desk. "Dika."
The steward's eyes widened. "You know of him, my lord?"
"Only by reputation," Glic said softly. Memories not his own—those of the original Glic Goldbear—stirred in his mind. Rumors of a mercenary-turned-bandit, trained in both barbarian fury and sword discipline. A blademaster who could shatter shields with raw strength, yet strike with precision like a duelist.
A dangerous foe indeed.
But what chilled him more was the second report.
"There are whispers," the steward continued, lowering his voice. "That the Crimson Blades are being… supported. Fed. Supplied. By one of our rivals in the court. A noble family with much to gain if the Goldbear merchants fall."
Glic's eyes narrowed. "Which family?"
"We cannot confirm, my lord. But the Hawk sigil was seen upon one of the messengers."
The name burned in Glic's mind. The Silverhawk family. Merchants in name, but vultures in truth. They had long coveted Goldbear trade routes.
So this was not merely banditry. This was politics played with blood and steel.
---
Glic rose from his chair, his mind already racing.
So, Dika, you are not merely a marauder. You are a blade wielded by my enemies. Good. That makes this simple. If I cut off the blade, the hand that wields it will be exposed.
He walked to the window, looking out over the moonlit training yard where his newly-armed guards drilled with enchanted weapons. Beyond them, in the Sub-Magic Pen, his frogs croaked softly, their spell-infused bodies humming with unnatural power.
A cold smile touched his lips.
"Dika, Half-Orc Blademaster…" he whispered. "You've chosen the wrong family to cross."
The System pulsed faintly in his mind.
> [Quest Triggered: Eliminate the Crimson Blade Bandits.]
Reward: Unknown.
Warning: Enemy Leader (Dika) possesses transcendent martial affinity. Combat Risk: High.
Glic's smile only widened.
"High risk… higher rewards."
The Crimson Blades thought themselves predators. Soon, they would learn what it felt like to be hunted.