The night was thick and still, broken only by the occasional rustle of wind through the hills. Somewhere in the darkness, voices whispered sharp and hurried, carrying the tension of men on a mission.
"Damn bastards," one hissed, the anger and fear in his tone palpable. "They won't die by the mouth of a beast, will they?"
Another swore under his breath. "I'd almost prefer it. At least then the boss won't find more ways to make our deaths… creative."
"They said… will those four idiots even survive in that small camp?" a third voice muttered, skeptical.
The men scurried along the narrow trail, their feet kicking up dirt and small stones in the dim light of the dawn-tinted sky. As spies of the Bloodbeard Bandits, every step they took was calculated. The night offered cover, but it was no stranger to danger. Beasts roamed freely after dark, and for them, a misstep could be fatal.
