They dragged me out of the dim hut and into the cold, unforgiving night air of the camp’s central plaza. My arms flailed wildly, pretending to break free, but the rough hands of the bandit boss were merciless. His grip was a vice, each pull and shove feeding the growing fury burning in his eyes. His rage should have been my undoing—yet it only fed the plan simmering beneath my skin, dark and patient like a venomous serpent waiting to strike.

  They forced me to my knees atop a crude wooden podium, splintered and stained from a thousand harsh words and harsher deeds. The cold steel of a dagger hovered mere centimeters from my throat once more, its blade gleaming wickedly under the flickering torchlight. The sharp scent of blood and sweat mingled with the damp earth, heavy and oppressive.

  Then, a harsh, guttural horn shattered the silence—a signal that summoned the bandits like wolves to a kill. They gathered before me in a sea of dirt-streaked faces and grimy weapons, their eyes burning with suspicion and hunger. But the horn meant more than just their assembly. It was also a sign for my comrades hidden in the shadowed forest. Moments later, a few fire arrows hissed through the night sky, splashing their fiery curses against the oil-soaked trees we had painstakingly rolled down the hill. The flames flickered reluctantly at first, casting a distant orange glow that barely pierced the darkness—but it was enough.

  “The message. Now.” The bandit boss’s voice was low and venomous, his dagger pressing ever closer to my jugular. I could feel the cold bite of steel through my skin, the faint tremble of my pulse beneath it. A smirk curled at the corner of my lips—reckless, defiant—but I knew better than to test his patience any further.

  So, I spoke.

  “Uh… hi?” My voice trembled, laced with a mocking sweetness that felt almost cruel against the grim reality. “We do hope that the music we played wasn’t too loud, or that it didn’t ruin your business. For my part, I was enjoying a delicious wine just a few days ago—but your nightly serenade made relaxation impossible. I’m a rather peaceful person, truly… but unfortunately, I’m still here because we were tasked with eradicating you.”

  I let the words hang in the cold air like a death sentence.

  “Five hundred men lurk in the woods around you—and more wait just beyond, ready to burn this place to ash if we fail. So, you see… you’re already dead. You just don’t realize it yet.”

  A low, furious growl rumbled through the crowd—anger and fear mingling like a storm brewing on the horizon. But not everyone reacted the same. The mysterious figure who had stood behind me in the hut—cloaked in black, his pale face unreadable—stroked his chin thoughtfully. His eyes glinted with something darker than curiosity, something almost calculating.

  “But,” I continued, lowering my voice into something almost coaxing, “we are not cruel. We want to end this fight between us… in a more civilized manner.”

  The bandit boss’s laugh was harsh and bitter, echoing like a death knell. “You want to disarm us and then execute us,” he spat, venom dripping from every word. “Why would any of us listen to you? We will fight.”

  His roar was met by a chorus of savage cries. Several bandits brandished their weapons, steel flashing under the torchlight as they raised their axes and swords high, ready to spill blood.

  The plaza trembled with their brutal display—the promise of violence hanging thick in the air, cold and inevitable.

  And beneath it all, I smiled inwardly. The night had only just begun.

  “You’re free to go ahead and rush out there, if you want,” I said coldly, my voice low but carrying over the restless crowd. “No one’s stopping you from running out and meeting your end. But before you do—listen to me. I want to propose a game. A game of survival… or call it what you will.”

  The bandits’ jeers and murmurs swirled around me like a rising storm, but I pressed on, unwavering. “The rules are simple. You will challenge me—one-on-one, in whatever manner you choose. Swordfight, archery, fists—anything. There are only a few rules to follow.”

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  My eyes swept across the grim faces, some eager, others suspicious.

  “You may decide if the fight is to be lethal or not. If you win and I die, then everyone who hasn’t yet challenged me will also be considered winners—and free to go. If you choose a non-lethal way of fighting and lose, however, you will still die. But if you win in a non-lethal duel, only you alone will be granted your freedom.”

  A harsh, almost cruel grin tugged at my lips as I delivered the final part, “The challenge must take place at night. And mark this well—there is no other way to escape this valley alive except by defeating me.”

  Silence fell like a shroud for a moment. Then laughter erupted—bitter, mocking, incredulous. The bandits’ laughter rolled through the campfire-lit night like thunder, disbelief etched deep into every grin and roar.

  They laughed because they couldn’t fathom that this small, seemingly innocent girl standing before them held their fate in her hands. They laughed because I looked nothing like the death sentence I’d just passed on most of them.

  Suddenly, the bandit boss lunged forward, violently shoving me aside. I crashed onto the dirt with a thud, skidding across the rough ground before coming to a painful halt. My legs trembled as I forced myself up, wiping the dirt and grit from my skin.

  I stood, trembling but resolute, and fixed my gaze on the towering bandit king—an apex predator in this savage den.

  The game had begun. The night was thick with menace, and the stakes could not be clearer.

  “I suppose you want to fight me first?” My voice wavered slightly, but I forced confidence into every word, steadying myself against the lingering tremor in my limbs.

  The bandit boss sneered, stepping forward with brutal certainty. “All I have to do is kill you, and your superiors let us go free?” His eyes gleamed with savage delight. “Fine. I challenge you to a duel—with daggers.”

  He whistled sharply, and before I could react, a dagger spun through the air and embedded itself in the wooden platform mere inches from my feet. I bent down and snatched it up in one swift motion. The blade was cold and heavy in my hand, and my grip was awkward, fingers barely clenched around the hilt. I held it entirely wrong, like an inexperienced hand who had never trained.

  The bandit boss wasted no time waiting for me to adjust. Like a bull sensing blood, he charged forward, eyes burning with raw aggression.

  By declaring that killing me would grant freedom to the rest, I had marked myself as the prime target. The bandit leader dared not hesitate—his courage, or perhaps his pride, compelled him to strike first. I needed his death to shatter their morale, to twist their confident roars into chaotic screams of panic. If I would bring him down quickly, the camp would erupt into disarray, and even the odds against me would shift.

  But first, I had to survive his charge.

  The bandit boss was no swordsman. His style was reckless, violent—an animal attacking without finesse. His footwork was clumsy and ungainly, making me recoil inwardly at the thought of how many lives he’d probably ended by sheer brute force alone. His bellowing war cry was nothing but noise, meant to intimidate but utterly useless against a practiced opponent.

  I shifted my stance, angling my body sideways. Raising my left leg, I leaned my weight forward, preparing to thrust the dagger in a swift, precise strike. The plan was simple—strike first, strike true.

  But then my instincts screamed in alarm.

  Too late, I realized the speed at which he closed the distance—inhuman, unnatural. His movement was a blur, his approach lightning-fast. The air seemed to shudder as his blade sliced toward my face.

  I dropped to the left, evading the slash by a hair’s breadth. The cold steel flashed under the moonlight, grazing the tip of my nose and drawing a thin line of blood. It was a shallow wound, but enough to sting sharply and steal my breath for a moment.

  Rolling on the ground to the side, I used the momentum to spring back to my feet, blood trickling down my face.

  The bandit king froze, stunned by my near-miraculous evasion. None of his men had ever shown such speed or precision, and the shock was visible in his dark eyes.

  I clutched my nose, feeling the warm trickle of blood and the slow pulse of healing beneath my fingertips. Somehow, I—the fragile girl—had been the one to bleed first.

  A slow, cruel smile crept onto my lips, wet with fresh blood. “Now you’ve done it,” I whispered, voice low and hungry, as the fight—and the night—truly began.