Altair crouched in the shadows, his gaze fixed on the bandits as they settled in for the night. Their crude laughter had faded, replaced by the crackling of the fire and the occasional grunt as they adjusted their positions. He knew he had to act carefully—these men were dangerous, and if he was caught, there would be no mercy.
The bandits weren't entirely foolish. They had planned a rotating watch, ensuring that at least one man remained awake while the others slept. This worried Altair. He had initially thought of poisoning their food and water while they were distracted, but with a sentry on guard, there was no guarantee he could move undetected. And leading them away with a false trail? Unlikely. There was no guarantee they would all leave their camp unattended.
His fists clenched. If only he had an ability—some kind of power that could help him. Then he wouldn't have to rely on sneaking around like a rat.
He briefly considered seeking help, but the nearest village lacked capable fighters. Asking for their help would only ensure more casualties. Heading to town would take three days, and by then, the villages would have been raided, their people either killed or worse. No, this was the only way.
No. His only option was to act now.
Altair remained hidden, forcing himself to be patient. Minutes turned into hours, his muscles stiffening from staying in place. Then, to his surprise, the sentry slumped forward, his head dipping lower and lower until soft snores replaced the crackle of the fire.
Altair nearly laughed. So much for their vigilance.
Taking a deep breath, he moved forward, his steps light and controlled. The bandits had camped beneath a large tree. Four of them were slumped against the trunk, their bodies lax with sleep. The supposed watchman sat near the fire, his mouth slightly open as he snored against a sack of stolen supplies.
Altair clenched his dagger tightly, his pulse hammering in his ears. This was his chance.
He chose to target the watchman first.
He took slow, deliberate steps, barely breathing as he approached. His free hand reached into his pouch, pulling out a small glass vial no larger than half his pinky. The poison inside shimmered an eerie green under the firelight as he removed the cork.
His fingers trembled. What if the poison didn't work fast enough? What if the man woke up? He hesitated a bit, but in the end he gritted his teeth and proceeded.
Altair bent lower and grabbed a small stone, tossing it near the bandit's foot. The man didn't stir. His snores remained deep and steady.
That was enough confirmation.
He positioned himself carefully, angling the vial above the bandit's slightly open mouth. Slowly, he poured. The liquid slid down his throat, and Altair tensed as the man instinctively swallowed.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then, the bandit twitched.
Altair's grip tightened on his dagger, ready to strike if needed. But the man didn't wake—his body merely spasmed once before going still. Moments later, the system's notification flashed before Altair's eyes.
[You have gained 20 Kill Points ]
[Your Kill Points: 20 ]
Altair froze. That was fast.
He swallowed hard, his gaze locked on the unmoving figure. The man who had been talking and laughing mere hours ago was now a lifeless corpse, his snores silenced forever.
A lump formed in Altair's throat. Even knowing these men were monsters, the weight of taking a life pressed down on him.
He forced himself to whisper, barely audible. "In your next life… be a better person."
He glanced at the empty vial in his hand, its contents confirmed to be deadly. He now understood why the antidote cost a fortune. This poison was instant and merciless.
His heartbeat steadied. He could do this. He had done it once. And if he stopped now, the people in the villages would suffer for his hesitation.
His eyes flickered to the remaining four bandits, their faces relaxed in sleep. The leader even mumbled something obscene in his dreams, making Altair's stomach churn. Even unconscious, they were disgusting.
He didn't hesitate anymore.
Moving quickly but cautiously, he bought four more vials from the system store. Each one shimmered faintly in the dim firelight. One by one, he repeated the process, ensuring each bandit met the same silent fate.
By the time he finished, the camp was eerily quiet. The only sound was the gentle crackling of the fire. Five lifeless bodies slumped where they had once slept.
[You have gained 20 Kill Points.]
[Your Kill Points: 60.]
Altair exhaled, stepping back from the corpses. It was over.
He should have felt relieved. He had protected the villagers, stopped these monsters before they could do any more harm. And yet, a strange emptiness settled in his chest.
He had killed. Not in self-defense, not in the heat of battle, but methodically, calculatingly. There was no struggle, no fight—just quiet execution. But this quiet execution resulted in five deaths.
His hands curled into fists. It was necessary. If he had let them live, countless innocent people would have suffered. He had merely stopped predators before they could strike.
His eyes flicked to their supplies—food, weapons, and, most importantly, water. There was a small pile of corn, a bag of grain, and an assortment of weapons, including daggers and even a crossbow. His expression darkened at the sight. These had undoubtedly been stolen from others.
Altair decided to take everything he could carry. He would need the provisions for the journey ahead. The crossbow, however, gave him pause. It was illegal for ordinary citizens to possess one—only soldiers were permitted to use them. For a moment, he considered leaving it behind, but then dismissed the thought. He was still days away from town, and who knew what dangers lay ahead? Having more weapons could mean the difference between life and death.
He let out a breath of relief. And thankfully he hadn't managed to poison their food—it would have been a waste.