The grasslands of Zlandria stretched endlessly, a sea of emerald swaying under the restless winds. The air was crisp, carrying the scent of damp earth and distant woodsmoke. Nil rode through the countryside of the Duchy of Gleno, his cloak fluttering as his horse trotted toward the distant silhouette of a village.
As he neared, movement caught his eye. Two men stood in a vicious struggle, blades flashing under the afternoon sun. Their shouts carried over the wind, raw with rage and desperation. Nil reined in his horse, observing.
At first glance, they looked like common bandits—perhaps remnants of a crew that had turned on each other. Their movements were wild, fueled by bloodlust rather than skill.
"You owe me, you fucking pig!" one of them bellowed, swinging his sword wildly.
Nil edged closer, intrigued. But before he could dismount, the air shifted. A presence.
He turned too late. Three men emerged from behind, closing in with practiced ease. The duelists stopped mid-fight, their bloodied faces twisting into cruel grins. Now there were five.
A tall, muscular man—clearly the leader—stepped forward. His voice was deep, amused. "Another sheep walks into our trap. Humans do love fighting, don't they?"
One of the duelists spat on the ground. "Give us everything you have, and we might not make it hurt." He chuckled darkly.
Nil exhaled. "So, this is how it is."
The bandits barely had time to react.
Nil moved, faster than their eyes could follow. In one fluid motion, he spun backward, seizing the towering leader by the throat. A dagger flashed—its edge kissed flesh. Blood sprayed across the grass as Nil let the lifeless body slump to the ground.
The remaining four hesitated for a heartbeat. Then, with a roar, they lunged.
Nil whispered a word under his breath.
A sudden gust howled through the plains, slamming into the men like a battering ram. They staggered back, disoriented.
One of them gasped. "He knows magic! He knows magic!"
Nil lifted a hand, fingers curling into a fist. Heat crackled. A sphere of fire erupted in his palm.
"No—wait—!"
The words melted into a scream as Nil hurled the fireball, the flames hungrily devouring flesh. The stench of burning meat filled the air.
The last bandit standing staggered backward, his chest rising and falling in ragged breaths. His companions lay lifeless in the dirt, their blood soaking into the windswept grass. The air smelled of iron and burnt flesh.
Nil took a step forward, his eyes cold and unblinking-he calmly said. "You swines are dead."
One of the remaining men dropped his sword and fell to his knees, hands shaking. "P-please... please let us live," he stammered, his voice barely above a whisper. The other two were frozen in place, their faces pale, their breath shallow.
Nil smiled—a slow, cruel curve of his lips. "Maybe... if you give me everything you have." His voice was soft, almost amused, but the edge in his tone made it clear he wasn't playing.
The bandits flinched at his words. Then, in a panicked scramble, they rushed to their carriage, tripping over themselves in their desperation. One of them, a wiry man with a scar over his left eye, fumbled with a pouch hidden under his coat. His fingers twitched as he tried to slip something into his sleeve.
Nil noticed.
In a flash, he was in front of the man, grabbing his wrist. The bandit yelped as Nil twisted his arm back, forcing him to drop a few small, glinting coins onto the ground—silver, not copper.
Nil's gaze flickered to the rest of them. "All of it," he commanded.
They hesitated for a fraction of a second. Then, with trembling hands, they emptied their pockets, tossing a handful of copper and a 1 silver coins onto the dirt.
Nil crouched, inspecting the pile. He picked up a silver coin, rolling it between his fingers. "That all?"
The scarred man swallowed hard. "Y-yes, I swear."
Nil didn't believe him.
With one swift motion, he grabbed the man's throat and lifted him off the ground. The bandit kicked and clawed at Nil's arm, his eyes bulging.
"You lied," Nil murmured, his grip tightening.
The other two dropped to their knees. "Please! We gave you everything!"
Nil held the struggling man for a moment longer, watching as his gasps turned to weak, pitiful wheezes. Then, with a flick of his wrist, he let go. The bandit crumpled to the ground, coughing violently.
Nil stood straight, pocketing the silver. "Leave. Before I change my mind."
The bandits scrambled away, tripping over themselves in their desperation to escape. Their terrified footsteps faded into the wind.
Nil reached for his horse's reins but then paused. A thought crossed his mind.
"Wait."
The bandits froze mid-step. Slowly, they turned back, their faces pale with dread.
Nil's voice was calm but firm. "Tell me your names."
The men exchanged uneasy glances, hesitant to speak. One of them, the wiry man with a scar over his left eye, swallowed hard. "M-Marcus," he stammered. "That's Kyle, and he's Owen."
Nil nodded, as if committing their names to memory. Then, his expression darkened. "For now ,you work for me. Do what I say, and I might feed you. Disobey..." He nudged one of the corpses with his boot. Blood soaked into the dirt beneath it. "...and you'll end up like them."
Kyle, the youngest-looking of the three, instinctively took a step back. "You—you want us to serve you?" His voice wavered with disbelief.
Nil tilted his head slightly. "You'd rather die?"
"N-no! No, we'll serve you!" Marcus blurted out before Kyle could say another word.
Owen, who had been silent the whole time, clenched his fists. His jaw tightened like he wanted to protest, but when his eyes met Nil's, the fight drained out of him. "...Understood."
Nil smirked. "Smart choice."
He mounted his horse, his gaze still locked onto them. "Now, gather what's left from your carriage. We leave for the village soon."
The three bandits hesitated for just a second before scrambling to obey.
The wind howled as Nil watched them work.
Trembling, Marcus risked a glance at the man who had just slaughtered his companions. Nil stood motionless, his black cloak rippling in the wind. His dark hair, tousled by the breeze, only made the pale contrast of his skin more striking. He wasn't particularly tall—Marcus, standing at six feet, found him smaller—but there was something in the way Nil carried himself. Something that made size irrelevant.
Nil leaned against the carriage, his voice calm but firm. "You're done here, right? I'll be inside. You're Marcus, aren't you?"
Marcus swallowed hard. "Y-yes..."
Nil barely acknowledged his response. "Good. Hide the bodies. Marcus, take care of my horse. The rest of you—get this carriage moving. Fast." He let the last word hang in the air, cold and sharp. Then his eyes darkened.
"And if any of you swine even think about trying something..." He tilted his head toward the corpses, his expression unreadable. "You'll end up just like them."
A chilling silence followed.
Marcus felt his knees go weak. The other two scrambled into the driver's seat, gripping the reins so tight their knuckles turned white. No one dared to speak.
Without another word, Nil stepped into the carriage, leaving them to obey.
No one spoke to each other Nil was gazing straight forward in the carriage.
As the wind howled through the trees, Nil and the bandits rode in silence, the village coming into view. No words were exchanged. A heavy stillness hung in the air, thick with the bandits' unspoken fear.
The carriage rolled onto the village's dirt path, its wheels kicking up dust. The settlement was of modest size, stretching along a winding road. Houses of sunbaked clay and rough-hewn timber stood in uneven rows, their thatched roofs sagging under the weight of age. Some homes bore walls of wattle and daub, their surfaces cracked and patched with dried mud, while others had stone foundations smoothed by years of wind and rain.
Thin streams of smoke curled from chimneys, carrying the scent of burning wood and damp earth. Somewhere in the distance, the aroma of spiced stew drifted from an open hearth, a fleeting reminder of warmth in an otherwise quiet village.
Nil said nothing as they entered. His gaze remained forward, cold and unreadable. The bandits, however, stole uneasy glances at him, their hands gripping the reins tighter as if fearing what might happen next.
Nil stepped down from the carriage and looked at the bandits. "Well, seems there's no bounty on your heads." He tossed a single copper coin onto the dirt. "Take your carriage and leave at once."
One of the bandits sneered, though hesitation lingered in his eyes. "This won't even buy a loaf of bread—"
Nil's gaze darkened. In a flash, he drove his fist into Owen's gut, folding him like a ragdoll. Owen gasped, his breath stolen, collapsing to his knees as he clutched his stomach in pain.
The other two stiffened. No more complaints. No more bravado. Without another word, they grabbed the coin, scrambled onto the carriage, and rode off, the wheels kicking up dust as they fled the village.
Nil clicked his tongue, watching the dust settle in the bandits' wake.
"Those bastards... should've killed them when I had the chance." He sighed, gripping the reins of his horse. "At least my horse is still full of energy. Now, let's find a tavern."
He guided his horse through the village, his boots kicking up dirt with each step. The sun hung low in the sky, casting golden light over the rooftops. It was around four in the afternoon, and men were already heading home, their faces worn from a day's work.
Up ahead, an elderly man walked slowly, a white cloth wrapped around his head. He wore loose yellow pajama-like trousers and a simple coat over his torso, the fabric faded from years of use.
Nil approached him. "Is there a tavern around here, old man?"
The man turned, clearly surprised to be spoken to. He studied Nil for a moment before answering. "Go near the fountain and take a left. You'll find one there."
Nil glanced around the village. "This place seems larger than most in the north."
The old man nodded. "Aye. It's an ancient village. We usually don't have to worry about goblins or bandits."
"Usually?" Nil raised an eyebrow.
The man hesitated before shrugging. "It's rare for them to cause trouble here."
"Strange. I saw a few bandits a couple of kilometers north," Nil said.
The old man gave a knowing chuckle. "They stay away from the village. And like I said—usually."
Nil said nothing. He gave a slight nod, gripping his horse's reins. "Alright then. Thanks."
As he walked away, the old man watched him go, his gaze lingering just a little too long.
As Nil walked through the village, he noticed the glow of small fires flickering inside translucent spheres mounted on walls and posts. These were called Mabul—orbs that cast a steady, golden light without smoke or heat.
He narrowed his eyes, studying one as he passed. The fire inside wasn't just burning—it was amplified. A faint hum of mana surrounded the orb, bending the flames and converting their heat into pure energy.
A clever enchantment. Efficient, too. Most northern villages still relied on torches or oil lamps, but here, magic handled everything.
Even a backwater place like this has better magic than some cities, he thought, his gaze sweeping across the village. This can't be cheap. Either someone here knows enchantments... or the local lord has deep pockets.
His eyes landed on the fountain the old man had mentioned. Left from here. He adjusted his pace, moving toward the tavern.