Cassian lunged first, aiming for the old man's throat, but even half-asleep, the old man moved like a wolf sensing a threat. His eyes snapped open, and in one fluid motion, he rolled away just as Cassian's blade bit into empty air.
"Shit!" Cassian hissed, already pivoting as Ronan went in next.
The old man caught the attack on his forearm, wincing as Ronan's dagger sliced through the sleeve of his coat. Blood darkened the fabric, but he didn't hesitate—he struck back fast, a powerful, controlled elbow slamming into Ronan's ribs.
Ronan grunted in pain but held firm, twisting his body and slashing upward. The old man ducked the first strike but wasn't fast enough for the second—a deep gash opened along his side.
Cassian saw his chance.
He lunged again, this time aiming lower, but the man was already turning to meet him.
Cassian barely registered the movement before a fist crashed into his jaw.
His vision exploded with white light.
Pain flared, and suddenly he was on the ground, gasping, his knife slipping from his fingers.
How the hell is he this fast?!
Ronan snarled, pressing the attack, forcing the old man back with a flurry of rapid, precise strikes.
But the old man was relentless.
Even bleeding, even outnumbered, he was still winning.
Cassian staggered to his feet, shaking his head clear, reaching for the spare blade at his belt.
One opening.
That was all he needed.
Ronan went high—Cassian went low—
The old man moved like lightning.
He twisted, avoiding both their blades, then drove his knee into Cassian's stomach.
Cassian choked on air, doubling over as a boot slammed into his chest, sending him sprawling back into the dirt.
Then came the worst sound he'd ever heard—
Ronan's scream.
Cassian barely managed to lift his head in time to see it—
Their opponent's knife buried deep in Ronan's neck.
Blood poured over the old man's hand as he twisted the blade.
Ronan choked.
Then went still.
Cassian's vision blurred.
"R-Ronan?"
No. No, this wasn't happening.
Ronan dropped like a lifeless ragdoll, his blade clattering beside him.
Cassian felt his limbs go cold.
Ronan was dead.
Just like that.
And the old man—
He was already turning toward him.
Cassian's body screamed at him to move, to run, to do something—
But it was too late.
The old man was faster.
A flash of steel—
And suddenly Cassian was on his back, staring up at the sky, his chest burning.
He barely had time to register the dagger buried deep in him before the old man wrenched it free.
Cold flooded his veins.
He tried to speak, but nothing came out.
The sky blurred.
His heartbeat slowed.
And the last thing he saw before the darkness swallowed him whole…
…was his killer turning away.
*
Char woke to screaming.
Then—the weight of something slamming into him. He barely had time to react before a blade flashed toward his face.
Char barely had time to think before the blade came for his throat.
His body reacted before his mind caught up—he rolled to the side, feeling the whisper of steel slice through empty air just inches from his neck.
The bandit man—a wiry figure with a mess of unkempt hair—cursed and swung again, but Char scrambled back, kicking wildly to put distance between them.
His hand darted to his belt—knives. He barely had any training.
But he had something.
His fingers closed around the hilts, one in each hand—one heavier, one lighter.Tess had taught him to use them together, but in the chaos of the moment, all of that training vanished from his mind. The bandit woman—taller, leaner, her hair tied back in a single braid—moved to flank him.
They were trying to corner him.
His heart pounded.
Benjamin was fighting somewhere behind him, but he couldn't focus on that now.He had two knives.They had swords.
How the hell was he supposed to win this?
The bandit man lunged again—a downward slash, fast and brutal.Char reacted on instinct—he brought up his heavier knife, catching the blow at an awkward angle. Sparks burst where the blades met. The force rattled his arm, nearly knocking the knife from his grasp, but he held firm.
The bandit grinned, eyes gleaming.
"Not bad, little rat."
Then he pressed down, forcing Char's own blade toward his chest. Panic surged through him—too strong—too strong—
Then—he remembered his other knife.
With a burst of desperation, he twisted his body and stabbed forward with the lighter blade. The bandit cursed and jerked back—but not fast enough. The tip of Char's knife sliced across his forearm, not deep, but enough to make him stagger.
It wasn't much. But it was something.
Char didn't wait. He turned and ran.
Branches whipped past his face as he tore into the trees, his breath ragged.He could hear them—pursuing him.
"Damn rat's fast!" the woman growled.
"Cut him off—don't let him reach the road!"
He wasn't even thinking anymore—just moving, dodging, running. But he wasn't fast enough.
A blur of motion from his left—
Too late.
The woman smashed into him from the side, her arm locking around his torso as they went down in a tangle of limbs. Char hit the ground hard, his knives flying from his hands. Pain exploded through his ribs as he gasped for breath. Then a boot slammed into his chest, pinning him down.
"You run like a rabbit," the woman sneered, her breath ragged.
"Get his hands," the man snapped.
A moment later, ropes bit into his wrists.
Char thrashed, but they were too strong.
This was it. He was going to die. Or worse.
The bandits suddenly began arguing above him, voices sharp.
"He's no use to us dead!"
"We should've just killed him back there—now we've wasted time!"
"We'll take him back, see if—"
Then—a sound.
A shift in the air.
A moment later—
The bandit woman choked on nothing .Her eyes bulged as something wet and dark bloomed from her throat. Then she collapsed. The bandit man froze.
Then—a knife buried itself in his skull.
Char lay there, breathing hard, barely able to process it. The bodies hit the ground gracelessly, and standing over them—
Was Benjamin.
Covered in blood.
Expression unreadable.
He knelt, cutting Char's bindings.For a long moment, neither of them spoke.
Then—
"You did good, kid."
Char wasn't sure if that was true. But right now, he wasn't about to argue