The two bandits sat bound against a thick tree trunk, their wrists chafed raw against the coarse rope. The fire from their ruined camp still smoldered in the distance, sending embers into the cold night air. The stench of burnt wood and blood mixed with the damp earth, but the two prisoners barely noticed.
Their world had shrunk to the man before them.
Kael crouched, his steel sword resting across his knees, his hunter's dagger in one hand. His face was calm, unreadable, but there was something in his eyes that sent a chill down their spines—something sharp and knowing. He had done this before.
"I'll ask once," Kael said, voice steady. "Who do you serve?"
Neither man answered.
The older one, a brute with a missing ear, sneered. He spat onto the ground near Kael's boot. "Go fuck yourself, mutant."
The younger bandit, no older than twenty, flinched but kept his mouth shut. His hands clenched in his lap, as if gripping an invisible weapon.
Kael sighed, shaking his head.
"I was hoping you'd be smarter."
Without warning, he stood and grabbed the older bandit by his collar, hauling him upright in one smooth motion. The brute tried to resist, but Kael was stronger—inhumanly so. He dragged the man away from the fire, deeper into the blackened woods.
The younger bandit was left alone, breathing heavily, his eyes darting between the flickering firelight and the darkness where his companion had vanished.
Then the screams began.
The first one was hoarse, like a man choking on his own breath. The second was sharper, more desperate. Soon, they came in ragged bursts, raw and pitiful. A plea for mercy. Then another.
Then the sound of something wet. A strangled gasp. More sobbing.
The younger bandit stiffened, his entire body locking up. He pulled at the ropes, but they held firm. His breath came faster now.
Then silence.
It stretched on, longer than he could bear.
The wind rustled the leaves. The fire crackled softly.
Then—footsteps.
Kael emerged from the darkness, dragging the barely-conscious body of the older bandit behind him. He tossed the man onto the dirt like a sack of grain.
The brute was barely recognizable. Blood coated his mouth and chin, dripping from a split lip. One eye was swollen shut, his nose crooked. He wheezed through broken teeth, every breath a struggle.
Kael crouched again, wiping his dagger clean on a rag.
"Now," he said, his voice as calm as before. "Let's try this again."
The younger bandit stared at the broken man before him. His chest rose and fell in panicked breaths. His lips moved, forming words that never came out.
"I… I'll talk," he finally stammered. "I'll tell you everything."
Kael nodded. "Go on."
The words tumbled out in a frantic rush.
They were part of the Blue Boars, a splinter faction of the Wild Boars—former Nilfgaardian supporters who had turned to banditry after the Empire's retreat. They had once followed proper officers, proper banners, but now? Now they were just outlaws. Cutthroats clinging to whatever scraps they could steal.
Their numbers were around fifty men, not a vast army, but dangerous enough. Some were trained soldiers, others common thugs, all of them desperate.
Their base was an old Nilfgaardian outpost—one of the many abandoned forts left after the war. It was wedged between two ridges, well-defended and easy to miss unless you knew where to look. Only one road led in, littered with traps meant to cripple and kill intruders.
Their weapons were a mix of stolen arms and old military stock. Crossbows, spears, axes, swords—some of them still had proper Nilfgaardian armor. Enough steel to make them more than just common bandits.
Their leader was a man called Havald, once a northern noble, now something worse. A man who had tasted power and refused to let go. He had no loyalty to Nilfgaard anymore, no true cause—only the hunger to carve out his own little empire.
Kael listened, committing every word to memory. Fifty men. A fort. Traps. Armed deserters. A problem, but not an impossible one.
When the bandit finally stopped talking, his breath was ragged. He stared at Kael, sweat dripping down his temple.
The witcher was silent for a long moment.
"…What are you going to do with me?" the bandit finally asked, his voice small.
Kael tilted his head slightly. He didn't answer immediately. He simply watched the man, his cold gaze revealing nothing. But slowly he was reaching for the axe of one of the now dead bandints.
"Wait, what are you doing I told you what you want to know. Wait, wait, WAIT!!!"
The bandit's screams echoed through the trees, raw and panicked. He thrashed against his bindings, but the rope held firm. His wide, bloodshot eyes locked onto the axe in Kael's hand—dull, stained with use, but still sharp enough for what came next.
Kael tested the weight of the weapon, rolling his wrist as if considering. Then he turned his gaze back to the man.
"You did tell me what I wanted to know." His voice was level, void of malice or anger. Just fact.
The bandit trembled, sweat rolling down his forehead. "Then let me go! I— I swear, I won't say anything, I'll disappear! You'll never see me again!"
Kael remained silent.
There was no real decision to make. A man like this wouldn't disappear. He'd run straight to the Blue Boars, tell them about the strange witcher that had slaughtered his comrades. Whether out of desperation or fear, he'd spill everything. And Kael had no intention of giving them time to prepare.
The younger bandit saw the answer in Kael's eyes before it came. He screamed.
Kael swung.
The axe struck hard into the side of the man's neck. Not a clean cut—the edge was too dull for that. A sickening crunch of bone and flesh. The bandit gurgled, choking on his own blood, his hands jerking against the ropes as if he could claw his way free.
Kael wrenched the axe free. Swung again.
This time, the head came loose.
The body slumped forward, twitching, blood pooling into the dirt. The forest absorbed the silence once more.
Kael exhaled through his nose and wiped his face, though none of the blood had touched him. He moved without hesitation, kicking dirt over the pooling crimson, then dragging both bodies into the underbrush. He covered them well enough that scavengers wouldn't find them immediately.
When it was done, he turned back to the camp.
The fire had burned low, flickering weakly against the ruins of the bandits' celebration. Empty tankards, discarded armor, and the lingering stench of unwashed men. Kael rummaged through the supplies, gathering whatever was useful—a few crowns, some bolts for a crossbow he didn't have, and a handful of dried rations.
Then, with one last glance at the bodies he'd hidden, he mounted his horse and rode toward the fort.