Screams rang through the night.
The air reeked of burning wood, blood, and the acrid scent of alchemical fire. Kael had barely stepped out of the leader's quarters when his trap ignited, sending a burst of flames into the sky near the storeroom. The explosion had shattered barrels of oil and alcohol, turning part of the camp into an inferno.
Bandits stumbled over one another, some shouting orders, others desperately trying to smother the fire or grab what supplies they could before it all burned. A handful had weapons drawn, their panicked gazes scanning the area, searching for an attacker they couldn't see.
Kael pressed his back against the wooden wall, assessing his escape routes.
His entry point—the collapsed section of the wall—was now too exposed. Several bandits had gathered nearby, drawn by the commotion. The main gate was a death trap, swarming with men rallying under the command of their now-dead leader's subordinates.
North. Toward the trees.
It was risky, but with the chaos spreading, it was his best chance.
Kael took a deep breath and sprinted low, staying in the shadows between tents. A bandit stumbled out from a side path, coughing from the smoke. He barely registered Kael before the Witcher's throwing knife sank into his throat, cutting off his scream. Kael caught him before he collapsed, dragging the body behind a stack of crates.
More bandits ran past, weapons drawn, barking confused orders.
"Find the bastard! Someone got to the chief!"
"He's dead! Someone killed him"
A crossbow bolt that came from one of the towers thudded into a post near Kael's head. They were getting organized prompting him to moved faster.
A bandit spotted him near the edge of the camp. Kael didn't hesitate.
He raised his hand—'Yrden' A burst of violet energy spread in a circle around him, and the charging bandit slowed, his movements sluggish. Kael stepped forward, his blade cutting deep across the man's chest, ending him before the effect faded.
More were coming. He had seconds.
Kael turned and ran, weaving between the scattered shacks. He reached the treeline just as a group of five bandits spotted him.
"There! Don't let him escape!"
Kael turned on his heels, drawing his sword.
One of the bandits charged first, swinging an axe. Kael sidestepped smoothly, steel flashing—one clean cut, and the man fell clutching his throat.
The others hesitated.
The second lunged with a spear. Kael twisted around it, grabbing the shaft with his left hand before slamming the hilt of his sword into the man's face, breaking his nose. As the bandit reeled, Kael drove his dagger into his ribs, twisting it before kicking him off.
Three left.
The third swung wildly with a rusty sword. Kael parried once, twice, then feinted a high slash before kicking the man's knee out from under him. A downward stab ended it.
The last two turned to run but Kael moved faster.
In one smooth motion, he drew two throwing knives, flicking his wrists. The first buried itself in the base of a skull, dropping the bandit mid-step. The second sank deep between the other's shoulder blades, making him stumble before collapsing face-first into the dirt.
Kael walked past their bodies without a second glance, vanishing into the trees. The screams and chaos of the burning camp faded behind him.
The Blue Boars were finished.
--------------------------------------------
The fire crackled softly, its glow casting flickering shadows against the trees. Kael sat with his back against a thick oak, resting his tired limbs as he studied the stolen documents under the dim light. The air smelled of damp earth and burning wood, the deep silence of the forest wrapping around him like a second skin.
It had been three days since he dismantled the Blue Boars' camp. He had moved carefully, putting as much distance between himself and the ruins of the bandit stronghold as possible. Now, in the relative safety of the woods, he could finally examine what he had taken.
He unfolded a worn map, its edges frayed, its surface covered in hastily drawn markings. His eyes scanned the inked symbols—outposts, supply lines, patrol routes—all neatly recorded. Every Wild Boar encampment, from their minor outposts to their main base, was laid out before him.
'This is better than I expected.'
But it was the small card tucked between the papers that truly caught his attention.
The parchment was of finer quality than the rest, the ink deliberate, controlled—written by someone with education. Unlike the crude scrawls of the bandits, this note was precise.
Kael's eyes narrowed as he read:
"The Boars and the Scoia'tael stand united. The balance will tip soon. The kingdoms will fall into chaos, and the south will reclaim what was lost"
His grip on the paper tightened.
The Scoia'tael.
Non-human rebels—fanatics to some—who had fought alongside Nilfgaard during the war, sowing chaos and destruction wherever they passed. After the empire's defeat, they had faded into the shadows, scattered, weakened. Or so it had seemed.
Yet here was proof that they had not vanished.
Instead, they were regrouping. Aligning with the remnants of the Wild Boars, hoping to destabilize Queen Meve's rule.
Kael exhaled slowly, his breath visible in the cold night air.
This was no longer just a bandit problem.
If the Scoia'tael had joined the fray, then this was something far bigger, more dangerous. A war brewing beneath the surface, one that would soon spill over if left unchecked.
Kael leaned his head back against the tree, closing his eyes for a brief moment.
'Looks like I have more work to do'