The moonless night swallowed the Kutsilyo Shadows whole. I stood at the edge of the dense forest, overlooking the main road, the one Grimo's tribute convoy was destined to take. My heart, usually a steady drumbeat, pulsed with a rhythm that wasn't fear, but a cold, sharp anticipation. This wasn't just about disrupting a supply line; this was about severing Grimo's lifeline, pushing him to the brink. When he lost this shipment, his reputation with his syndicate superiors would crumble. And when he retaliated, as I knew he would, it had to be against the wrong target: the mercenaries. My sister, Yui, deserved this, and more. Her gentle spirit, so tragically snuffed out, fueled every calculation, every quiet command.
"They're coming," Lindsy's voice was a mere whisper beside me, a breath of cold air against my ear. She moved like a phantom, utterly silent. "Three wagons. Ten guards, spread thin. Two riders up front, arrogant, not paying attention."
Perfect. I nodded, a silent signal for the others. Asuna, grim and focused, checked the grip on his salvaged axe. Miles, ever-loyal, tightened the leather straps on his improvised sling. Rai, Borin, Thorn, and Gus were already in position along the route, each a silent predator. Kira was a blur, setting the final, almost invisible tripwires.
"Remember the marks," I murmured, my voice low. "Make it clean. Leave their calling card."
Our plan was meticulous, designed for maximum confusion and deniability. We wouldn't engage in prolonged combat. This was an assassination of a convoy, not a battle. We would incapacitate, seize, and vanish, leaving behind subtle clues to incriminate the mercenaries.
The distant torchlights grew brighter, the rumble of crude wooden wheels vibrating through the earth. My breath hitched, a phantom memory of another crash, another world. But this time, I was in control. This time, I was the one pulling the strings.
The lead riders, lulled by the quiet night and their own arrogance, hit the first tripwire. Horses whinnied, men cursed, and the convoy screeched to a halt. That was our cue. From the shadows, Rai, Borin, and Thorn moved with brutal efficiency, their attacks swift, silent blows to the head and neck. The guards fell before they could even draw their swords. Miles and Asuna, like two hungry wolves, overwhelmed the wagon guards, their movements precise, their strikes aimed to stun, not kill. They disarmed them, bound them, and dragged them quickly into the dense undergrowth.
Lindsy, meanwhile, was a whirlwind of calculated mischief. She moved among the incapacitated bandits, subtly placing small, ornate brooches – cheap, distinct designs we had "acquired" from the mercenary barracks through her stealthy reconnaissance. She smeared a bit of the mercenaries' signature black tar (used for their wagon wheels) onto the bandits' clothes. She even left a single, discarded feather from a common, Kutsilyo-native bird near a captured bandit's hand, a bird often trained by one of the mercenary leaders. These were small details, but in a world of whispers and suspicion, they would be enough.
We quickly unloaded the wagons. Gold, weapons, barrels of dried fish, bundles of cloth – the bandits had indeed been collecting a fortune from the villagers. Gus and Kira worked quickly, helping to stash the goods deep in a pre-prepared, camouflaged cave system I had located weeks ago. We'd distribute the food and essential supplies to the villagers in the coming days, just as before, ensuring the "Shadows" remained their unseen benefactors.
Within twenty minutes, the road was clear, the wagons empty, the bandits unconscious and scattered, and not a single trace of our presence remained. Only the small, incriminating details, left like breadcrumbs for a bloodthirsty hound.
It was done. I looked at the empty road, a strange mix of exhilaration and grim satisfaction swirling within me. Yui, this was for you.
The next morning, Kutsilyo erupted. Grimo found his convoy decimated, his men beaten and robbed, and the precious tribute gone. But it wasn't just the loss that enraged him; it was the subtle, undeniable clues. The brooches, the tar, the whispers that had already begun to circulate like wildfire through the marketplace, thanks to Miles and Lindsy.
"It was those mercenary dogs!" Grimo roared, his voice echoing across the central plaza. Villagers huddled, pretending not to listen, but their eyes avidly tracked his furious pacing. "Captain Valerius! He thinks he can steal from me? He thinks he can make Grimo look weak? He'll pay! Every last one of those pompous pigs will pay!"
Grimo immediately sent his most loyal men to confront the mercenaries. I heard the reports from Lindsy, who had a knack for being invisible during the most crucial moments.
"Grimo's men are at the mercenary stronghold by the lake," she whispered to me later that day, her face tight with excitement. "Lots of shouting. Threats. Captain Valerius denies everything, of course. Says Grimo's a blithering idiot. But you can tell he's angry. They all are."
Good, I thought, a cold satisfaction settling in my chest. Let the fire spread.
Miles, meanwhile, worked his magic among the villagers. "Did you hear how professional that ambush was?" he'd ask, his voice casual. "No one saw a thing. Only those mercenary types have that kind of training, don't they? Grimo's just too loud and crude to pull something like that off." The villagers exchanged worried glances. They saw the growing tension between the two powerful factions, and a new, almost imperceptible shift in their desperate calculus. Maybe, just maybe, these monsters would destroy each other.
Over the next few days, the village became a powder keg. Small skirmishes broke out daily. A bandit would bump into a mercenary in the market, insults would fly, and fists, then blades, would follow. Supply routes were suddenly contested. The mercenaries, led by a cunning and ruthless man named Captain Valerius (no relation to Stanley's noble House Valerius, only a shared surname), initially viewed Grimo's accusations with disdain, but the persistent provocations, the blatant accusations, and the consistent losses Grimo was experiencing began to irritate them. They saw a chance to push Grimo out, to consolidate their control over the village and its lucrative lake access.
Inside our hidden base, Stanley, now able to sit up with assistance, listened to our reports with a thoughtful, almost serene expression. His emerald eyes, still tired, held a keen intelligence. "Grimo is predictable," he rasped, his voice gaining strength. "He will lash out wildly when cornered. The mercenaries, however, are precise. They will analyze, wait for an opening, and then strike with overwhelming force. Your plan, Shouyo, has perfectly pushed Grimo into a corner. He will have no choice but to escalate. He's probably already planning his grand retaliation, something to make the mercenaries regret ever stepping foot in Kutsilyo."
I nodded, a grim smile touching my lips. Yes. Let him. That was the point. Let them exhaust each other.
My focus turned to the other two bandit groups. They were smaller, more opportunistic, and largely neutral in the Grimo-mercenary conflict. I needed to ensure they wouldn't side with Grimo when the inevitable clash came. I tasked Lindsy with spreading specific rumors among their ranks, subtle hints that Grimo was becoming too reckless, too dangerous, and that siding with him would only invite the wrath of the more powerful mercenaries.
A week after the tribute ambush, the village held its breath. The air crackled with unspoken threats. Grimo, driven to desperation by the mounting losses and constant taunts from the mercenaries, finally made his move. He called a war council, not with the mercenaries, but with the leaders of the other two bandit groups in Kutsilyo. His message was clear: unite or be crushed. He planned a full-scale assault on the primary mercenary stronghold near the lake, promising a complete rout and control over Kutsilyo's vital trade route. It was a bold, desperate gamble, one that would either shatter Grimo's power or plunge Kutsilyo into open, unbridled warfare. I watched from the shadows as the bandit leaders, grim-faced, gathered. The confrontation I had orchestrated was finally here. The battle lines were drawn. And Kutsilyo was about to become a true battlefield.