Trials Of Life

Chapter 17: The Wolf Stalks The Viper

Lukas hovered in the doorway, a shadow in the dim light of the tavern, his presence unnoticed by the lone bandit. Like a predator stalking its prey, he remained silent, watching the man slouch over the bar, sloppily guzzling from a half-empty bottle. The tavern was in shambles, countless empty flasks scattered across the counter, and the air was thick with the stench of spilled liquor. The balding bandit was humming—a light, almost merry tune—as if the town outside wasn’t a smoldering ruin, its people slaughtered.

The sight ignited a cold fury in Lukas, but he remained composed. Lukas’ grip tightened around the broken bottle in his hand, the jagged edges reflecting the flickering torchlight. With precise calculation, he hurled it through the air. The shard spun, striking a bottle on the counter with a sharp crack. Glass exploded, spraying shards and liquid across the wooden floor. The contents soaked into the tavern’s grime as the bandit jolted upright, his drunken haze snapping to confusion.

“What the hell—?” the man slurred, his voice thick and slow, eyes struggling to focus on the mess in front of him. He blinked blearily, fumbling behind the bar to grab a fallen bottle, his clumsy hands failing to grasp it.

Lukas was already moving. He quickly strode forward, his boots silent on the floorboards, the cold steel of his sword gleaming as he drew it from its sheath. The bandit barely had time to look up before Lukas was already upon him.

"Shit!" the bandit yelped, dropping the bottle in his panic. His eyes went wide as Lukas bore down on him. He reached for his own weapon, but it was too late.

With one precise, merciless swing, Lukas severed the man's hand before it even touched the hilt. Blood sprayed in a violent arc, splattering across the bar and pooling on the floor. The bandit's scream ripped through the tavern, a guttural sound of shock and agony. He staggered backward, collapsing onto the floor, clutching the stump of his arm as blood poured from the wound.

His severed hand lay forgotten on the floor, the fingers twitching as if it still held life. The bandit’s face drained of color, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He stared at his own blood with wide, terrified eyes, his mind struggling to comprehend what had just happened.

Lukas stepped over him with cold indifference, his sword now leveled at the bandit’s throat, inches from his jugular. His blue eyes were cold, devoid of emotion, his voice a low, commanding growl. "Where is the rest of your group?"

The bandit writhed in pain, his body shaking as he tried to squirm away, but Lukas was faster. He stomped down on the man’s leg, the crunch of bone echoing through the tavern. The bandit howled in pain, tears streaming down his face, but Lukas showed no mercy. He leaned in, the blade hovering close enough to nick the man’s skin.

"Your leader," Lukas pressed, his voice flat, devoid of warmth. "Where is he?"

The bandit’s bloodshot eyes darted wildly, filled with terror as he looked up at Lukas. He knew there was no escape—no mercy waiting for him here.

“P-please!” the bandit stammered, his voice trembling as he twisted his face away from the blade, eyes wide with terror. Blood flowed freely from his severed arm as he clutched the stump, his body shaking. “I’m just a nobody!” he yelled, desperation seeping through every word.

“For a nobody, you seemed pretty content drinking yourself to sleep with what’s left of a ravaged town’s liquor supply,” Lukas snarled, his voice sharp as steel. He grabbed the bandit by the collar, yanking him up with a brutal force that sent the man’s head lolling forward. “Look at the mess you’ve made.”

With a cold, deliberate motion, Lukas hurled the bandit into the bar. The man’s body slammed into the bottles, glass exploding in a cascade of shards as they crashed to the floor. He hit the ground with a heavy thud, his body now covered in cuts from the shattered bottles. The floor was slick with blood and alcohol, mixing into a pool around him.

The bandit groaned, his voice weak, barely able to muster the strength to move. His leg and back were riddled with fresh wounds from the broken glass. Lukas advanced on him, unrelenting, his sword once again hovering over the bandit’s throat. “Look at you now,” Lukas said, his voice low and dangerous. “Poor little nobody.”

The bandit’s breath came in ragged gasps, his wide, terrified eyes locked on Lukas’ icy blue stare. His panic deepened. “Y-you… You’ve got the same look…” he muttered, shrinking into himself.

Lukas' brow arched in cold curiosity. “Same look?” His voice was flat, but the threat was apparent. He slammed his boot down on the bandit’s leg with brutal force, the bone snapping beneath the pressure. The bandit’s scream echoed through the tavern, blood spilling from his mouth as he bit down from the pain. Now he had two legs broken. Lukas pressed his foot harder, grinding the man’s leg into the broken glass, twisting the shards into his flesh.

“Explain yourself,” Lukas demanded, his tone cutting through the man’s cries as he lifted his boot off the man’s leg.

“M-mercy! I-I’ll bleed out!” the bandit screamed, his hands trembling as he tried to hold onto his severed limb. The fear was raw now, consuming him.

“If you’re lucky,” Lukas said, a cold smirk flickering across his face. “But I’ve got more plans for you than that.” His tone was mocking, laced with a sinister edge. He watched as the bandit curled into a ball, trembling uncontrollably, his sobs filling the room.

“I don’t want to die!” the bandit cried, his voice breaking, tears mingling with the blood on his face.

Lukas sighed, feeling slightly annoyed, and reached into his pouch, pulling out a small vial. “I’ve got a health potion,” he said, his voice casual as if they were discussing the weather. He dangled it just out of reach, watching the bandit’s eyes widen with desperate hope. “Answer my questions, and I’ll let you have it.”

The bald man, with what remained of his strength, reached out with his one good hand, grasping toward the vial. But before he could touch it, Lukas' boot shot out, slamming into his face. The bandit’s head snapped back, his body crumpling to the ground with a whimper.

“I said after you answer my questions,” Lukas growled, crouching down over him, his cold eyes never leaving the bandit’s face. “Let’s start where we left off. The same look as who? Your boss?”

The bandit’s breath came in shallow gasps as he struggled to keep himself from spiraling into panic. His heart hammered in his chest, his gaze flickering between Lukas and the swirling potion in his hands—his only lifeline. He knew his time was running out. “There was a man… our boss was working with…” he stammered, his voice trembling with fear. “A man he met several months ago.”

Lukas didn’t move, the swirling potion glinting in the dim light, but his eyes never left the bandit, sharp as a predator’s. The man gulped, continuing, his words coming out faster, desperate. “That man… every time someone looked at him… they’d cower. They couldn’t stand to meet his eyes. That look—it’s almost the same as yours…” His voice trailed off as he dared not meet Lukas' gaze, his head lowering in submission.

Lukas’ blue eyes narrowed slightly, but inside, something stirred—a flicker of recognition. Could this be the man he’d been hunting? The same person the civilian described back at the wagons?

The bandit, trembling like a leaf in a storm, continued. “His eyes… no one could really see them under his helmet… but you could always feel them on you… A pair of red eyes would shine through... Intense. Like flames from hell...” The man’s shaking grew worse, his voice cracking under the weight of his memory. “And his armor… black as midnight. Not even light could touch it.”

Lukas’ heart stopped. His blood turned cold as he took in the description. It’s him. The man in black armor, the one who haunted his thoughts, the man he’d been searching for all these years—it was him.

His grip on the sword tightened, and with a sudden, violent motion, he thrust the blade towards the bandit’s throat, the cold steel pressing against his skin once again. Lukas’ voice, for the first time, rose with raw emotion. “Where is that man now?” he demanded, his words carrying the force of thunder.

“E-easy! Please!” The bandit squealed, feeling the blade’s edge press dangerously into his throat, his Adam’s apple bobbing in fear. Sweat poured down his face as he struggled to speak. “I don’t know where he went! He came… and then he disappeared… He left just hours ago!” The bandit clutched his bleeding arm, tears streaking his filthy face as he fought against the agony ripping through him.

Lukas didn’t relent, his blade still at the man’s throat, his eyes piercing through him like ice. “He was working with your boss?” Lukas pressed, his voice low, threatening. “For what?”

The bandit’s face grew paler, his teeth grinding together in pain. He knew he was teetering on the edge of death. “Something… something about a tablet,” he croaked, wincing as a fresh wave of agony surged through his body. “That’s all I know, I swear! He wanted it so bad that he worked with our boss for it. Our boss… he admired him, liked working with him. Together… they attacked the town with some other bandit groups to get it!”

Lukas shook his head, his expression hardening. He knew the man in the black armor—he was too powerful, too relentless. He wouldn’t need anyone to help him tear through a town like this for a mere trinket. There had to be something more. Lukas’ mind raced, his anger simmering beneath the surface.

“Your boss,” Lukas hissed, his voice cutting through the man’s whimpers like a blade, “did he promise future work with him?”

The bandit, now pale and shaking uncontrollably, barely managed to nod, his lips trembling. “Y-yes… he did… said they’d work together again. He said… he wanted to join them for something bigger.” The bandit coughed, blood spilling from his lips. His body continued to tremble violently, his skin slick with sweat as he struggled to stay conscious. “Our boss did some work for them before,” the man rasped, his voice barely a whisper. “That knight… mentioned something about a chosen group… My boss seemed to be interested in it whenever it was mentioned… To be honest, it seemed like it was the only thing he cared about… for the last few months…”

Lukas crouched beside him, watching with cold detachment as the man fought the urge to pass out. He swirled the health potion in his hand, the liquid glinting mockingly in the faint light. “You’re nearly there, Mr. Nobody,” Lukas said, his tone both taunting and chillingly indifferent. “Tell me about your boss.”

The man swallowed hard, his throat dry, the pain becoming unbearable. “His name is… Tristen Nil…” he croaked, his voice faltering. “I don’t know his real name, but… that’s what we call him. Tall… like you. Dark brown hair, messy, with a beard… He’s wanted in over twenty counties… He’s killed several level ten adventurers in the guild…” The words tumbled out between gasps of pain, his body shaking with every effort. He winced, clutching at his severed arm. “Now… p-please…”

Lukas’ icy blue eyes remained fixed on the man’s pale, sweat-drenched face, unblinking, unforgiving. “Where is your little group now?” he asked, his voice a low, measured growl. The health potion dangled in his hand, just out of reach, its promise of relief taunting the bandit’s senses.

“M-mountain…” the bandit whispered hoarsely, his voice barely audible. “Behind the mayor’s manor…” His eyes fluttered as his strength waned, his body threatening to give out at any moment.

Without a word, Lukas tossed the potion onto the floor, the vial rolling across the wooden boards, the sound echoing in the silent tavern. The bandit, driven by desperation, lunged for it, his trembling hand scrabbling at the ground as he seized the bottle with frantic, shaking fingers. His hand was slick with blood and sweat, but he managed to pop the cork, his thumb trembling uncontrollably. He drank greedily, the liquid spilling down his chin as his eyes flickered between hope and terror.

Lukas had already turned his back, walking toward the door with a calculated slowness, his cold voice cutting through the man’s frantic gasps. “You know, I grew suspicious when I saw the bodies in the streets,” he said, his tone void of emotion, as if he were discussing the weather. “Not a single one of them showed any signs of a struggle. No fight at all. Odd, wouldn’t you say? Especially with all those vials of potions scattered around.”

As the last drops of the potion slid down the bandit’s throat, a look of pure horror slowly dawned on his face. The initial relief of drinking the liquid quickly twisted into terror as he realized its true nature. His eyes widened in disbelief, then narrowed in fear as his throat began to tighten, the air around him growing thick and suffocating.

Lukas, with his back still turned from the man, raised a single finger, a cold smile curling at the corners of his lips. “It’s fortunate,” he said, his voice dripping with venomous sarcasm, “that I came across one of these potions from a small boy who lived in this village. I’m sure he’d be... floored... knowing it’s finally being put to good use.”

The bandit’s panic surged as he clawed at his throat, his breaths coming in shallow, strangled gasps. His eyes bulged, the veins in his neck pulsing wildly as the poison took hold. "Y-you—!" he rasped, trying to speak, but the words barely left his lips, his voice reduced to a hoarse whisper. His body trembled violently as he sank to the floor, his hand slipping from the vial he had clung to so desperately moments before.

His head hit the ground with a dull thud, his breathing becoming more erratic, each exhale weaker than the last. His face grew ashen, his lips turning a sickly shade of blue as life ebbed from him, the realization of his impending death stark in his glassy eyes. His body twitched, convulsing in its final moments as the poison did its cruel work.

Lukas didn’t flinch, his ice-blue eyes devoid of pity as he watched the bandit succumb. To him, it was simply another obstacle removed from his path. Without a second glance, he turned his gaze back at the exit and walked toward the door, his expression as cold and unyielding as the storm outside.

The rain greeted him as he stepped back into the early morning, droplets falling heavily, drenching the ruins of the devastated town. The rhythmic patter of the rain was interrupted only by the soft squelch of his boots against the muddy ground, but Lukas paid no mind to the elements.

“I’ve finally found him…” Lukas muttered through gritted teeth, his voice low, simmering with both fury and anticipation. His jaw clenched as a rush of emotions—rage, bitterness, and the weight of his long pursuit—surged through him. “After all this time…”

His eyes, cold as the steel of his blade, locked onto the dark silhouette of the mountain ahead, the peak jagged against the storm-filled sky. There, atop the towering ridge, the remnants of the mayor’s manor lay in ruins, its charred frame barely visible through the heavy rain. The drunken bandit’s words echoed in Lukas’ mind—the mountain, behind the mayor’s manor.

Lukas pressed forward, each step purposeful, his body cutting through the rain as though it weren’t even there. The destruction around him—the bodies, the ruined buildings, the smoldering remains of the once-lively town—barely registered. All that mattered now was the path ahead, the craggy ascent to the top, where answers—and the battle he sought—awaited him.

The distant thunder rolled, and with it, the weight of his mission bore down upon him. Nothing could stand in his way. Not now. Not after all this.