Chapter 290: Blood Banner

Far from the warmth of Cassius’s camp, deep in the shadows of the dense forest, there was another fire crackling faintly.

Its dull glow barely lit the faces of the men gathered around it, faces scarred and twisted, with sharp, hungry eyes and crooked grins that seemed to hold no shred of kindness.

Their armor was mismatched, their clothes tattered and stained, and the jagged weapons strapped to their sides only added to their air of danger.

These were not travelers or hunters. These were horrible people, bandits who reeked of malice.

Their leader stood apart from them, higher than the rest, balancing himself atop a moss-covered boulder. The flickering torchlight cast long, sharp shadows across his gaunt face, accentuating the evil in his smirk as he peered through a crude brass spyglass.

Through the glass, he spied Cassius’s camp in the distance, a neat setup with tents glowing warmly from within.

But it wasn’t the tents that had his attention. It was the movement of three figures inside, faint and feminine, their delicate outlines dancing like firelit silhouettes.

The leader’s thin lips curled into a lecherous grin.

"Well, well, well...What do we have here?" He muttered, his voice low and raspy with delight. "Three fine ladies, all alone in the woods..." He chuckled darkly. "And guarded by what? A scrawny little brat playing soldier?"

Lowering the spyglass, he turned to his right where one of his men stood, short with a rat-like face and eyes that darted nervously even now.

The leader clapped him roughly on the shoulder. "Good job, good job." He said, his tone dripping with oily praise. "You did well to point this out to me."

The bandit’s subordinate flashed a sleazy grin, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Not at all, boss, not at all. Wasn’t even trying. I was just out hunting rabbits ’cause the boys wouldn’t shut up about being hungry. Then I suddenly saw a massive bird that I had never even seen before which even had a wolf-like tail behind it flying overhead, so I followed ’em...and would you know it? I spotted their camp, just sitting there like ripe fruit on a branch."

He licked his cracked lips, his expression turning even filthier.

"Three beautiful birds, and one scrawny little crow. The moment I saw ’em, I knew I had to report back. I figured you’d...like it."

"Like it?" The leader barked with a laugh, throwing his head back. "I love it!" His laughter was loud and grating, echoing off the trees around them like a warning bell of impending doom.

"For days now we’ve been rotting in these woods, waiting for some fat merchant to stroll through so we could bleed him dry. And nothing, nothing has come our way." His grin twisted, his teeth flashing like a predator baring its fangs. "I’ve been starving for more than just food. Haven’t touched a woman in weeks. The thought alone has been driving me mad."

He then turned back toward the glow of Cassius’s camp in the far distance. His eyes gleamed with a vile hunger.

"But now...now the gods smile on us. Three fine little doves, trapped in their cozy little nest." He clenched his fists and growled. "Hehe...I’ll tear the feathers off ’em myself."

Behind him, his men snickered and muttered darkly, their faces lighting up with anticipation. Their voices overlapped, all brimming with the same wicked energy:

"Boss, save some fun for us, yeah?"

"After you’re done, we’ll take our turns..."

"Three beauties and a brat, sounds like a feast!"

The leader raised a hand for silence, and the group quieted instantly. "Don’t worry, boys." He said with a cruel smile. "Once I’m done having my fill, you animals can have the scraps. But remember..." His eyes gleamed, sharp and cold. "I get first pick."

The men erupted into jeers and cheers, pounding their fists into their palms and rattling their weapons in excitement. The sound alone was enough to make the air feel heavier, darker, as if the forest itself recoiled from the evil brewing among them.

The leader then turned back toward the distant camp, lifting his spyglass one last time. The faint silhouettes of the women moved inside, laughing and lively, oblivious to the eyes that lingered on them.

His lips parted into a whisper, dripping with venom and lust.

"Enjoy your little slumber party while it lasts...because tonight..." His grin widened. "The real fun begins."

But just as he uttered those words something had changed. The boy, the feeble looking one who had been sitting by the flames moments ago, was gone.

"Huh?" The leader muttered, pulling the spyglass away from his eye. He adjusted it again, scanning the tents and the firelight. "Where the hell did that little runt go?"

"Maybe he went to take a piss or somethin’, boss." The rat-faced subordinate said with a sly grin, scratching at his greasy stubble.

The leader snorted. "Piss? Yeah, of course. Probably too scared to hold it in any longer, eh?"

He chuckled darkly, handing the spyglass down to the subordinate and stretching his arms lazily. Then his voice took on a mocking tone as he started strutting back and forth atop the stone.

"But seriously, what’s that brat even thinking? Three beauties in his tent and he’s out there freezing his balls off by the fire like a fool. If it were me..." He grinned, licking his chapped lips. "I wouldn’t have waited a second. I’d have gone in there and ravaged every last one of them before the night was over."

The subordinate barked a laugh. "Hah! Damn right. That kid’s got no balls. And what the hell was he even doing earlier, sharpening bamboo poles like a madman?"

"Sharpening bamboo poles?" The leader repeated, raising a brow. Then he snorted and shook his head. "Bah! He’s probably just crazy. What else do you expect from a boy too dumb to enjoy what’s right in front of him?"

"...Let him play with his sticks. It’ll make breaking him later even more satisfying."

At that, a murmur of approval rippled through the men gathered around the fire. A few raised their mugs, sloshing cheap ale over the rims as they cheered.

"So, boss." One of the younger thugs asked eagerly. "You want us to kill him first? Make it quick and clean?"

The leader’s grin twisted unnaturally wide, his yellowed, cracked teeth catching the firelight like some foul predator.

"Kill him?" He hissed, his voice low and rasping. "Hah...no, no, no. That’d be too kind. Too boring. Where’s the sport in spilling his blood so quick?"

He leaned forward, his greasy hair hanging in clumps around his face, and spat into the dirt. His eyes gleamed with sadistic delight as his tone dropped to a guttural whisper.

"That boy’s close to those women, clingy, protective, like a little pup yapping for its mother. Wouldn’t it be sweeter to make him watch while we take them?"

"Strip them bare. Hear their shrieks while we pass them around like wine cups. Break his spirit first...grind it into the mud before we crush his skull."

The other men erupted into cruel, animalistic laughter, high and sharp. One slammed his fist against a log, splinters flying as he howled with delight.

"Gods, yes!" He barked, eyes wild. "Let’s make him watch every second while we ruin them, watch their eyes go hollow, their voices crack and shatter."

"...I wanna hear him scream for us to stop, beg us to kill him, while we keep going and going!"

Another man licked his chapped, bleeding lips with a snakelike tongue, his face twisted into a disgusting leer.

"Can’t wait to feel them fight, then go limp. Their tears, their sobs...we’ll drink it all in. And him? He’ll break like rotten wood. That’s the fun part."

A third leaned forward, chuckling in a guttural tone that turned into a wheeze. "By the end, he won’t even be human anymore, just a hollow husk. Then we’ll slit his throat and toss what’s left in the dirt."

Their laughter rose again, foul and guttural, echoing in the night like the howling of feral beasts circling their prey.

But their laughter died down when the leader frowned, suddenly thoughtful.

"Wait...Where’s the scout I sent earlier? He should’ve been back by now to report if there were any other dangers nearby."

The rat-faced subordinate shrugged. "Ah, he’ll be back in a sec. Probably taking a shit or—"

"You don’t have to look for him." A voice interrupted suddenly out of nowhere.

It was quiet at first, almost like the whisper of the wind, but it carried an eerie weight that silenced every man around the fire.

"He’s already back..."

The leader froze mid-step, his skin prickling. That voice didn’t come from one of his men. It was soft, calm...almost too calm for the chilling coldness it carried.

"...Right here with me or more like ’hanging’ with me."

The forest seemed to hold its breath as every head turned, searching for the source. Then, from the dense brush at the edge of their firelight, someone stepped forward.

A boy.

Pale-skinned, almost ghostly under the moonlight. His black hair framed his delicate face, and his crimson eyes glimmered faintly in the shadows.

It was the same boy from the distant camp. The one they had mocked for being small, for being weak.

At first glance, he looked harmless, fragile even, his expression blank and almost childlike as he emerged from the bushes.

The leader felt a laugh bubbling in his chest. "Well, well...look who came to us." He smirked, raising a hand to still his confused men. "I was wondering where you scurried off to, boy. So, you’re here to get yourself killed, eh? Brave little boy aren’t yo—"

But the laugh caught in his throat before it could escape.

Because as the boy stepped fully into the firelight, the leader finally saw what he was carrying, and the sight twisted every man’s stomach into knots.

In his left hand, he gripped a thick bundle of sharpened bamboo poles, at least fifteen of them bound together tightly.

The sheer weight and size of the bundle was unnerving enough, but it was the single pole that he was holding in his right hand that froze the blood in their veins and turned their grins into silent, gaping horror.

There, slung high like a war banner, was their missing scout.

Or...what used to be him.

The unfortunate man had been impaled from the base of his spine up through his torso, the sharpened bamboo tearing through his organs and forcing its way up his throat.

The skewer jutted grotesquely from his gaping mouth, the splintered tip stained crimson and dotted with dangling shreds of flesh. Blood oozed steadily down the length of the pole, thick and syrupy, pooling in sticky puddles that gleamed black in the firelight.

His body had contorted horribly around the shaft, ribs cracked wide and jutting like broken branches, one arm twisted backward at an impossible angle as though he had tried to claw the spike free in his final, desperate moments.

His jaw also hung slack, teeth clinking faintly as the skewer shifted, and his bulging eyes, cloudy and bloodshot, stared blankly ahead, forever frozen in a rictus of agony and terror.

The boy, no...this thing, held him aloft casually, one-handed, as if the mutilated corpse weighed nothing.

Blood dripped from the bamboo’s point in slow, fat drops, spattering the dirt in rhythmic splashes. But he still swung it lazily, almost mockingly, like a grotesque banner heralding death itself.