Capítulo 8: Crisis In The Dead Of Night [Pt 3]

In his previous life, Liu - or whatever name he went by then - was no seasoned killer, nor a professional assassin.

He never delved into the intricacies of human anatomy or the art of killing, nor was he taught the best ways to ensure his own survival. Everything he knew, he learned through the harsh experiences of a miserable life of perpetual struggle.

Liu had learned how to kill, when to strike, how to hide, and how to fight through trial and error. The list of skills he had acquired went on and on. He was simply a survivor - and more often than not, survival meant getting his hands dirty.

He joined different gangs in the past, committing countless atrocities. He was a child soldier, and as he grew older, he only became more acquainted with the ways of violence. How many lives had he extinguished to become so proficient in the art? He had no idea.

Even in this new world, Liu could not escape his bloody past. Once again, he found himself cornered with the choice of kill or be killed. To live or to die. And, just as he had always done, Liu chose life.

"Haa..." His breath came in short, sharp gasps as he gripped his weapons and blended into the shadows, waiting for his next prey. Liu's eyes glinted with a cold, determined gleam as he surveyed his surroundings, his senses alert for any sign of movement.

The night was his ally, his accomplice. He was a hunter in the darkness, and his prey was ignorant of the danger that lurked in the shadows. The anticipation was intoxicating, the thrill of the hunt coursing through his veins. Liu was a predator, and he was ready to pounce.

"We should be finished by now. Gather everyone here," growled the leader of the Hundred Red Scarf Bandits. Impatience radiated from him as he stood next to a pile of unconscious children his henchmen had brought out.

A bored expression played on his face as he tapped his feet, waiting for the remaining ninety-nine men to assemble. As their leader, he understood their primal desires, but there was only so much he could tolerate. The children had to be taken out of these mountains before they froze to death. The merchandise had to be protected at all costs, after all.

"Let's get this over with. I can't wait to get our payment. Once I have enough..." He allowed himself to ponder the grandiose plans he had in store for himself, something beyond the comprehension of his savage subordinates. "A few more rounds, and I'll finally have enough to buy the Bone Forging Pill. With that, I'll have a sturdy constitution to return to practicing Martial Arts."

He could hardly wait for that moment to arrive. The thought of reaching new heights of strength and power sent shivers of excitement down his spine. But first, he had to complete this mission and secure his fortune.

A couple of minutes ticked by, marked by the sound of hushed whispers and the occasional rustling of leaves. Eventually, the bandits began to gather, drawn together by some unseen force. They knew that their leader would be there, waiting for them - it was the only reason they had come.

As the group coalesced, a sense of relief seemed to wash over them, their expressions softening and their bodies relaxing. For these men, nights like these were a much-needed respite from the violent and dangerous lives they led. It was a chance to indulge in their vices, to let off some steam and escape the constant stress that plagued them.

But their momentary respite was short-lived. The leader's voice broke the stillness, sharp and cutting like a blade. His eyes roamed over the assembled group, taking stock of each man present.

"Hm? Something is wrong," he murmured, his gaze narrowing. "Were you always this few?"

The bandits shifted uneasily, a sense of foreboding creeping over them. They knew that the leader's scrutiny could be deadly. He was not a man to be trifled with.

"Ninety-two? What's the meaning of this? Seven of you are missing!"

Tension spread like wildfire through the group, the missing men a stark reminder of the danger that lurked outside their makeshift encampment.

As they pondered their missing comrades, a figure emerged from the shadows. He charged towards them, causing the bandits to jump in alarm. Their hands went to their weapons, poised to strike.

But before they could act, a familiar voice rang out, dispelling the tension.

"Whoah! Whoah! It's me!" the latecomer shouted, the red bandana on his forehead identifying him as one of their own.

"You're late," the leader rumbled, his deep voice sending shivers down their spines.

The latecomer chuckled nervously, his excuses spilling out in a rush.

"Haha! Sorry leader. I was taking a piss back then, so it took me some time to-"

In an instant, the leader's hand shot out, swift and deadly. It struck the bandit with a resounding thwack, silencing his protests.

>SQUISH<

A sharp object had already punctured his chest, crushing his heart in the process.

"Congratulations. That cost your life," the leader declared, staring at the dying bandit. The man's eyes bulged, blood dripping from his chest, as stifled groans escaped his lips. With a final gasp, he gave up the ghost.

>THUD!<

The lifeless body fell to the ground as the leader removed his bloodied hand from the corpse. The crowd descended into silence, as no one dared to make a sound when the leader was around.

"The rest of you should stay here. I'll go and look for the other six," the leader spoke, his deep voice sounding even heavier for some reason.

The bandits knew better than to utter a word. They only nodded quickly in agreement.

"If any other member returns after I leave, well... I don't need to tell you what to do, do I?" This time, they responded by shaking their heads.

The leader already knew their numbers, and if they dared to accommodate a newcomer, it would increase their sum, thus dooming them all.

'If anyone else arrives, we'll gang up on them and capture them for our leader!' The bandits all thought, knowing there was no honor among thieves, and it was every man for himself. They had to survive in this situation.

"I'll be back soon," the leader announced before his hulking body turned into a silhouette, vanishing into the cold, dark night.

As his bloodlust left the vicinity, a sense of relief overwhelmed the bandits. They felt better the moment he was gone.

"He's going to kill them... the late ones..." Dread filled the bandits as they imagined the fate that would befall their comrades. But even greater was their sense of gratitude that they were still alive.

The bandits breathed a collective sigh of relief, grateful that they weren't among the ones who had chosen their own deaths.

"I actually... want to have a piss," one bandit whispered to another, trembling as he held it in.

The other bandit simply smiled and shook his head. A dripping sound came from underneath him, and the smell of ammonia permeated the air. A twinkle of wisdom reflected in his eyes as he opened his mouth to speak.

"You better follow my lead," he said.

The first bandit nodded in agreement, understanding the unspoken rule of the bandit camp. It was better to blend in and avoid drawing attention to oneself, even when it came to basic bodily functions.

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