The hall buzzes with life, torchlight flickering against rough stone walls. The long tables are already packed, wood groaning under the weight of trenchers piled with thick cuts of steaming meat, greasy legs of mutton, pork, loaves of coarse brown bread, pitchers of ale. The scent is thick, inviting and my stomach clenches tight.

  Brigands have already begun feasting. By my count, more than a hundred pack the long tables, tearing into bread and meat like starving dogs. We from Yurik's gang linger near the entrance, our stomachs growling, watching with overt hunger. Bran, grinning wide, steps forward, waving us over.

  "Bet yer glad you din't arrive late, eh boys? Yer just in time for the feast!"

  He lifts a slab of dripping meat from a trencher and tosses it at a passing cutthroat, who catches it with both hands and tears a chunk free with yellowed teeth.

  "Got our hands on a fat caravan yesterday," Bran continues, sweeping his arm toward the tables like a lord inviting his guests. "Lots of fresh meat. Gotta eat it quick 'fore it turns. So find yer arses a seat and get stuck in!"

  Around me, the brigands surge forward without hesitation, crowding the benches. Elbows shove, boots stomp. Laughter rises, crude and rough.

  I spot Luna, already among the brigands, into a spot halfway down the furthest table, and the three of us hustle after her before everything fills up.

  We squeeze in hard, the press of bodies so tight it’s almost painful. Luna grunts under her breath, glaring at William as he elbows her accidentally. He grins back, shameless.

  I tear a hunk of bread from a passing basket and grab a slab of pork with my bare hands, biting into the greasy flesh. It’s good. Salty, heavy. A flavor that clings to the tongue. The bread’s tough, but warm, and I wash it down with a gulp of rough ale that burns the throat but leaves a warmth in the gut.

  At the head of the hall, on a raised dais above the tables, Yurik and Bran settle into heavy chairs beside four other men. They lounge at ease, plates piled high, pitchers at hand. Cut from a different cloth than the rest of the filth that pack these benches.

  One I recognize, sitting on the left side of the table, looming over the rest. Brother Two.

  Beside him is a thin, hunched figure clad in ragged black robes, the hood drawn low over his face. Maldor, I assume.

  Yurik and Bran sit to the right, while the two men positioned at the center, remain strangers to me.

  One of them rises. The room seems to quiet without being asked, voices dying to a low murmur.

  The man is short but wide-shouldered, with thick arms half-visible under a battered black coat. His hair is a rough-cut brown going grey at the temples and his face is plain, but with sharp eyes, scanning the room like a butcher eyeing up the next pig to his table.

  So that's him... Edric, the Butcher.

  He raises one hand, silencing the room entirely. Then, his voice comes rolling over the hall, course but powerful.

  "Eat well, lads. You've earned it."

  He lets the words hang, watching the crowd.

  "The raid on Ravencroft," he continues, placing his hands on the table in front of him, "filled our coffers like never before. Fat merchants. Soft townsfolk. They lined their streets with silver, and we took it all."

  A cheer rises from the tables, fists pounding wood.

  He smiles thinly, letting them roar a moment before raising his hand again.

  "Aye," he says. "We lost our old den to Edwin's retribution. Burnt to cinders. Lost some good men with it."

  The noise dims, a few heads bowing.

  "But we won’t let that keep us down, will we lads?” Edric pauses and the brigands let out a raucous cheer.

  “No! We come back bigger!” A second roar erupts.

  “Stronger!” They raise their mugs.

  “More ravenous!!!” The hall shakes as boots stomp the ground, the brigands cheering for their leader.

  Edric gestures wide to the stone hall. “Just look at our new home. Fort Gaellin, a bastion against demons and fae alike, according to the legends. Now under our control, thanks to our good friend Maldor.”

  He grips the shoulder of the hooded man beside him, shaking the thin man roughly. "It will serve as the foundation for our future glory."

  Another cheer. Louder this time. Men banging mugs against tables, some standing to shout.

  He waits again, then his voice drops low and hungry.

  "We ain't done. Not by half. No, lads.” His voice turns low, dangerous, and the hall falls into a hush.

  “You know what I see, looking out at the world? Fat lords on high seats, gorging themselves while the folk who sweat for every crumb go hungry. They take your labour, your blood, your sons, and what do they give in return?”

  The brigands wait eagerly, lapping up the man's words.

  "NOTHING!" Edric roars, slamming a fist on the table. The men snarl in with him, rumbling together like a storm.

  “They call us brigands!” Edric roars, and the men erupt in boos.

  “Bandits!” The crowd growls their anger.

  “Thieves!” The fury in the room swells, a tide of righteous outrage echoing his every word.

  "NO. THEY ARE THE THIEVES!!!"

  Edric kicks over his table, the piled up food scattering across the floor. “They steal from you with taxes and chains, while we take only what we must to live..”

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  The hall quiets again. Every eye fixed on him.

  “No more. The Bleeding Knives will no longer call ourselves brigands. For that is not what we are.”

  Murmurs of confusion ripples through the hall.

  “From this day forward, we are a warband.”

  He points to the crowd, fierce.

  “You are my soldiers.”

  He slams his fist to his chest.

  “I am your warlord.”

  Then, throwing his arms wide, “And from this fort, our bastion, we will rise. We will gather strength. And we will conquer this region!”

  He steps forward, voice booming.

  “ARE YOU WITH ME MY BROTHERS!?"

  The hall erupts in wild cheers, fists pumping the air, mugs smashing together, boots pounding the ground in a riot of approval. Even I feel it swell in my chest, the raw heat of it, almost swept away by the tide of their fervor.

  I see it.... why people follow him....

  Edric runs a hand through his hair, calming himself.

  "So tonight.... eat. Drink. Break some teeth if you like. But come sunrise, you’ll need all your strength."

  He drops into his seat without ceremony, and within moments, two brigands scramble to right the overturned table, clearing the mess and setting fresh food before him and his lieutenants. The roar of the hall carries on, undiminished, a frenzy of loyalty and bloodlust echoing long after he's seated.

  And so the feast continues. Plates clatter, mugs slam together. Brigands wrestle and punch, some tumbling from benches in laughter and blood both. Fights break out at random, short and savage, but no one seems to mind. A brutal, savage sort, but they know how to enjoy themselves.

  I find Luna again, alone, pulling her mask down just an inch to shove some food through.

  Stepping beside her, I lower my voice. "You alright? Where did you go?"

  She shrugs. "Fine. Ran into another gang of them," she says nodding to a group of brigands that were here before we arrived. "Said to hurry or I'd miss the feast. So, I followed them here."

  She looks over at me. "Was Yurik mad?"

  I nod. "Yeah. But I told him you were a eunuch and didn’t want to show your scars. Seemed to calm him a little."

  She pauses mid-bite, staring at me. Then she huffs, almost a laugh, and nudges me with her shoulder.

  "Disgusting, but good thinking. And thanks."

  Before I can reply, a pair of hands slap down onto our shoulders, making us both tense instinctively.

  A smooth, accented voice chuckles above us.

  "Little Luna," the voice says with mocking humor. "Showing gratitude? A rare sight."

  We glance up.

  Sharp eyes, angled features, black hair…

  It's Ren. He smiles just slightly, looking us both over with interest.

  Luna's eyes go wide. Shock, relief, uncertainty flickering across her face. Then her expression twists; she leans in and whispers furiously, "You left me.”

  He chuckles and sits beside us.

  "Time alone is good for the soul," he says smoothly. "You wouldn't want to become too dependent on me, would you?"

  She glares at him, her mouth a tight line, but after a moment, she looks away.

  He tears a piece of bread free and eats with small bites.

  I lean closer, "How did you find this place? Did you get recruited too?"

  He smiles, tilting his head as though to ponder the question. "In a sense. Every brigand I met, I killed," he says. "They sent more and more, until at last, one knew of this place. It was he, that brought me."

  He tears off another small piece of bread. "When I arrived, I offered my services, my skills. They were most welcoming to the prospect."

  I stare at him, incredulous. "You're insane. You're in the heart of their den now, they'll cut your throat first chance they get."

  He just laughs again, louder. "They're welcome to try."

  I glance around, well over a hundred brigands surround us, feasting and brawling.

  He's mad.

  He stops eating, his gaze sharpening. "I have marked far greater prey." he murmurs, nodding subtly toward the figures at Edric's table. His eyes locked on the pair at the far end. Two and Maldor.

  Ren smirks dangerously.

  "Fate has been kind to me," he says, his voice low. "One fish I came to catch. Two now swim into my net."

  He chuckles quietly, eyes gleaming with predatory delight.

  "Very kind indeed…."

  The feast winds down into a haze of drunken laughter and snoring. We're shown through the cracked halls to the barracks, if they could even be called that. Old, mouldy bedrolls lie scattered across the floor, abandoned relics of whatever garrison once manned this fort. Most of the brigands are already passed out atop them, reeking of sweat, ale, and old smoke.

  Luna, Ren, and I take the chance to explore the courtyard beneath the chill night sky. A few brigands are here too, most puking into the snow, others geared up and patrolling, we keep our distance from all.

  Ren pauses mid-stride, gazing up at the towering black stone walls. I follow his gaze.

  The towers loom above us, their tops scorched and twisted as if melted by fire. Jagged cracks run through the stone, whole chunks missing in places, but the scale of them still commands awe. Intricate carvings are still visible beneath the damage and hint at the craftsmanship that once shaped them. Even ruined, they hold a grim majesty.

  "Impressive," he murmurs. "It must have been quite a sight in its prime."

  Luna snorts. "Now ruled by filthy brigand curs."

  Ren ignores her, seemingly quite taken by the structure. "I’ve heard tales, told by the men here. A mighty fortress once. Said to have been fought over by Fae, Demon, and man alike."

  "Why?" I ask.

  He shrugs. "Never heard that part of the tale. Just that in the end, men won. As we always do."

  He turns back to Luna, hesitantly taking his eyes off the stone walls. "So... now that you've returned to me. What do you plan to do?"

  Luna opens her mouth to answer, but spots Hamza and William stepping into the courtyard. William's pace quickens when he sees us, but he halts mid-step as his eyes land on Ren.

  "Who's he?" he asks in a low voice.

  Trying to keep introductions short, I explain, "Ren. The fourth member Edwin mentioned, the one that was supposed to meet us in Redwick."

  William blinks, then shrugs. "Oh. Good meetin' you. Name's William, this here is Hamza."

  Ren inclines his head politely. "My apologies for our delayed meeting."

  William shrugs. "Well, we all made it in the end," he says, then leans in close to the rest of us, lowering his voice.

  "And now that we're here.... it's time to hightail it. We've found their den, we can go back to Ravencroft, tell the Mayor, and let him deal with this lot."

  Hamza nods, face grim. "Yes. These monsters... forming a warband…? No, it cannot be allowed. Their time is come. At last, retribution shall find them."

  Seeing Luna and I nod, William claps his hands together. "Alright, we agreed then? We leave."

  Before anyone can answer, Ren interjects smoothly, "Not so easy, I fear."

  We glance at him and he gestures to the end of the courtyard. "The gates to the fort are closed, barred and guarded. Archers man the walls. There is no leaving. Not unless they have chosen to let you out."

  William mutters under his breath, "Bastard. Never a clean way forward, is there?"

  Luna looks to Ren, her voice cold. "Assassinate the guards on the walls. Open the gates for us."

  William snorts, shaking his head. "Oi, that's a tall order for one man, don't you reckon? He’s not a wizard."

  Ren only smirks, tilting his head. "Well said. Besides, I have no intention of leaving my marks unattended."

  Crossing her arms, Luna glares. "Then let's hurry up and tend to them. We'll do it tonight, while they sleep."

  Tend.... to Two?

  ...He doesn't understand, I better stop him.

  Before I can interject, Ren closes his eyes and shakes his head. "Now is not the time to challenge such foes," he says to himself as much as to Luna. "A hunter must have patience, when stalking the finest prey."

  Luna scoffs, brow furrowing in frustration, but she says nothing.

  I still don't understand him.

  Ren sweeps his gaze over the four of us. "I will remain here. But the rest of you should follow through with the plan devised. Bring the mayors men down upon these brigands. I will provide aid from within."

  William frowns. "But how do we get out? If you spoke true, we’re stuck."

  I cut in. "The gates won’t stay locked forever. These brigands don’t sit idle, we’ll be sent out to work soon enough. That’s when we make our move. Slip away when no one’s watching."

  Ren nods in approval. "A good suggestion."

  While Luna, arms still crossed, mutters, "Fine."

  "Great," William says, sighing in relief. "So we know our next steps at least. Let’s get some sleep, I'm knackered."

  We all nod in agreement and make our way back to the barracks. Each of us finds a bedroll among the mouldy remains.

  Exhaustion seeps in fast, but thoughts turn behind our tired eyes, anticipation swirling in our chests for whatever the next day might bring.