Vestigia Vindictae

Talio adjusted the straps on his coat, the weight of his various weapons a familiar presence against his back. The mission was simple—eliminate the bandits terrorizing the outskirts of the city. Simple in theory, at least. Experience had taught him that 'simple' never stayed that way.

The camp was tucked away in a valley between two jagged hills, hidden from casual travelers but not from someone who knew where to look. Smoke curled lazily from a central bonfire, the dim orange glow casting flickering shadows against crude wooden barricades. Voices carried over the crisp night air—laughter, drunken chatter, the occasional bark of orders. Sloppy. Overconfident.

Talio crouched behind a boulder, eyes scanning the perimeter. Two sentries patrolled the entrance, their movements sluggish, likely dulled by exhaustion or cheap alcohol. A third leaned against a crate, barely upright, twirling a rusted dagger between his fingers.

Tch. Classic first mistake—assuming no one's coming for you. That's how you end up with a knife in your throat before you even know you're in a fight.

Talio drew a short blade from his belt, its edge glinting in the moonlight. He didn't bother with unnecessary theatrics. His approach was swift, efficient. One moment he was crouched in the shadows, the next he was right behind the first sentry.

Steel bit flesh. A strangled gasp. The bandit's body slumped forward, caught before it could hit the ground. Talio eased him down soundlessly before shifting his attention to the second sentry.

The man turned, eyes widening in confusion, but by the time he registered what was happening, it was already too late. A quick, brutal strike to the throat crushed his windpipe, and as he stumbled backward, clawing at his neck, Talio drove his blade into his heart.

The third bandit, too slow to react, barely had time to cry out before a throwing knife lodged itself in his temple. Silence returned to the camp's outskirts.

Three down. And look at that, he didn't even get his coat dirty. Impressive.

Talio exhaled, rolling his shoulders. The easy part was over. Now for the real work.

The first wave of bandits didn't even see him coming.

Talio weaved through the outskirts of the camp, striking from the shadows. The next group—five of them, seated around a makeshift table—barely had time to register his presence before he was upon them. His blade flashed, carving through the throat of the closest bandit. Blood sprayed across the firelit ground as he shifted to the next target.

A burly man scrambled to his feet, reaching for a club, but Talio was faster. He ducked low, sweeping the man's legs out from under him before driving his blade into his chest. A pained grunt, then silence.

The remaining three reacted with varying levels of competence. One lunged forward with a rusty sword, swinging wildly. Talio sidestepped with ease, pivoting on his heel and delivering a sharp elbow to the man's jaw. Bone cracked, and the bandit reeled backward, dazed.

The second had enough sense to attack from behind, but Talio felt him coming. Without looking, he twisted, catching the bandit's wrist mid-swing and wrenching the blade from his grip. A quick slash across the stomach left him doubled over, gasping for air that would never come.

The last man bolted.

Smartest guy in the bunch. Not that it'll help him.

Talio retrieved another throwing knife, exhaling steadily as he aimed. The weapon flew true, embedding itself between the fleeing bandit's shoulder blades. He collapsed mid-stride, twitching before going still.

The camp was on high alert now. Shouts rang out, boots pounded against the dirt. The element of surprise was gone.

Talio sighed.

"Guess we're doing this the loud way."

Don't worry, Talio. I feel you. I hate stealth missions in games, especially Payday.

He tightened his grip on his weapon and strode forward. The air was thick with the scent of sweat, woodsmoke, and freshly spilled blood. The bandits were scrambling, some still half-drunk, others clutching whatever weapons were within reach—hatchets, rusted swords, even broken table legs. Desperation was already setting in.

The first to charge him was a wiry man with a jagged spear. He thrust forward, fast but reckless. Talio angled his body to the side, letting the spearhead glide past his ribs before snapping his hand up, catching the shaft just below the spearhead. With a sharp twist, he wrenched it from the man's grip and rammed the butt of the weapon into his face. The bandit staggered, nose shattered, and Talio drove the spear through his chest in one smooth motion.

Another opponent came at him, this one wielding twin daggers. Talio barely had time to parry the first strike before the second came slicing toward his side. He twisted away, but the blade nicked his coat, leaving a shallow cut across his ribs. Pain flared, but he pushed it aside. The bandit was fast, but Talio was faster. He switched his grip on his sword, feinted left, then swept his leg low, knocking the man off balance. As the bandit fell, Talio's blade found his throat.

Three more men rushed him at once. A brute with a heavy iron mace swung wide, aiming to crush him in a single blow. Talio ducked, feeling the wind of the strike pass overhead, and lashed out with his free hand, throwing a handful of dirt into the brute's eyes. The bandit roared, momentarily blinded. Talio seized the opening, stepping inside his guard and slamming his knee into the man's gut before finishing him with a clean thrust through the heart.

The other two hesitated for a moment. Mistake. Talio was already moving. He kicked a fallen dagger from the ground into his hand and hurled it at the closest bandit, catching him in the throat. The last one tried to flee, but Talio was on him in seconds, a quick slash opening up his hamstring. The man collapsed with a scream, and Talio silenced him with a decisive strike.

More shouts echoed from deeper in the camp. He could see figures moving through the firelight, shadows twisting as reinforcements gathered.

Talio rolled his shoulders.

They just keep coming.

His pulse was steady, his breath measured. The fight had only just begun.