A Fairly Reasonable Crashout (RWBY Adam SI) ch 30

+++

Being merciless to bandits was just a given, really.

These motherfuckers were actual parasites that preyed on their fellow people in a deathworld. Sure, one can argue that desperation can fuel a man to do the most dangerous things but does that really excuse brutality?

Nah.

Such thoughts were in my mind as my men went ahead, gathering the bodies. It was bloody work, but efficient. I returned my sword to its sheathe, glancing around as some of the villagers went to loot the bodies, others walked off into where the bandits had walked form, a small tower at the end of town. Malik walked up to me, his pace quick.

"Taurus, send some of your men with them," he urged me. "The bandits had taken some women and the town's treasures there. There might be some bandits remaining, you know?"

"I'll go with them," I volunteered. I turned to Sienna who was wiping away the blood on her whip. "Sienna, prepare the town. Grimm might come by."

​She grunted and turned, barking orders at the others. I swivelled for the villagers heading for the tower.

Catania did not look too different from Cius, only a little bit smaller and with a ancient looking tower by the end of the town. In more ancient times, such places served both as a look out and a fortification. In most cases, it was the most obvious place for any occupying force to sit in.

"Good job on the groundwork, Malik," I made sure to praise him.

"It helped that travelling merchants spread stories about you, that and these people were desperate to throw off the bandits," Malik said, spitting on the floor. "Who knew that kidnapping the local women and being an asswipe was such an unpopular thing to do?"

​I snorted as our group came before the base of the tower. Surrounding it was a small moat and some high walls. And it was still manned, judging the speed of the defenders shutting the gates and rising to the walls, rifles in hand. The villagers cowered, going for cover, and Malik fell on one knee, ready to fire upon the degenerates.

My sword flashed up, a low hum building in the hilt—then thunder. A red wave screamed from the blade, blasting the gate apart in a teeth-rattling crack that sent iron bolts whistling into the walls like darts. Screams spilled through the jagged hole, smoke curling behind the splinters. The villagers surged after me, weapons in hand. Cries of mercy came from the fallen bandits but those cries were ignored, courtesy to a knife to their throats. A quick cry of fear came from somewhere and I saw a villager right about to stab a bandit to death.

​I turned away, ignoring it happen as I went into searching. Malik appeared right next to me, jezail slung over his shoulder. His eyes were on the violence around. "Passionate," he remarked.

"I understand why," I clicked my tongue. "Now, let's clean up here."

By the end of it, the bandits of Catania were dead. The tower was secured and the girls inside rescued. The less said about their state, the better.

We gathered in the Town Hall afterward. I sat in a chair, my sword resting against me like a cane. Malik was on my left, Sienna on my right. A deputation of villagers approached, led by an old man leaning on a gnarled staff. His face was lined with grief and exhaustion, but his voice was steady.

"Thank you, warriors. You've done more for us in a day than we could've hoped for in weeks." He exhaled deeply, the weight of his words palpable. "The bandits came just over a month ago. At first, they demanded food and shelter. Then Lien. It wasn't long before they began taking what they wanted—people, livestock, anything of value. Even my granddaughter..." His voice cracked, and he paused, gripping his staff tighter. "She was among the women you rescued. For that, you have my eternal gratitude."

I nodded solemnly but kept my silence. Gratitude was fine, but there was more to address here.

"I am aware that the degenerates here were part of a bigger network," I rumbled. "What can you tell me about them?"

"Danilo's brother, Armatole Klepht, he is the organizer of a larger network of bandits," he replied. "When they find out what's happened here, they'll come for us. They always do." His eyes met mine, desperate and searching. "What's your plan, sir? What will you do?"

I raised a hand. "You can call me Adam, headman. I am not a sir, I worked for a living,"

A round of chuckles were shared. I continued. "As for the incoming bandits, we fight them."

The villagers murmured among themselves, uneasy. One of them—a wiry man with a blacksmith's build—stepped forward and spoke up. "Fight them? You saw us earlier. We're not warriors. We're farmers, craftsmen, merchants. We can't fight."

"That's fine," I said, my voice calm but firm. "I don't need you to fight. I need your help in other ways."

The murmuring quieted, though the tension in the room remained thick. The old man frowned, his expression wary. "And what kind of help would that be?"

"We'll need supplies—food, water, materials. We'll need places to prepare and rest. And when the time comes, I'll need you to keep your heads down and stay out of the way. Leave the fighting to us."

The room fell silent. The villagers exchanged nervous glances, whispers passing between them. Finally, the old man spoke again, his voice cautious. "You speak of fighting and protecting us. But how do we know you won't become like them? What's to stop you from taking over this town for yourself?"

I met his gaze, my expression hard. "The goal of this expedition is to cleanse not just Catania but the whole of Dragon's Point of degenerates and the old world. Now, we start here, but soon enough, we will be moving forward to the next town."

The old man stared at me for a long moment, his eyes searching mine. Finally, he nodded, though the wariness didn't leave his face entirely. "Very well. We'll help you. But if you betray us, then damn your family and all sixteen generations of it. Future and past."

I smiled toothily. "Noted. Now, prepare yourselves. When the rest of the bandits come, we must be ready. Headman, I must ask you to stay. I have some questions."

The old man stayed. I turned to Sienna. "Sienna, a map please."

She produced it and walked up, planting it on a nearby table. I stood up, hovering next to it. The headman approached, looking down at it. "What am I supposed to be looking for?" he asked.

"What can you tell us about the local geography? Where will the rest of the bandits come from?" I asked.

He peered. "Oh, they will come from the north. There is an old Legionnaire fort a good distance away," he remarked, pointing at a location three kilometers away. "Castle Onammron is a five hour walk from here to there."

"Do they have any aura users?" I asked again. That would determine how well we were going to fight.

"Klepht is one. And a few of his lieutenants I think," the headman replied. "I have only ever seen some of his lieutenants. Klepht, not once."

If you were a small town and the big boss of a bandit group visited, that bode badly for the town's health.

"Thank the gods you didn't," I remarked.

"Eh? Then what was Danilo? He wasn't an aura user," Sienna pointed out.

"The reputation of his brother protected him," the headman said, scratching his chin. "Saw no real reason to activate his aura."

"That's..." I faltered.

"Stupid," Sienna finished.

The headman shrugged. "I do not handle their family affairs."

"Fair enough, I shrugged."

And so I glanced at the map again. Five hours away from us. Numerous but with mismatched weaponry, but they had an unknown number of aura users. On one hand, we had a platoon's worth of militia. Small but with their own weapons and motivated. Plus three aura users.

"What can you tell us about Klepht's personality?" Sienna asked, tilting her head.

"He is illusive, for one. We have never seen him, as I have said," the headman reported.

She hummed, then turned to me. "If he allowed the degenerate you took to do as he pleased for so long, I feel he loves the man as a sibling does. If he hears what happens here, he would be rushing, don't you think?"

"That's a plausible assumption," Malik offered. "But you don't become leader of a big gang by being impatient and passionate. The amount of work to pull of convincing people to surrender to your power despite having poor weapons? That takes some patience, you know?"

"If my brother died at the hands of people I consider my punch-bags, I would be a bit unreasonable," Sienna bit back. "And a man of his stature must respond. If he lets this off the hook, people will start fearing him less."

I processed both their words. Both weren't wrong.

"What is the field in front of us like? The roads?" I turned to the headman.

"Grassy, mostly. There is a single road ahead but it's poorly maintained."

Oh.

"Do you have any dust? Water dust, for example?" I asked.

"Water dust...?" The headman asked. Then, he shook his head. "No, we do not have much dust, Mister Adam. The dust we do use, we have enough for our uses."

"A pity," I clicked my tongue, turning back to the map.

"Why? What were you planning?" Sienna asked.

"As there are glassy plains in front of us, I thought to use the water dust to turn it into a muddy field. While the bandits try to advance, they get slowed down by the mud and that would be enough time for us to take care of them."

​Sienna's eyes glinted with understanding. "Ah. That sounds unpleasant, Taurus."

"For them anyway," I scoffed. "It would be great to dig trenches or traps perhaps, level the playing field a little bit. Not for the aura users but for the ones without."

​It was then, the headman clicked his fingers. "Ah, I remember!"

He then pointed northwards. "The road ahead is grassy but to the left are hills. On it is a lumber yard. Abandoned by you got much trees there all stacked together like. Maybe you could roll it down the hill when they come?"

​I stared at him.

"How big are these logs?"

​"Very," he replied.

​A plan formed in my mind.

+++

The brazier snapped and hissed, embers rising into the dim, smoke-scented air. Klepht sat in silence, one hand draped loosely over the armrest, the other clutching the scout's report. The chamber was round, the low ceiling pressing down on rough-cut stone walls. It was a room built not for comfort, but for decisions.

The parchment in his hand was stained—sweat, maybe blood—and softened at the edges from rough handling. The handwriting was hurried but clear enough to parse:

Catania is lost.

The tower destroyed.

Danilo dead.

Killed by a group led by an aura user named 'Adam.'

Locals rallied. Defensive works under construction. Town stable. Morale high.

Klepht read it twice, his eyes lingering on the last line.

Slowly, deliberately, he leaned back in his chair, careful as though a sudden movement might break the fragile coil of thought forming behind his eyes. He had always known it was only a matter of time before Danilo got himself killed. To be a good bandit, you didn't act like a cheap villain. You worked in shadows—nudges, threats, control.

Danilo hadn't understood that.

Klepht exhaled through his nose, the corners of his mouth tightening. He could only be thankful their mother hadn't lived long enough to see her darling boy killed like a dog in the dirt.

The scout stood motionless before him, head bowed, legs trembling from exhaustion and the weight of the room.

Klepht didn't look at him. He stared at the parchment a moment longer, then placed it on the table between them. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, calm, but stretched taut—like water held behind a dam.

"Did you see him? This 'Adam.'"

"Only from a distance," the scout replied, his voice hoarse. "Tall. Carried himself like a soldier. The locals treated him like a leader, not a raider. They were organizing fast—barricades on the roads, patrols in the alleys. Armed villagers. Aura users moving openly."

Klepht's fingers tapped the armrest rhythmically.

"Any colors? Uniforms?"

"None that I saw. No banners either."

So, not a warlord. Not yet.

He rubbed the bridge of his nose, the scar under his left eye itching—a habit he'd never quite broken, one that surfaced only when something gnawed at him.

Finally, he stood.

The sound of his boots against stone was soft, deliberate, as he crossed to the map pinned to the far wall. Its edges were worn, the surface riddled with pins marking towns, roads, and garrisons. He didn't need to study it—he already knew every detail by heart.

Most of his forces were scattered. To the east, they held the grain routes near Syros. To the south, they controlled the river crossings. Here in Onammron, his numbers were thin. Too thin to mount a proper retaliation without leaving the edges vulnerable.

His gaze settled on the pin marking Catania. He touched it lightly with two fingers.

"Pulling everything back for revenge would be stupid," he muttered. "And I am not my idiot brother."

The scout hesitated, then cleared his throat. "What do you want to do?"

Klepht turned, his expression unreadable.

"Nothing yet. Not directly. We send another scout—south side this time. Someone who won't be noticed. I want to know if Adam's staying put. How many aura users he really has. How often they patrol. Where they sleep."

"And the other towns?" the scout asked cautiously. "They'll hear about this."

Klepht scoffed. "And what will they do? Rise up when my forces are already in their homes? No, they won't copy Catania just because they think they've won. They'll expect me to pull back my men to punish the place."

The scout hesitated. "But if you won't punish them—"

"Oh, I will," Klepht interrupted sharply. "Just not now. Not immediately. I don't have enough information, and I'm not leaving this place exposed. We'll bide our time."

He turned back to the map, his fingers tracing the roads leading to Catania.

"Have the lieutenants gather a force. Not the whole army—just enough for a raid. Once we're ready, Catania will burn."

+++

The tower's upper level had been cleared out. Mostly. Ash still clung stubbornly to the corners, and scorch marks spiderwebbed across the cracked ceiling, remnants of where the last of the bandits had made their final stand. Now, it was a lookout. Adam's perch.

He stood with his arms crossed, staring north. Beyond the rooftops, the road stretched crooked and lazy through the hills. Still empty.

Three days now.

Behind him, Sienna stepped up onto the platform. She didn't speak right away, just leaned against the stone wall with that same easy confidence she carried no matter how bad things got. That confidence was part of why Adam had kept her close, even when things were turning against them.

"You expected something by now," she said finally.

He didn't answer at first, his eyes fixed on the horizon. After a moment, he gave a slight nod.

"He's not coming yet," Sienna continued.

"No," Adam said, his voice quiet but firm. "And that's the problem."

Sienna tilted her head, watching him. "Too scared?"

"No." He turned his head slightly, meeting her eyes. "He's not scared. He's thinking."

"If he was just angry, we'd be fighting already. Screaming, fire, some pissed-off lieutenant howling Danilo's name."

"But we're not," Sienna said, picking up the thread.

"No," Adam agreed. "Which means he's watching. And that means he's smart."

Sienna let out a slow breath and crossed her arms. "So what now?"

Adam's jaw tightened. He glanced back toward the hills, then down at the streets of Catania. "Now, we assume he's gathering information. He knows Danilo's dead. That much is obvious. He knows who did it. And he knows we're still here."

"So why doesn't he just take the place back?"

"Because he can't—not without giving something else up," Adam said, pacing slowly along the narrow walkway. "Which means he's gathering. He's buying time. And worse—he wants me to make the next move."

"Let you get impatient," Sienna murmured.

"Exactly." Adam stopped, resting his hands on the stone edge of the tower, staring down at the streets below. "He's probably expecting us to get overconfident. To push north, maybe take another town. Spread ourselves thin. Then he'd strike when our backs are turned. Or worse, let us take the next town, then trap us there."

Sienna's eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "So how do we pre-empt a patient man?"

Adam glanced over his shoulder at her. He didn't answer right away, his eyes flicking back to the town below.

Finally, he spoke. "Tell me, Sienna."

"Hm?"

Adam straightened, turning fully to face her. "Would you be up for a little trickery?"

"What kind of trickery?"

He held her gaze, a hint of mischief sparking in his own. "Let's get the headsman."

At first, he refused. That sounded way too crazy.

​But slowly by slowly, he understood.

+++

"What?" Klepht blinked.

"They're leaving, sir. All of them."

The scout shifted uneasily, dust still clinging to his boots like guilt. His cloak was half undone, cloak-string torn, hair wild from the sprint back. "Carts, pack animals. Whole town's on the move."

Klepht rose from his seat like a glacier calving into the sea—slow, immense, and terrible.

"You're certain?"

"Y-yes, sir."

Klepht walked to the edge of the war room, the fire behind him crackling, reflecting like open veins on the stone floor. His shadow loomed tall, distorted by the flicker. His hand came up to rub under his scar again, a slow circular motion just beneath the eye, thumb digging in until the skin whitened.

"They're abandoning Catania," he muttered.

So. They've given up a fortified position. The only safe place for kilometers in any direction. A tower with height, stone walls, supplies, and lines of sight.

Why?

"If they're leaving, and I do nothing, then my name becomes a fucking joke. They'll write plays about the coward warlord who let a bunch of dirt-farming locals butcher his men, torch his tower, murder his blood—and just walked away," he muttered. Danilo did not deserve to live, as far as he was concerned, but everyone knew them as brothers. Half-brothers, but still holding the same blood. Mockery. That was the danger. Not the physical loss of Catania, but the reputation. Banditry ran on fear and belief. Reputation was their currency. Break that illusion and you might as well be herding cats with threats.

​He only had enough men for a raiding force, as he had wanted. He had to be careful here.

"Send a rider to confirm the town's status. See what is up. Send another one to shadow the convoy."

"But, sir, Catania's five hours away from us," the scout pointed out. "If we let them go, the distance in trying to catch-"

"They will be slow and vulnerable!" Klepht clicked his tongue. "I-"

Klepht stopped himself, jaw tightening as his hand fell back to his side. He turned slowly toward the scout, eyes dark and cold. The fire crackled behind him, but the warmth didn't reach his face.

"I know how far away it is," he said, voice low and deliberate. "I also know how slow a caravan moves. Carts. Pack animals. Families. They'll be crawling. Vulnerable. If I wanted, I could run them down in a day's time. But I won't march blind into whatever trap they've laid."

The scout hesitated, shifting his weight. "So... what do we do, sir?"

Klepht inhaled deeply, fighting the urge to lash out. His thumb drifted back to the scar beneath his eye, rubbing in slow circles as he thought.

"We're not chasing fools—we're hunting prey. If they've abandoned Catania, there's a reason. And I mean to find it." His eyes flickered toward the scout. "Send the riders, as I said. One to confirm the town's status, the other to shadow the convoy. Stay out of sight. I want to know where they're headed and what they're carrying. Supplies, weapons, people—everything. If they split up, track both groups."

"Are we really going to be so cautious of a fucking nobody?" the scout asked tersely, his voice sharper than it should have been.

Klepht's head snapped toward him, his scarred face unreadable for a moment. Then, slowly, his lips pulled back in a smile—a cold, humorless thing that didn't touch his eyes.

"A fucking nobody?" he repeated, voice dangerously calm. He stepped forward, his boots echoing on the stone floor, each step deliberate. The scout flinched but held his ground. "Do you know what happens when you underestimate a nobody?"

The scout swallowed hard, his defiance faltering under Klepht's gaze.

"Let me remind you," Klepht continued, his voice low and steady, the kind of tone that made men lean in to hear—and regret it. "You let your guard down, you think you're invincible, and that 'nobody' sticks a knife in your ribs while you're busy laughing. A nobody doesn't need to be strong. They just need you to be stupid."

He stopped just short of the scout, his shadow looming over the smaller man. "And you're making a strong case for being stupid."

The scout's jaw tightened, and he looked away, the flush of anger and embarrassment creeping up his neck.

Klepht exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "You think this is about them? About whether they're nobodies? This isn't about them, you idiot. It's about me. My name. My men. My reputation. If we lose that, it doesn't matter if they're nobodies or godsdamned kings. We'll be finished."

He turned away, his hand drifting to his scar again, thumb pressing into the familiar groove. "You don't survive in this world by taking chances on what you think you know. You survive by treating every threat like it's real until you've crushed it beneath your boot."

Klepht glanced back over his shoulder, his eyes like flint. "Now. Are you going to follow orders, or do I need to find someone who understands that?"

The scout stiffened, standing straighter. "No, sir. I'll send the riders."

"Good," Klepht said, his voice softening just slightly, though the edge remained. "And remember this: the moment you stop being cautious is the moment someone makes you bleed. Don't give them the chance."

The scout returned just before the fire burned low. He looked exhausted, his face pale and streaked with sweat, but his voice was steady.

"They're gone, sir. The town's empty. Barely anything left behind—just scraps. A few broken tools, some trash. They packed up everything of value and moved out." He paused, hesitating. "No signs of traps. No ambushes. Just… gone."

Klepht didn't respond immediately, his thumb pressing harder into the scar beneath his eye. The firelight flickered across his face, but his expression was carved from stone.

"Gone," he muttered, almost to himself. "They left everything behind. Their defenses. Their walls. Their tower." His jaw tightened. Why? The question still gnawed at the back of his mind, but there was no time left to ponder.

Behind him, the tension in the room was palpable. His men had gathered, standing in small clusters, muttering to one another. He didn't need to hear the words to know what they were saying. He could feel it in their glances, the way they shifted their weight, the barely concealed frustration simmering just beneath the surface.

Finally, one of them spoke up, his voice sharp with impatience.

"So what now, Klepht? We sit here all night while they get further away? If we'd left earlier, we'd be on them by now!"

"Yeah," another chimed in. "Now we've gotta drag ourselves halfway across the godsdamned countryside to catch up, because someone's being too cautious." The man spat the word like it was poison.

"And what about the horses?" another grumbled. "We only have enough for a few riders. The rest of us are going to be slogging through the dirt for days. If we even find them at this point."

The room broke into a low murmur of agreement, the complaints rippling outward like a wave. It grated on Klepht's nerves, but he didn't move. He let it stew for a moment, let them vent their frustrations. Then, when the murmurs grew too loud, he slammed his fist down on the edge of the table, the crack of wood splitting the air.

The room fell silent.

"Enough," Klepht said, his voice cutting through the quiet like a blade. He turned to face them, his shadow stretching tall and jagged across the walls. "You think I don't know what we've lost by waiting? You think I don't hear you whining like a pack of hungry dogs? I hear you. Every word."

He stepped forward, his boots heavy on the stone. "But let me make one thing clear. If we'd left earlier, you'd be walking into a trap right now. You'd be dead. Is that what you want? To die for your impatience? Because I'd be happy to leave you behind. Save the supplies for the men who actually know how to follow orders."

The men shifted uncomfortably, their defiance faltering under his glare.

"Do you think I'm scared?" Klepht snarled, his voice rising. "Do you think I'm afraid of a bunch of dirt farmers? I'm not cautious because of what they are—I'm cautious because I know what happens when you let your guard down. You've seen it. You've lived it. Or have you forgotten how fast a blade can cut when you're looking the other way?"

He paused, letting the weight of his words settle over them. No one spoke.

"Yeah, it's going to take longer now," he admitted, his voice dropping to a low growl. "Yeah, it's going to be harder. But we're still going after them. We're still going to catch them. And when we do, we'll make an example so brutal, so final, that no one will ever forget the name Klepht."

He turned back to the table, grabbing his sword and sliding it into its sheath with a sharp click. "So stop your bitching. Saddle the horses we have. Pack light. We move now. If you can't keep up, you can stay here and rot for all I care."

The men grumbled, but they moved. The room emptied quickly, the sound of boots and hurried preparations echoing through the halls.

All into the night.

​+++

The march into the night was grueling, the air cold and damp, the ground uneven beneath their boots. The torches cast flickering halos of light, barely cutting through the darkness ahead. The men walked in silence for the first few hours, the only sounds the crunch of dirt and stone underfoot, the occasional snort of a horse, and the creak of leather straps. But as the hours stretched on, fatigue began to settle over them like a heavy blanket.

Klepht rode at the head of the column, his eyes scanning the horizon, his mind churning. Every step forward felt like a gamble, every shadow a potential threat. The convoy couldn't have gotten too far—they were slow, burdened by carts, livestock, and families. But his men weren't much faster now, their pace dragging with every passing hour.

Behind him, the murmurs started again. Quiet at first, just whispers carried by the wind, but they grew louder as exhaustion wore away at discipline.

"Been marching all godsdamned night," someone muttered.

"My legs feel like they're going to fall off," another grumbled.

"Why're we pushing so hard? They're just a bunch of farmers. They're not warriors. They're not going anywhere fast."

Klepht ignored them at first, his jaw clenched tight. He knew the complaints were coming—they always did—but it didn't make them any easier to hear. He tightened his grip on the reins, his horse snorting as if sensing his frustration.

Finally, one of the men broke rank and called out, his voice carrying through the night like a whip crack. "Klepht! What the hell are we doing? We've marched enough just to get to Catania! They're on a convoy, for gods' sake—they'll be slow. We can rest. Hit them in the morning."

There was a ripple of agreement from the others, emboldened by the outburst.

"Yeah! We can't fight if we're dead on our feet!"

"Even if they're a day ahead of us, they're dragging carts! We'll catch them eventually!"

Klepht reined in his horse, stopping abruptly. The column shuffled to a halt, the men muttering as they adjusted their packs and stretched sore limbs. He sat in silence for a moment, his back straight, his shadow long in the torchlight. Then, slowly, he dismounted, the leather of his boots scraping against the ground as he landed.

He turned to face them, his dark eyes sweeping the group. His silence pressed down on them like a weight, snuffing out the murmurs. He let it stretch, let the tension build, until the only sound was the crackle of torches and the restless shifting of horses.

"You're tired," he said finally, his voice low and calm. "I hear you. You've marched all night, and now you want to sleep. You think the convoy's slow, that they'll still be within reach when you wake up." He took a step forward, his boots crunching on the dirt. "But let me tell you something: every minute we stop is a minute they get further ahead. Every step we don't take is one more they use to disappear. And if they vanish, if they make it to wherever the hell they're going, then this whole march was for nothing."

The men shifted uneasily, but one of them, bolder than the rest, stepped forward. "We get that, sir. But this pace? It's madness. If we're too exhausted to fight when we catch them, then what's the point?"

Klepht's gaze snapped to the man, sharp as a blade. He took another step forward, closing the distance. "The point," he said, his voice dropping to a dangerous growl, "is that if we let them slip through our fingers, we lose more than just the fight. We lose our reputation. We lose the fear we've worked so hard to build. And when that happens, it won't matter how well-rested we are, because every fucking town and village across this land will rise up and carve us apart."

He stepped closer, his shadow falling over the man. "Do you want that? Do you want to be the reason we're hunted like animals? Because that's what happens if we don't catch them. If we don't crush them so completely, so utterly, that no one else even thinks about defying us."

The man faltered, looking down, but Klepht wasn't done. He turned to address the rest of them, his voice rising. "Yes, you're tired. Yes, it's hard. But this is the cost of power. Of survival. You don't get to rest when you're hunting. You don't get to complain when you're chasing prey. You push, and you push, and you don't stop until the job is done."

He paused, letting his words sink in, his chest heaving with the force of his anger. Then, softer, he added, "But I'm not a fool. I need you alive to fight. So here's what we'll do. We rest for two hours. No more. Enough to catch your breath. Enough to keep moving. But when I say we march, we march. And I don't want to hear another fucking word about it."

The men exchanged tired glances but nodded reluctantly. Klepht's gaze lingered on them, daring anyone to challenge him. None did.

"Good," he said. "Get to it."

The stillness of Catania broke first with the faint, rhythmic thunder of hooves in the distance. At first, it was easy to dismiss. The men, groaning and rubbing aching legs, thought it was just the wind playing tricks or some wild animal. But then it grew louder, unmistakable.

Klepht, leaning against a wall with his eyes half-closed, snapped upright. His hand instinctively went to his sword.

"Riders," he said, low and sharp. "From the south."

The men, sluggish from their short rest, scrambled to their feet. Some of them cursed, fumbling for weapons. Others stared, confused and disoriented, as the sound of hooves grew closer and closer.

One of the younger men shouted, "What the fuck? I thought they were leaving?"

Klepht ignored him, his mind already racing. His scarred face twisted in fury as realization dawned. They doubled back. They fucking doubled back.

The first rider broke from the darkness, a shadow streaking across the moonlit landscape. Behind them came another. Then another. A whole wave of them, charging hard, their weapons gleaming in the pale light.

"UP!" Klepht roared, his voice cutting through the chaos. "WE'RE UNDER ATTACK! TO ARMS!"

Before the men could fully gather themselves, a second sound cut through the night—a high, keening cry, like a signal. From around them, hidden bolt holes sprang to life. Shadows poured out of the ground like specters, armed with everything from spears to crude clubs. They rushed forward, their cries merging with the thundering hooves, creating a cacophony of noise that drowned out any semblance of order.

The ambush was total.

Klepht barely had time to draw his sword before the first rider barreled into the town. The man swung down with a crude axe, narrowly missing Klepht's shoulder as the warlord sidestepped and drove his blade into the rider's side. The man toppled from his horse with a scream, but there was no time to savor the kill. Another was already upon him.

Men shouted and cursed, stumbling over each other in the dark as they tried to form lines. Horses reared and screamed, some breaking free of their tethers and bolting into the night.

"It's a trap! It's a fucking trap!" someone screamed, his voice high with panic.

"No shit!" another yelled back, swinging wildly at a shadow that may or may not have been an enemy.

Klepht's men fought back, but they were caught off guard, exhausted from their march and disoriented in the confusion. Some managed to hold their own, forming small clusters and fending off attacks, but others were cut down before they could even raise their weapons.

+++

A/N: Get Mongol'd.