Ironbound

The smell of smoke lingered in the clearing as three riders approached the ruined camp. At their head was a man clad in dark leather armor, his eyes scanning the wreckage with disdain.

Torik stood at the center of the clearing, leaning casually against the remnants of a wagon, his smirk firmly in place despite the tension in his shoulders.

"Torik," the man called, dismounting with practiced ease. His voice was smooth, but there was an edge to it. "Your camp looks worse every time I visit."

"Alric," Torik replied, pushing off the wagon and stepping forward. "And you look as smug as ever. Coin must be good these days."

Alric's lips curled into a faint smirk as his gaze shifted to the cage. "And there he is. The boy you've been boasting about."

Alric strode toward the cage, his boots crunching on the scorched dirt. His sharp eyes scanned Kain, lingering on the scars and hardened expression.

"He's gotten stronger," Alric remarked, his tone casual. "And is still alive. Impressive, considering your methods."

Torik's smirk widened. "My methods work. You're here, aren't you?"

Alric chuckled softly, his smirk sharpening. "I am. And I'm ready to take him off your hands. Double the original price."

Torik's expression didn't change, but his shoulders stiffened slightly. "Double's tempting, but he's not ready yet. A few more weeks, and he'll be worth triple."

Alric's smirk faded, replaced by a hard stare. "You've had months, Torik. He's ready now. Or are you just too attached to let go?"

Torik stepped closer, his voice dropping. "He's not ready."

Alric scoffed, folding his arms. " You're not a father, Torik. You're a trainer. A tool. Your job is to make him stronger, not keep him as a pet."

The bandits around the clearing exchanged uneasy glances, their hands drifting to their weapons as the tension grew.

Torik's smirk vanished. "You think I'm doing this for fun? You're the one thinking small. He's more than a your casual fighter, he's adaptable."

Alric's hand dropped to the hilt of his sword, his voice turning icy. "You're testing my patience, Torik. Sell him, or I'll take him myself."

Before either man could make another move, the sharp twang of a bowstring cut through the air. An arrow buried itself in the dirt between them.

Chaos erupted as figures emerged from the treeline, their weapons gleaming. The attackers moved swiftly, their coordination betraying them as more than simple brigands.

Torik didn't hesitate. His dagger was in his hand in an instant, his voice rising above the noise. "Defensive positions! Hold the perimeter!"

Alric drew his sword, his sharp gaze scanning the treeline. "This is your mess, Torik."

Torik laughed darkly as he drove his dagger into an attacker's chest. "And you're here to clean it up, Alric. Unless you'd rather run."

The first wave of attackers hit the camp like a storm. The bandits scrambled, their movements panicked and disorganized.

Torik didn't wait. The first attacker came at him with a heavy sword, his swing wide and clumsy.

Torik ducked low, closing the distance in an instant. His dagger plunged into the man's gut and before the attacker could cry out, Torik twisted the blade and yanked it free. Blood sprayed across the dirt as the man crumpled to the ground.

Another attacker charged, this one wielding a spear. Torik sidestepped the thrust, his movements fluid and controlled. He grabbed the shaft of the spear with one hand, yanking it downward as his dagger slashed upward.

The blade caught the attacker's throat, a clean, sharp cut that sent him staggering back, gurgling before he collapsed.

"Stay in formation!" Torik barked at his bandits, his voice cutting through the chaos.

But most of the bandits were barely holding their ground. Their attacks were wild, their defenses sloppy.

Torik moved like a predator among sheep, his strikes precise and devastating. An axe swung toward his head, but he ducked, driving his dagger into the attacker's knee. The man screamed, dropping his weapon as Torik finished him with a brutal stab to the chest.

Blood dripped from Torik's blade, but he didn't falter. His eyes scanned the battlefield, calculating every movement, every angle.

Nearby, Alric fought like a seasoned warrior. His longsword was a blur, cutting through the attackers with deadly efficiency.

One man swung a mace at him, the heavy weapon aiming for his ribs. Alric sidestepped, his sword flashing upward to sever the man's wrist. The attacker screamed, clutching his stump, but Alric didn't stop. He drove the blade through the man's chest, twisting it before pulling it free.

Another attacker lunged at him, a dagger in hand. Alric pivoted, his movements controlled. The dagger grazed his shoulder, but his counterstrike was instant. His sword arced upward, slicing through the man's neck with a clean motion.

Alric's expression didn't change. He moved with a calmness that only someone who had seen countless battles has.

The chaos swirled around them, but Torik and Alric found themselves fighting back-to-back as the attackers pressed forward.

"Still think this is my mess?" Torik growled, driving his dagger into an attacker's side.

Alric parried a blade aimed for his throat, his riposte cutting deep into the attacker's chest. "It's definitely your mess. I'm just cleaning it up."

Torik let out a sharp laugh, slashing at an opponent's leg before finishing him with a quick thrust. "Good thing you're here, then."

Alric didn't respond, his focus entirely on the fight.

A larger group of attackers broke through the bandits' defenses, rushing toward the center of the camp. Torik and Alric moved in tandem, their fighting styles starkly different but equally effective.

Torik ducked low, his dagger flashing as he targeted weak points, throats, knees, ribs.

Alric, by contrast, fought with power. His sword cut through the attackers' defenses with ease.

An attacker aimed for Alric's back, but Torik intercepted him, his dagger plunging into the man's kidney.

"Watch your flank," Torik muttered, his smirk faint.

Alric glanced at him briefly. "Don't get in my way."

The fight dragged on, the attackers relentless. Torik's movements began to slow down, the strain of constant combat evident in the slight hitch of his steps.

He saw the spear a second too late. It came from the side, slicing across his ribs in a shallow but painful cut.

Torik staggered, his smirk faltering for the first time. Blood seeped through his tunic, staining the fabric dark red.

"Torik!" one of the bandits shouted, but Torik waved him off, gritting his teeth.

"I'm fine," he growled, straightening despite the pain. His dagger was still steady in his hand, and his eyes burned with determination.

Alric noticed the stumble, his sharp eyes narrowing. "You're slowing down," he said mockingly.

Torik shot him a glare, his smirk returning faintly. "And you're still talking. Maybe shut up and focus on the fight."

Alric rolled his eyes but didn't respond. His sword cut through another attacker, the man falling with a heavy thud.

Despite Torik's injury, the two of them continued to hold the line, their combined efforts keeping the attackers from overwhelming the camp.

As the attackers began to falter, their ranks thinning. Torik's strikes were slower now, but no less precise. Alric's sword cutting down the last of the attackers.

The clearing fell silent, save for the heavy breathing of the survivors. The bandits looked to Torik, their faces pale.

Torik straightened, his dagger dripping blood. Despite the wound at his side, he forced a smirk. "Told you I could handle it."

Alric sheathed his sword, his expression unreadable. "Barely."

Later that afternoon soldiers of House Lirian emerged from the treeline. Their leader, a tall man clad in polished steel with a weathered face, surveyed the camp. Behind him, a dozen soldiers formed a line, their hands resting on sword hilts and bows.

"Torik," the leader called out, stepping forward. His tone was clipped, his words precise. "Your presence here has grown... inconvenient. House Lirian demands payment. Now."

Torik smirked, pointing the dagger at the man. "And here I thought you were here for tea."

The soldiers exchanged glances, their hands tightened on their weapons.

The leader's eyes flicked to the cage, where Kain sat with his arms resting on his knees, his face an impassive mask. "Him," the leader said, nodding toward Kain. "He'll do for now. Consider it a down payment."

Torik's smirk widened, though his eyes darkened slightly. "You've got a good eye. He's worth more than your little entourage combined. But you're not getting him."

"Not your choice," the leader said, stepping closer. "You've already failed to deliver what's owed. This isn't a request."

Torik's bandits shifted uneasily, their hands drifting toward weapons. These weren't seasoned fighters, they were scared.

Alric leaned casually against a tree, watching the exchange with amusement. "This should be good," he muttered to no one in particular.

Torik chuckled, the sound low and dangerous. "Tell you what, I'll make you a deal. You leave now, and I'll send twice what's owed in a week."

The leader's expression hardened. "And what guarantee does House Lirian have that you won't vanish into the woods like every other rat we've hunted?"

Torik's grin sharpened. "You think I'm just some rat? I've survived because I know when I'm at an advantage or disadvantage. You take the boy, and you'll be throwing away your best chance at getting what's owed."

The leader hesitated, his gaze flickering between Torik and Kain. For a moment, the camp was silent save for the rustling of leaves.

The leader took a step closer, his voice dropping to a near growl. "This is your last chance, Torik. Hand over the boy, or we burn this camp to the ground and take everything."

Torik's smirk faltered, just for a heartbeat. His dagger flashed upward, and in one swift motion, the blade was pressed against the leader's throat. The soldiers froze, their hands flying to their weapons, but none dared move.

"You want to try me?" Torik hissed, his voice low and venomous. "You think House Lirian scares me? You take one step toward that cage, and your lord will be scraping pieces of you off the dirt."

The leader's jaw tightened, his eyes locked on Torik's. Slowly, he raised a hand, signaling his men to hold their ground. "Two weeks," he said finally, his voice cold. "Two weeks to deliver what's owed. If you fail, we'll return—and you'll wish we'd taken the boy."

Torik's smirk returned as he lowered the dagger. "Two weeks. Don't forget to send my regards to your lord."

The soldiers withdrew, disappearing into the treeline as quickly as they had appeared. The camp was silent once more, save for the crackle of the dying fire.

Kain leaned back in the cage, his sharp eyes on Torik. The man's strength and cunning were undeniable, but Kain couldn't shake the feeling that he was little more than a tool in a larger game.

Alric approached, his gaze flickering toward Kain. "You've got guts, Torik. I'll give you that. But guts don't pay debts."

Torik chuckled, though his hand pressed briefly to his injured side. "Neither do sermons, Alric. Now, get some rest. We've got work to do."

As Alric walked away, Torik's eyes met Kain's. For the first time, his smirk was gone. "You're lucky I didn't hand you over," he muttered. "Don't make me regret it."

The camp remained tense after the soldiers disappeared into the trees. Torik barked orders, his tone sharp and unyielding. "Double the patrols. I don't want anyone sneaking up on us again."

The bandits scattered, eager to avoid his wrath. Alric lingered by the fire, watching Torik with his usual detached amusement.

"You surprised me," Alric said, breaking the silence. "I thought you'd hand the boy over and call it a day. Would've saved you a lot of trouble."

Torik didn't look at him, his dagger spinning absently in his fingers. "You don't know me as well as you think."

Alric chuckled softly. "Don't I? You're a survivor, Torik. You don't make moves unless there's something in it for you."

Later that night, as the camp settled, Torik sat by the fire alone. The glow of the flames danced across his face, his features hard but thoughtful. He glanced toward the cage where Kain sat, the boy's gaze sharp and unwavering.

"You think you're different, don't you?" Torik muttered, his voice low. "Think you're better than all of us."

Kain said nothing, his expression unreadable.

Torik snorted, his smirk returning briefly. "I used to think like that too. Thought I could fight my way out of anything."

He leaned back, staring into the flames. "But the world's got a way of chewing you up and spitting you out. You either adapt, or you die. That's the only lesson worth learning."

Kain's voice was quiet but firm. "Then why didn't you give me to them? You could've gotten rid of your debt."

Torik didn't answer immediately. His fingers tightened around the hilt of his dagger, his eyes distant. "Because you're not ready yet," he said finally. "And neither am I."

The answer hung in the air as Torik stood, brushing off his tunic. "Get some rest. Tomorrow, we start early."