At the sight of Geld’s signal, the three men brought themselves off the dirt and into a crouching position, concealed by the underbrush. Then, with all of the finesse they could muster, they began creeping toward the ramshackle fence.

As they drew near, Malt caught sight of movement in the corner of his eye. Two figures were making their way towards their position, silhouetted by the flickering torchlight.

The three took their places along the edge of the fence. The torches within the village only illuminated the area a few inches beyond the perimeter, so they were still largely shrouded in darkness.

Malt drew a rondel dagger from a scabbard hanging at his waist. The weapon had a long, needle like blade and resembled an ice pick more than any knife. He swung it into a reverse grip and clenched it tightly.

Meanwhile Geld and Henry were tracking the two guards keenly, both in a position reminiscent of a beast ready to pounce on its prey. They held no weapons, but Henry’s left hand was curiously wrapped in several layers of cloth, forming a sort of makeshift mitten.

None of them dared to move a muscle as the guards neared closer. They were close enough now to even hear their hushed conversation. To Malt’s surprise, their voices were largely similar to that of the soldiers back at Dagridge.

It wasn’t the barbaric, gravelly voice he’d associated with the Khod’s up to that point. In fact these soldiers seemed like boys he could hold a conversation with, maybe the kind of guys you’d find going about their business at a market.

Strange as it is, Malt was perplexed that the enemy he’d been fighting against was so...normal.

He shook the thoughts from his head, clenching his dagger even tighter. He looked to Henry, ready for him to make a move.

At this point Malt didn’t even dare to breathe, the tension in the air was unpalatable. How embarrassing, or rather catastrophic, would it be if they failed the first stage of the plan?

After a few more seconds of painful anticipation, the guards were finally within grappling distance.

The moment they stepped within range, Henry and Geld leapt up and reached over the fence. Henry snaked his arm around one of the guard’s necks, almost immediately shoving his wrapped hand into the man’s open mouth.

Before the man could start seriously resisting Henry collapsed onto his back, toppling the guard over the fence and onto the floor. Just as the guard began flailing about, Malt joined the scuffle, jumping on top of the man and effectively sandwiching him between himself and Henry.

He took the dagger and aimed it toward the man’s exposed throat. The guard squirmed even more now, his screams barely audible through his makeshift gag.

Malt didn’t dare look into the man’s eyes as he drove the blade into his throat. Since he couldn’t build up enough speed, it only sunk an inch into his throat.

Realizing that he’d have to do the rest, Malt rested his other hand onto the pommel and shifted his entire body weight onto the dagger. He cringed as the tip slowly sunk deeper into his throat, indiscriminately severing arteries and veins along the way.

Blood began gushing from the puncture, the warm viscera painted his clothing an ugly crimson. He could feel the dagger move whenever the man tried to gulp in air, every time he tried to scream or cry for help.

Eventually, he gave into the temptation and looked into the man’s eyes. They were unnaturally large, almost as if they’d pop out at any moment.

Seeing the agony written across his face, Malt grimaced as he grasped the dagger tightly and wrenched it sideways, twisting the flesh around his throat and tearing his veins apart.

He was dead within seconds.

Henry, feeling the body go limp, hoisted the corpse of himself and rolled it to the side. He scrunched his face up at the sight of his now ruined clothes, dyed in gore.

Malt wiped off the dagger with his gambeson and looked to see the other guard. He was laying just feet away, his throat slit almost to the point of decapitation.

Standing above the body was of course Geld, who was slipping his curved dirk back into its sheath. They looked at each other and nodded, dragging the corpses further away from the perimeter and into the forest.

After covering the evidence in foliage, they began tracing their way east. Although there weren’t any guards at the perimeter, there were plenty that could be seen farther within the village.

Besides the Khods, other figures could be seen. Judging by their plain wear and lack of arms, they must’ve been the villagers. Even from afar they could tell that the villagers were exhausted.

With slumped shoulders and dreary eyes, they hoisted logs to and from the mill whilst the Khods barked orders at them, all the while helping themselves to the villager’s belongings.

Before long, the three had reached the eastern perimeter. There were noticeably less guards around this area and it wasn’t well lit, much of the area was covered in pockets of darkness. As long as they avoided the mill they shouldn’t run into any problems.

They inched toward the fence and one by one, crawled over. Being in the light, however faint, was nerve wracking. If anyone saw them in such a predicament, there would be no worming out.

They immediately crept over to the shadow of a large building that resembled an inn. Malt carefully poked his head around the corner and down the dimly lit street.

The street was unpaved, which worked to their advantage, and was surrounded on both sides by a plethora of buildings. Just down the street he could actually see the building that they needed to reach.

It was a small tavern sandwiched in between two larger buildings. The reason they’d chosen that building in particular was because the entrance to the establishment wasn’t in the front and facing the street like the others, but to the side and in a small alley.

There was only one glaring problem. Although dimly lit, the street was completely clear and had no cover whatsoever. To make matters worse, a guard was predicted to be patrolling around that time.

As if on cue, a guard rounded the corner of a building at the opposite side of the street and began making his way down the road.

With Geld leading, they slipped out from behind the building and scrambled to the next. The guard, who was busy inspecting the buildings on the other side of the road, didn’t spare a glance.

The tavern was half way between the end of the street and their current position, so it was just a matter of getting into position directly across from the tavern and making a dash across the street. Easier said than done.

They couldn’t even wait for the guard to pass as that would cut into their timing. Killing the guard wasn’t an option either, even if they could, it would leave evidence right in the middle of the street.

Like rats, they scurried from shadow to shadow, desperately avoiding the guard’s searching gaze.

Eventually, they managed to reach the building parallel to the tavern, all that was left was to allow the guard to pass by. They let out hushed sighs of relief as they waited for the guard to walk on by.

As if to mock their relief, the guard decided to walk over to the wall of a building and take a few swigs of his canteen. Seconds had passed and the guard was still leaned against the wall taking leisurely sips.

Crouching there as the Khod took his sweet time was truly agonizing, every second that passed would be a second less that they would have to carry out the plan. If too much time passed most of the guards would exit the barracks, making the bomb strategy largely useless.

Malt could feel his nails digging into his palms in frustration and anxiety, they’d come too far to fail here.

After what seemed like an eternity, the guard put his canteen away and pushed himself off the wall. The three of them poised themselves, ready to make a beeline for the tavern, determined to make up for lost time.

To their horror, the guard, instead of going back onto patrol, pulled his pants down, whipped out his willie and began spraying the side of the building.

“...you’ve got to be shittin’ me.”

“Wrong excrement.” Malt muttered.

The three infiltrators looked at the guard in disbelief. Geld tried to form an alternative plan, any method that would cut down on time and free them of this ridiculous predicament. He then came to a well calculated decision.

He sprang from cover and sprinted toward the man, who was too buried in relief to notice the danger approaching from behind.

By the time he heard the footsteps and turned around, Geld planted his knee savagely into the man’s exposed crotch. He immediately covered the man’s face with his hand but the pain, shock, and absolute horror could all be seen in the guard’s eyes.

Geld then grasped his helmeted noggin with his other hand and smashed it against the stone wall. The guard wobbled around for a bit before collapsing in a puddle of his own urine.

He grabbed the unconscious body by the feet and began dragging it toward the alley, beckoning over to the two boys still in shock across the street. They snapped out of their daze and scurried across the street. The guard hadn’t been killed, but somehow what they’d just seen was just as gruesome.

They made their way into the alley and wrenched open the door, throwing the body inside before following. They all sighed, relieved as the door behind them came to a close. Relaxing a little, they let the tension dispel from their muscles.

That relaxation was short lived, however, as when they entered they came face to face with a guard sitting at the bar.

He dropped his drink and scrambled for a shortsword resting on the table but before he could lay his hand on the weapon Henry drew his own sword. He pointed the blade toward the man’s throat, stopping him in his tracks.

“Hands up! You don’t want to die do you?”

He shook his head feverishly and threw his hands into the air.

“Good, now we won’t hurt you unless y-”

Malt suddenly drew his longsword and swung overhead. The tip of the blade carved a deep gash across the man’s exposed face, which immediately began spewing blood in every direction.

The man stumbled around for a bit, staining the tavern in gore before his knees gave out and he eventually collapsed onto the wooden floor.

“W-what the fuck was that for?!”

Henry reared back in dismay as he stared at Malt’s bloodied blade.

“Don’t worry, the cut should’ve cracked open his skull. There’s no chance of him surviving.”

“That’s not what I mean, he surrendered and you still fucking killed him!”

He flicked the blood of his sword and slipped it back into his scabbard. “Of course I did. Knocking him unconscious is too risky and we can’t just let him go.”

Henry looked at his friend, horrified by what he had just done. He opened his mouth, ready to reprimand him but Geld quickly interjected.

“Save the drama for later, we’ve still got a mission to do.”

Malt fell to his knees and began taking the armor off the guard as Henry stood there, dumbfounded.

After a few moments, he swallowed his complaints, cursing under his breath as he began stripping the guards. There would be a time to confront Malt about this, but that time wasn’t now. They took apart the gear, all the while Henry was sneaking glances at Malt to see if he could find any hint of remorse in his expression.

He found none.