The afternoon sun baked the mountain stronghold. The wooden hut walls were hot to the touch. The air smelled of pine resin, sweat, and a faint hint of iron. Cicadas droned endlessly.
Aeneas crouched in the shadow of some cargo crates. He pressed his bronze sword to his forehead to cool down. Sweat traced paths down his cheeks. He squinted, his gaze fixed on the distant hut.
Putting modern stealth tactics to use, he thought, his mouth quirking in a silent, wry smile. Hope my ancient friends don't think my hand signals are some kind of fit.
His eyes scanned the camp quickly. Nisus and Euryalus crouched on the high ground to the left like a pair of cats. To the right, Melanippe and the others were nearly invisible in the bushes. Achates's wall-like frame already blocked the escape route. Aeneas gave a slight nod. He raised his hand. Sliced it cleanly across his throat—the signal from another time.
Melanippe moved. She darted out like a shadow. Her deep brown hair swung in a sunlit arc. She clamped onto the sentry's head from behind.
"For my sisters!" Her voice was a low whisper. Cold as ice. A faint, brittle crunch came from under her knuckles. A flicker of grim satisfaction passed through her eyes, too fast to catch. "That's one."
Almost simultaneously, Thaleia's arrow hissed across the clearing. It sank neatly into another sentry's throat. Ainippe's short sword slit a third man's throat from behind. The dull thuds of three falling bodies were swallowed by the cicada's drone.
Then—Crash!
Ainippe had knocked over an alarm frame made of animal bones. The damn noise ripped through the afternoon calm.
"Go!" Aeneas snarled, already launching himself forward. He used the cargo stack to vault the palisade. His boots left a spiderweb of cracks on the sun-baked wood. Flimsy timber, he couldn't help but gripe internally. No wonder they're bandits.
On the other side, Achates simply smashed the door bar with his shoulder. Wood splinters flew. "Left side clear!" His voice was as steady as if he were reporting the weather.
While splinters still hung in the air, a barely-awake bandit fumbled for his weapon. Nisus's arrow pinned him back to his bed. The hunter gave a slight nod from his perch.
The whole stronghold erupted into chaos. Euryalus stood up on the palisade, his hair tousled by the wind. "Whoops! Naptime's over!" he called out, his tone as light as if announcing a meal. His bow was already aiming at the next target.
Melanippe drew her short sword. Her eyes burned. She and Ainippe stood back-to-back. Thaleia shifted silently to a better position.
The reckoning had begun.
Euryalus sat casually on the palisade, legs swinging. The first bandit to stumble out of a hut blundered into his line of sight.
"Hey there, sleepyhead?" He whistled—casual, almost cheerful.
The bowstring sang. A flash of bronze buried itself low in the man's side, just behind the ribs.
Euryalus tilted his head, watching the bandit crumple.
"I'll bet three Obols he doesn't even finish his groan."
He winked at Nisus, smug. Kidney shot. His favorite.
The bandit crumpled to his knees. His axe clattered to the ground. His lips trembled, emitting only faint, wet gasps. The smell of urine mixed with the coppery tang of blood.
"See? I win." Euryalus raised an eyebrow triumphantly. He pivoted smoothly—another fool charged from behind. "In a hurry to die?" The bowstring sang again. A second arrow buried itself in the attacker's left side. The man writhed on the ground. His teeth scraped dirt. Muffled, gurgling sobs escaped him.
Elsewhere, Aeneas used the cargo stacks for cover. He lunged for the weapons hut. A wounded bandit blocked his path. A flash of bronze swept across the man's throat.
"...Wrong line of work, pal." Aeneas's voice was flat. Blood sprayed. It gleamed, blindingly bright, in the sun.
The balance shattered.
The main hut's door burst open. It slammed against the wall with a crash. The bandit chief, Miltiades, charged out. His armor was only half-on. His chest heaved with rage.
"Soren! Can't you even scream properly, you useless shit?!" he roared. His voice shook the air.
Three swords came at Aeneas at the weapons hut door. A net of death.
"Come on!" Fire flashed in Aeneas's eyes. He raised his sword to meet them. Clang! He parried the first blow. Sparks flew. He sidestepped the second. It bit deep into the wooden door. The third scraped across his breastplate, leaving a searing line.
Trouble, he thought, sweat stinging his eyes. Lucky this doorway's narrow… Or I'd be skewered.
He planted one foot against the wall behind him and launched forward with practiced ease. Used a clever, modern trip. The bandit on the left slammed his head into the doorframe. The sound of cracking bone was sickening.
Miltiades's roar was right in his ears. A fresh assault began. Aeneas gave ground. His sword's edge was curled now. Sweat flew. He gasped for air. But his eyes were terrifyingly calm.
Above, Nisus tensed, his bowstring taut. In the distance, Melanippe fought off other bandits. Her gaze kept flicking back to him. Achates fought with powerful, sweeping strokes on the other side of the camp.
The final moment. A sudden change. A wounded bandit threw himself forward. He locked his arms around Aeneas's left leg. Miltiades's great sword came down in a killing blow—
"Aeneas!" Melanippe's scream cut across the battlefield. Her mind went blank. She threw her short sword without thinking. "—Don't die!"
The sword spun like a silver wheel straight for Miltiades. Silhouetted against the light, her form froze into a sharp, desperate outline.
The terrifying whirl of metal forced Miltiades to throw himself to the ground. Aeneas seized the opening. He drove his knee down, twisting to break the leg-clutcher's neck. In the same motion, he reversed his grip and drove his sword through another man's heart.
"Thanks, crazy girl!" he shouted to her, managing a strained grin.
One bandit tried to bolt. Euryalus's arrow chased him. It punched into his lower back from behind. "Hey! The ferry to Hades isn't here yet! What's the rush?" The man staggered. Fell to his knees. His back convulsed violently. Bloody foam bubbled from his lips.
Before the weapons hut, the final showdown. Miltiades tripped over a corpse. He scrambled up, frantic. He'd snatched up weapons from the ground. A short sword in each hand, he swung them wildly.
"Fuck! You Dardanian hick! You dare move against the Prince's men?!" he screamed. The words revealed a staggering secret.
Aeneas deflected one sword with a angled block from his vambrace. He shoved the other aside with his hilt. "A hick's better than a beast!"
His sword point stabbed like a viper into the gap in Miltiades's armor under his left arm. A rear leg sweep tripped his opponent. His heel slammed into the man's chin—a fluid sequence of modern combat moves. Miltiades fell heavily, grievously wounded and stunned. He was finished.
Aeneas gasped for air. Sweat ran in rivulets under his armor. The curled-edge sword was buried at an angle beneath the enemy's left ribs. It reflected the despair in those dying eyes.
"Next life… get a boss with a conscience," he panted.
Melanippe walked over. She picked up her bloodied short sword. She looked down at Miltiades, who wasn't quite dead yet.
"When you see my Amazon sisters," her voice was a whisper, "fall to your knees and apologize—like you mean it."
The sword fell. The head rolled. "Rest now, sisters," she choked out. Tears mixed with the blood on her face. They fell, darkening the dust.
The haze of battle began to clear. Only sporadic moans remained.
Euryalus lightly blew on his arrow tip. He raised an eyebrow at Nisus. "Three still breathing… If we don't question them now, they'll be on Charon's boat." He pointed to the captives twitching in the gore. "Bet they don't last… one gasp?"
Nisus rolled his eyes. "...Then what's the point of asking."
Ainippe came up from behind and gently embraced Melanippe. "Your Highness, we've had our revenge… The sisters of the tribe… will be proud of you beside the Goddess Artemis."
"They… can rest now, Ainippe." The tension finally drained from Melanippe's body.
Aeneas walked over. He hesitated. Then he patted her shoulder. Looking at her tear-streaked face, something inside him softened.
Thaleia silently offered a clean cloth. "Wipe your face, Princess," she said gently. Whatever edge had lingered in her tone was dulled—for now.
Melanippe took the cloth. She wiped her face clean. Suddenly she turned her head and fixed Aeneas with a stare. Her eyes were alarmingly bright. "Just now… I think I heard an interesting name… Was it… 'crazy girl'?"
Achates finished checking the battlefield. He came to report. "Young master, thirteen enemies eliminated. We've secured the plunder. Three aren't dead yet. Interrogate the prisoners now?"
Aeneas nodded quickly. He walked toward the three dying captives, deliberately avoiding Melanippe's gaze. "Let's hope they know where this Trojan gear came from," he said, changing the subject.
He completely ignored her question, muttering to himself. "Haha… Who would call such a beautiful girl 'crazy'? Must have misheard… Haha… Definitely misheard…"
Nearby, Thaleia watched the scene. She let out a soft breath. I think… I still don't like her very much, she thought.
From the treetops, the triangular camp was strewn with bodies. The sun baked the blood pools, raising a faint, reddish mist. Only seven figures remained standing.
The shadow of the Red Bean Forest seemed to lift, just slightly, in the slanting afternoon light.