Episode 14: The Bandits (Part 1)
The next day.
At dawn, before sunrise, Karon stood in the desert's heart, some distance from the oasis, eyes closed.
He cherished the desert's silence. Standing on the still earth made him feel as though he might vanish.
Nothing stirred his senses. Nothing disturbed him.
He gnawed on bitter herbs before spitting them out with a wet ptui.
Hoo—
He opened his eyes slowly, exhaling a long breath. Whether from the herbs or not, every nerve in his body thrummed awake.
He raised the wooden sword in his hands—a blade carved for him by the tribal chief himself.
Since recovering his health, he'd trained his body at every dawn.
Now he swung the sword in earnest.
Slow, deliberate strokes transitioned seamlessly into swift, unpredictable slashes.
An invisible energy soon coiled around the wooden blade, its destructive force churning sand into swirling storms.
Whoosh!
The roar of split air grew thunderous as his movements blurred beyond sight.
Thud!
When Karon froze mid-motion, all sand flung upward collapsed at once.
Astonishingly, this was the swordsmanship he'd observed at gladiator arenas—now reshaped and refined with his own insights.
"Hmm."
He studied his palms after opening his eyes.
Now I'm ready.
He gripped the wooden pendant around his neck—his mother's keepsake—until it shattered, scattering fragments to the wind.
His parents' memories were etched permanently in his mind.
No more reliance on relics. Only the path ahead mattered.
Only revenge remained.
"Hm?"
A chill crawled through his veins. His heightened senses transformed vague dread into clarity—
The metallic tang of blood. Screams. Hoofbeats and clashing steel.
The tribe!
Thud!
Karon kicked off the sand, his body streaking forward like lightning.
In the distance, gray smoke coiled skyward—their huts set ablaze.
Disaster had struck.
Damn it!
He pushed harder, teeth gritted.
After cresting dunes, the oasis shimmered into view.
Ordinary eyes would see nothing, but Karon's vision pierced the haze: over a dozen intruders in fur vests, half-shaved scalps bristling with demonic tattoos.
Desert bandits.
The chief had spoken of their raids—stealing just enough to leave tribes starving, slaughtering men, taking women.
Karon had dismissed these tales as distant horrors.
But facing them now, indifference burned away.
Half the bandits rode mounts, brandishing blades and spears. The rest dragged tribesmen by their hair—including Gaber's mother.
Gaber burst from a hut, sinking teeth into a raider's leg. The man roared, raising his sword—
Too late to reach them!
Thump!
Karon hurled his wooden sword mid-sprint, never breaking stride.
Swish—
The blade streaked like a comet.
Whirr!
Thock!
"Grahk!"
It struck the raider's arm, drawing a scream. The bandits whirled, spotting Karon charging from afar.
Shock rippled through them—both at the long-range strike and his unnatural speed.
Even the tribespeople stared, wide-eyed.
"He's no ordinary foe! Stay sharp!"
The bandits shoved captives aside, weapons raised. Their leader—astride the largest horse—scanned Karon before barking,
"Tamir. Tauga."
Two half-shaven twins stepped forward, bows drawn.
Twang!
Arrows embedded precisely where Karon should have been—but found only sand.
"Huh?"
The leader, Kung-ga, frowned. The arrows had passed through empty air—a hairsbreadth dodge.
Luck? Or skill?
Karon abruptly veered toward Kung-ga's group. Up close, he seemed barely adult-sized—unarmed, no less.
"Look at this runt," Kung-ga sneered, curiosity glinting. He waved the twins back. "Tauga! Andru!"
Two mounted raiders split left and right, kicking up sand—one wielding an axe, the other a spear.
Karon didn't slow.
The axeman swung low, aiming to force a leap—
But Karon pivoted impossibly, darting to the spearman's flank.
How?!
Before the axeman could redirect his strike, Karon vaulted onto his horse.
Unthinkable reflexes.
A palm-sized dagger plunged into the raider's neck. Karon snatched the falling axe and hurled it—
Crunch!
The spearman's skull split mid-turn. Both bandits crumpled.
Seven remaining raiders exchanged uneasy glances. Kung-ga's face hardened—amusement replaced by cold intent.
"Bring me his head."
They charged as one.
Karon dismounted, seizing the dead men's weapons. The bandits scoffed—fighting mounted foes barehanded was suicide.
But Karon knew better.
Seven opponents. Mounts would trap him.
Desert horses moved predictably. His legs did not.
He weaved through their assault,每一步 anticipating trajectories—their gazes, muscle twitches, weapon arcs mapped in his mind.
Sand swirled as he moved faster than any horse. Arrows from the twins whiffed past.
Crack!
An axe shattered a horse's leg.
Neigh!
Riders toppled, crushed beneath mounts. Karon kept moving—a sandstorm given form.
He flung a spear at an archer.
Swish!
The projectile pierced the man's throat as an arrow grazed Karon's cheek.
"Tauga! You bastard!"
The surviving twin lunged, sword drawn—
Karon sidestepped, lopping off his head with a single axe stroke.
Thud.
Head and blade hit sand together. Karon snatched the fallen sword, charging Kung-ga.
Three bandits remained. None dared approach.
Even their horses recoiled.
Kung-ga dismounted, drawing his blade.
"Who the hell are you?!"
His bravado cracked under Karon's silent advance.
"We serve the Desert King! You think you can—"
Crunch!
Kung-ga's jaw shattered under an elbow strike. He collapsed, disarmed.
The last three bandits scattered.
"Grrk— You'll... regret this..." Kung-ga spat blood, clutching his face.
Sunlight glinted on steel—
"Karon! Wait!"
The chief's voice rang out as Karon's blade hovered at Kung-ga's brow.
