Accidental Healer-Chapter 50 - Maridus the bandit leader

"How many did we lose?" Maridus asks, his voice rough, drained.

His hands press against his temples, his skull throbbing with frustration. He hadn’t slept in three days. None of them had.

His captain, grim-faced, answers without hesitation. "Six more today, sir."

Maridus hands reach up and tighten on his hair, he clenches his teeth, forcing himself to stay calm.

Eighteen men. Gone. More than half of the time no one had even seen the demon that took them.

He lifts his gaze, fixing his captain with a glare. "Tell me someone at least saw it this time."

The captain hesitates. "Only glimpses. A shadow. Eyes like embers." He clenches his jaw. "No one ever really sees it coming. They just hear the whispers."

The captain visibly shivers at the memory of the cold voices that come before death strikes again.

Maridus slams his fist onto the table, sending a half-empty mug flying.

"Damn it, damn it, damn it! One bloody damn MONSTER! We've slaughtered entire waves of level twenty mana spawn in this dungeon—hundreds of them! And now, one beast is turning us into prey!?"

The captain stays silent. What was there to say? It was the truth.

Maridus pushes back from the table, pacing. They had done everything right. The strategy was flawless. He had spent every coin he had buying this dungeon—this perfect dungeon, one overflowing with mana, a prime spot for training and leveling his men to outpace the rest of the new world.

Everything was going so perfectly. They were on the path to making this world their own, It should be his world.

Instead?

A single monster is killing them.

At first, they thought there were two—one orange, one black. But then reports changed. No two creatures had been seen together. One beast. The damn thing must’ve evolved it’s class from the experience it gained killing HIS MEN.

And worst of all? It wasn’t even in a hurry.

"The only daytime attack stopped after the first day," the captain says. "Now it only comes at night."

Maridus' fingers dig into his scalp, pulling at his graying hair. He already knows that.

What he hadn’t known, what no one had told him, was how his men were dying.

First the whispers start. They come soft in the beginning, like a breath against the ear.

The men who survive hearing the voice describe it as gentle at first, almost like their own thoughts. Easy to dismiss.

But then–they change. Their own thoughts twisting and tangling with the voice of the beast. Asking them disturbing questions.

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"What will your last thoughts be before you are carried away alone into the dark?"

"Will you soil yourself, like your friend did?"

"Does it terrify you to know there is no escape from me?"

When the voices come, someone ALWAYS dies. The men hold on—at first. They are trained killers. They’ve faced death before. This isn’t just death though.

The whispered promises…they become the calm static before a storm. One bandit describes it as standing in an open field exposed and naked staring at a wall of clouds while the earth holds its breath.

There is nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. The storm will come and all you can do is wait for your turn. And the storm ALWAYS arrives.

This morning, they found the bodies of the three cowards who had locked themselves in a cabin.

The door was wrecked and in pieces.

The first had been ripped open like a pig for butchering.

The second’s face had been shredded down to the bone, an expression of sheer terror frozen in death.

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The third…

The third had tried to claw his way out.

His fingers were still embedded in the wood, deep, raw scratches marring the wall—as if he’d been desperate to escape something already inside.

The discovery left the entire camp on edge. Even in the daylight they jumped at every small noise. Peering around corners and avoiding the shadows.

Maridus himself never left his quarters at night. He was easily the strongest but the darkness eroded his nerves.

This isn't normal.

That was the thought clawing at the edges of his mind, the thought he refused to say out loud.

This isn’t a beast. This isn’t a monster. And it sure as hell isn't a mana spawn

Something worse.

The captain coughs, shifting uncomfortably. "Sir, the men—"

"I know," Maridus snaps. "They're losing it."

No. They had already lost it.

Half of them still refuse to go outside after sunset. Some whisper prayers to gods they don’t even believe in.

Maridus had two bandits flogged for refusing to patrol. He told himself it was to show the others they feared the wrong thing. That they should fear him instead.

But even as the whip cracked, even as their screams rang through the camp—no one looked at him with fear. They only looked at the shadows.

They were afraid of the monster that came each night, they feared the gentle voice that promised death.

Maridus grits his teeth. What was he supposed to do? They couldn’t leave the fort. How would that help? They would be chasing shadows, even more vulnerable then in their fort.

Still, He wasn’t about to just roll over and die.

"Torren," he barks, turning to his spellcaster. "What do we do?"

Torren, an older elf with a silver goatee, rubs his chin. "Perhaps," he murmurs. "We need to lure the beast."

Maridus' gaze snaps to him.

"How?"

Torren exhales, thinking. "The whispers. It’s the only pattern we have. It has us, at this rate we will be slowly swept away.”

He shifts. “The men say that the monster speaks to them before it takes them."

Maridus nods stiffly.

"They should move toward us when it starts." Torren taps the table. "A controlled retreat. The moment they hear the voice in their heads, they run to the plaza—where you and I will be waiting in ambush."

Maridus' captain frowns. “There is only one problem.” The room looks to him.

"Andre told us there was a spellcaster who attacked with the monster at his checkpoint.” The room hangs on his words.

“We’ve never seen the spellcaster. Only the monster. It’s unlikely they will come together, right?"

Torren’s lips twist. "It’s not the spellcaster tearing us to pieces though is it?” The captain flinches.

“With the monster gone we’ve already won. We kill it and then hunt down the caster.” The captain nods, it makes sense.

“The plan is simple, we draw the best to the center plaza. The moment the monster steps into the sight, I’ll light it up. Everything. No more shadows, no more hiding. If the caster is nearby, we’ll flush them out too."

Maridus likes the plan. It's certainly better than dying slowly cut down one by one.

He needs to see the thing that had been making him feel like prey.

For the first time in three days, he smirks. "Then let’s burn the bastard alive."

The men need this hope. Even a false hope is better than none.

And if this didn’t work?

Then maybe the whispers were right.

Maybe they really were all going to die.