Awakening Domination System: But I'm a Slave?-Chapter 350: Bandits [1]

Alaric stepped through the portal.

His foot hit solid ground and fallen leaves.

The temperature shifted immediately. No longer the cave's cool stillness but actual air.

He blinked as his eyes adjusted.

Trees. Everywhere. Tall ones with thick trunks that rose into canopy overhead, blocking most of the sky. What little he could see showed darkness.

The moon hung high. Nearly full. Silver light filtering through gaps in the leaves, casting everything in shades of grey and shadow.

Wind breezed past him. Gentle. Carrying scents of earth and vegetation.

Natural sounds filled the space, rustling leaves, distant animal calls, the soft hum of a forest at night.

And behind him—

WHOOOM!

The portal collapsed.

Alaric looked back. Saw only dark cave mouth set into rocky outcropping. No glow. No essence signature. Just empty stone entrance that could have been natural formation rather than dungeon gateway.

"So," he said quietly to the empty forest. "I cleared a dungeon, huh?"

The words felt strange. Surreal. Because hours ago, or days, or however much time had actually passed, he'd been unconscious. Trapped in memories of Brandon's life. Fighting for survival against creatures.

And now he was... here. Wherever "here" was.

He looked around more carefully. Trees in every direction. Underbrush thick enough to make navigation difficult. No visible landmarks. No lights suggesting civilization. No roads or paths or any indication of which way led to anywhere.

Then he climbed onto the rocky outcropping, using handholds in the stone to pull himself up until he stood atop the cave entrance, maybe fifteen feet higher than ground level.

Looked out across the forest canopy.

Trees. And more trees. Stretching in every direction as far as his night vision could perceive. Endless sea of dark green and black, undulating slightly in the wind.

But no buildings.

Alaric frowned and clicked his tongue in frustration. "Great. Just great. Now I'm in some stupid forest without knowing which direction I should even—"

He cut himself off. Complaining achieved nothing.

Think. Use what you have.

He couldn't see civilization. But he could navigate. The stars were visible through gaps in the canopy, familiar constellations that confirmed he was still in the same general region of the world. And the moon's position suggested direction.

Moon rises in the east, currently high and slightly past zenith, so...

He oriented himself mentally. Picked a direction that felt like it would lead toward populated areas based on pure educated guessing.

Northwest-ish. Population centers tend to be northwest of here if this is anywhere near where I think it is.

He climbed down from the outcropping. Landed softly on forest floor, his boots making minimal sound despite the impact.

The Nightfire Edge hung at his hip.

The Voidwalker's Band pulsed gently on his finger, he could feel it working, dampening his essence signature, making him less visible to anything that might be hunting by supernatural senses.

The forest was quiet. Mostly.

Low growls echoed at intervals, distant enough to not be immediate threats. Night beasts.

But Alaric kept moving. Maintaining steady pace through underbrush.

Minutes bled into what felt like an hour. Maybe more. Hard to track time when surrounded by identical trees and darkness.

Then he saw it—

A trail.

Worn path cutting through the forest at angle to his current trajectory.

It ran roughly perpendicular to his current direction. Left or right. Choose.

He studied the trail briefly. The left fork seemed slightly more worn. More recently used if the disturbed earth and lack of overgrowth were any indication.

Left it is.

Alaric stepped onto the trail and began walking. Following the path rather than cutting through underbrush. Faster this way. Less noise. And if the trail led to civilization—

Which it had to, eventually, because trails didn't maintain themselves.

Then following it was his best option.

The forest continued around him.

Just few minutes passed when...

Grrr!

Alaric's stomach growled.

Reminding him that he hadn't eaten in... how long?

"How long am I going to have to walk?" he muttered to the empty forest.

Then suddenly, he paused mid-step.

As he sensed essence signatures ahead on the trail.

Maybe a hundred meters distant.

Human signatures. Several of them. Gathered in one location.

His hand moved to Nightfire Edge's hilt. Rested there casually.

"Someone's out here at this hour?" He frowned. "In the middle of nowhere?"

He kept walking but shifted trajectory. Moved off the trail and into the bushes alongside it. Using underbrush as cover while approaching the signatures more carefully.

The Voidwalker's Band pulsed on his finger. His essence signature dampened to near-invisibility. Making him harder to detect unless someone was actively looking with serious skill.

He crept closer. Moving quietly through vegetation.

The essence signatures resolved into clearer detail. Six of them. Maybe seven. Clustered together like—

A camp.

He pushed through final layer of bushes carefully and got his first visual.

He saw wagons. Two of them. Covered with canvas tarps that suggested cargo underneath.

Four horses tied nearby, quietly grazing on whatever vegetation they could reach.

Two tents set up between the wagons. Small. Functional rather than comfortable.

And people.

Four men in leather armor stood at various points around the camp's perimeter. Their posture suggested alertness despite the late hour. Hands resting on weapons. Eyes scanning darkness.

Mercenaries, Alaric assessed immediately.

Near the fire, three more people sat on wooden logs, eating from bowls. Their clothing was better quality. Cleaner.

Merchants, probably. The ones who'd hired the guards to protect their cargo while traveling dangerous roads.

Merchants. Which means civilization isn't far. They're transporting goods somewhere.

He studied the scene for another moment. Weighing options.

Then stepped out of the treeline.

Immediately—

The mercenaries' heads snapped toward him. Hands went to weapons. Two of them drew blades.

"Hold!" One of them barked.

Alaric raised both hands slowly. Universal gesture of non-aggression.

"Easy. I'm not looking for trouble. Just a wanderer who got turned around in the forest."

The merchant nearest the fire, a middle-aged man with thinning hair and nervous eyes, flinched backward.

"Stay away, you filthy bandit!"

"Bandit?" Alaric's eyebrows rose. "I just said I'm a lost wanderer. I only wanted to know—"

"We've heard that line before," the lead mercenary interrupted, his blade coming up to guard position.

"Lost wanderer. Just asking for directions. Always the same story before they whistle for their friends in the trees and try to rob us blind."

He took a step forward.

"So here's what's going to happen. You're going to turn around. Walk back into those trees. And if we see you again, we won't be asking questions. Understood?"

"Look, I genuinely don't—"

The mercenary lunged.

Blade coming in at angle meant to disable rather than kill, aiming for Alaric's shoulder, trying to wound and incapacitate.

Scan!

The system panel flickered to life:

[Target: Human Mercenary]

[Rank: D+]

[Threat Level: Low]

Alaric moved quickly.

Sidestepped the blade with minimal effort.

His hand came up, caught the mercenary's wrist mid-swing. Twisted. Applied pressure to specific nerve cluster.

The man's grip went slack. The blade fell from nerveless fingers.

Alaric caught it before it hit the ground. Reversed his grip. Brought the pommel up toward the mercenary's temple in non-lethal strike meant to knock him unconscious.

But—

THUNK!

The mercenary's eyes went wide. His mouth opened. Blood bubbled from his lips.

He fell forward.

An arrow protruded from the back of his skull. Fletching still quivering from impact.

The body hit the ground.

THUNK THUNK!

Two more arrows and two more mercenaries dropping, one clutching his throat where an arrow had severed his windpipe, the other with shaft through his eye socket.

Dead before they hit the ground.

The remaining mercenary and the three merchants screamed.

"BANDITS!" The merchant scrambled backward. "He was—"

Alaric's head snapped toward the treeline.

And new sensed essence signatures. At least a dozen.

He'd walked right into it.

And they'd used him as distraction while they positioned themselves.

Shit.

Figures emerged from the darkness. Men and women in mismatched armor. Weapons drawn. Faces hidden behind crude masks or cloth wrappings.

Actual bandits.

And Alaric, standing in the middle of their kill zone with a dead mercenary at his feet—

Looked like one of them.

"No," he said flatly. Looking at the approaching bandits.

Then at the terrified merchants. "I'm not with them—"

"KILL THEM ALL!" A voice roared from the bandit line. "Take the wagons!"

The bandits charged.