1.30.2 Bandits

Isha huddled behind Castra, trying not to think about what was going to happen. Castra stood tall in the dusty clearing, facing the crew of bandits. The leader, a young man with a grizzled appearance, sneered down at them.

"I know you have the half-breed girl with you," he said, his voice like dry-leaves. Isha hadn't heard a sound like that before. Maybe his throat was parched. "We followed her scent here. Give us what we want and you will live."

Castra crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow. "Who do you work for?" she said, her voice coder than ice. "You lot usually snatch and grab people for your own pathetic pleasures, not to harvest blood for alchemical resources. Someone's pulling your string, spit it out. Who are they?"

The leader shot a glance over his shoulder. "Did you hear what she said, boys?" 

A chorus of grunts and raucous laughter filled the clearing. One bandit, a lanky youth with half his face covered in burns, stepped forward. "Big words for a lone woman," he jeered. 

"Listen here, girl," the leader spat. "We got mounted warriors and mages by our side. Hand over the half-breed and maybe I'll show you and that girl some mercy."

Castra sighed. "Why is it—" her gaze swept over the company of bandits, "-that you fools never learn? This happens time and time again, yet you never seem to learn from the mistakes of those who came before you."

"What are you blabbering about, woman? Do as we say, and we can avoid any bloodshed."

Castra snorted. "You think a few sellswords and parlour trick Mages will frighten me? If you don't want bloodshed, surrender to my authority and answer my questions or else suffer the consequences. Either way, this road will be safer for it."

The bandits unsheathed their swords with a chorus of metallic scrapes, crossbows clicked, and a few figures in the back radiated Mana, likely preparing a spell. Castra, on the other hand, barely blinked.

"You must be mad, woman. But you are a beauty—" he said, a predatory glint in his eye. A slow, suggestive lick of his lips followed, making Isha gag. "Maybe I will take you as my own."

Isha grimaced. Argh, disgusting man! 

But her initial fear had transitioned into a strange kind of fascination. Castra was obviously confident in her abilities, and that meant they were indeed safe. Now, she was simply an eager observer, curious to see how her Master would handle these brigands.

As Isha had expected, Castra dismissed the leader's pathetic words with a dismissive shake of her head. "Even your threats are juvenile," she said. "Isha, dear, move back a little, would you?"

The bandit leader surged forward, a snarl twisting his face. "I'll show you how ripe I can be," he roared, lunging at Castra like a rabid animal.

Castra's hand became a whirlwind, a blur that ripped through the air. The resounding smack echoed through the clearing and the leader went tumbling backward, his face contorted in a mask of shock and pain. A crimson handprint blossomed across his cheek, tears welling up in his eyes.

The leader lay sprawled at his men's feet. For a heartbeat, there was a stunned silence. Then the silence shattered as Isha clapped her hand in delight. Her joyous outburst seemed to jolt the leader out of his stupor, a roar replacing his initial shock. 

"You… you bitch! You dare attack me? Get her, you Naika blinded fools!"

The mages and crossbowmen raised their hands in unison, and the air crackled with Mana. A barrage of spells erupted. Bolts of crackling white lights streaked towards Castra, intermingled with shimmering orbs of vigorous energy. Crossbow bolts, tipped with vicious barbs, whistled through the air, the ordinary weapon a stark contrast to the magical projectiles. The area where Castra stood was illuminated by the flashes of sorcery .

A dust cloud erupted around Castra, obscuring her from view, the air itself vibrating under the assault. 

"In the end, she was all talk and no bite," one of the Mage who had attacked said with a sneer. 

His words were met with grunts and nods of agreement from his companions. Isha felt a surge of disappointment rise within her. How could they be so blind? Even she, not even a [Mage], could sense the potent Mana radiating from the heart of the dust cloud. Castra, far from being defeated, was radiating a power that crackled with the fury of thunderstorms. How could they not sense that?

Shame washed over Isha. She had been afraid of these fools? Isha thought even she would have been able to handle a few of them, if they didn't have such numbers. For Castra, they should be like children playing games of war.

A shift occurred within the dust cloud. The swirling haze dissipated, revealing Castra standing with one hand on her hips. Not even a single speck of dust had touched her.

A slow smile spread across Castra's face. It was a smile that made a mockery of foolish children. "Fools," she said. "After every chance I gave you to surrender, you had to stab yourself in the feet."

Another barrage of attack resounded around Castra—the result didn't change. "You done?" 

Mist swirled around Castra's hand, solidifying with a hiss into a fearsome mace whose spiked head burned with fiery glaze. She gripped the weapon tightly, a cruel smile twisting her lips.

"My turn."

With a powerful burst of speed, she launched herself towards the enemy lines, kicking up a cloud of dirt in her wake.

First she attacked the only five mounted warriors, leaping over the first and second line of bandits with ease, she slammed into the third, her fiery mace a whirlwind of destruction. She made short work of them, dismounting and devastating them with her spiked weapon.

Even amidst the carnage, she showed surprising grace, using her flaming weapon to frighten the horses away from the battle rather than harming them. All the while, she deflected a flurry of sword blows with her mace—a rhythmic clang followed by the screams of the fallen.

Isha watched in awe. "She's incredible!" 

Castra changed her offensive tactics to a purely defensive stance, focusing on deflecting the flashing swords with her burning mace. That allowed the bandits to slowly surround her.

Why is she allowing that?

The fire from her mace began to sputter and fade. With a final hiss, the fire of the mace vanished, she let the weapon drop, and it evaporated into mist. 

A lone bandit lunged at her, sword flashing. With lightning speed, she snatched the bandit's sword hand and used it to cut apart another attacker. Then, she lifted her captive in the air with her bare hands, and spun him about, swinging the screaming man to both defend and attack. The bandits faltered, momentarily stunned, but quickly attacked with renewed fury.

Isha winced. "She fights like a barbarian, not a mage." 

Castra's Mana fluxed. 

"Isha, if you wish to become a true Mage," she shouted, batting away an attacker. "You must have a mind to create powerful spells. Watch carefully!"

Her voice had carried even in the chaos of battle. She must have used a spell to enhance it.

Castra hurled the bloody pulp of a man and clapped her hands together with a resounding crack. She looked as if she were praying. A powerful surge of mana washed out of her, thick with killing intent.

Castra smiled.