Episode 12: 'Bloodstained John' Didn't Earn His Name Playing Cards

'Bloodstained John' wasn't some nickname from a card game. It was because the bastard was always covered in blood from his daily sellsword antics. John was a skilled mercenary.

"Die! Die!" John charged at the lead assailant. Even though the guy's face was covered with cloth, John could tell right away that the opponent was another sellsword just like him.

"You fucking little shit, you touched my brother!" John swung his sword at the assailant like a raging wild boar. The assailant had no choice but to drop the cash bag on the ground and draw his blade to parry John's strike.

"Boss! We're coming!"

"Raaah! You motherfucking bastards!" John's brothers followed their boss, charging in wildly.

They didn't give a damn about how many enemies there were or who was targeting whom. It was the dead of night anyway—they couldn't see shit. They just latched onto anything that looked like an enemy and went for the throat. That was it.

The clash of cold steel. Human screams. The splatter of blood. Chaos rang out in a deafening cacophony.

And that's why, in the midst of that dizzying mayhem, the mercenaries failed to notice one woman slipping away from the battlefield.

Now free, Cashi bolted into the darkness with every ounce of strength she had.

Squeak!

"The target's running!"

The assailants pursued Cashi like magnets.

"Where you going, you fuckers!" Leaving the mercenaries behind, Cashi ran. Straight toward the mage. She didn't stop her legs for a second.

#

"Mage! Mage!"

Ian opened his eyes at the frantic voice calling him.

What the hell?

As soon as he came to his senses, Ian heard the ground thumping. The earth was bellowing a warning at him.

"What is it?"

"Big trouble! Bandits! Bandits everywhere!" Rik babbled incoherently. The other workers were packing the bare minimum and preparing to hightail it.

Bandits?

Ian was a bit puzzled, but it made sense. This was drake territory, sure, but for folks starving to death in a couple days, who gave a shit about drakes? If one showed up, you died; if not, you lived. It was a gamble. Ian's group had just drawn the short straw.

The mercenaries... they're fighting, I bet.

Ian gauged the mercenaries' situation from the rumbling. Not far off, he could hear ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠people tangled up and moving—meant the battle was still raging.

"The mercenaries are buying time. We need to get out now!" Rik ruthlessly wrote off the mercenaries. No one thought it was weird. That's what you hired sellswords for in situations like this. If they beat the enemy, great; if not, tough luck.

Whew. What a shitshow.

Ian took slow breaths to calm his pounding heart. Getting ambushed in the dead of night by armed bandits was a one-of-a-kind experience. "Unique" was too soft—it was downright brutal. Like getting doused in ice water, it hammered home that he'd been reincarnated into this goddamn medieval fantasy hellhole.

"Rik."

"Y-yes, Mage!"

"If they catch us, we're dead, right?"

"...They probably won't kill us. But they'll sell us as slaves."

A dark shadow fell over Rik's face. Free folk caught by bandits usually ended up sold as slaves. Unless family ponied up ransom, you'd work off your price. Most of the Rabbitfoot caravan were breadwinners from broke-ass families. If the main earner fell, the whole house went down the drain. Wives to hard labor or whoring. Kids into slavery—fed and sheltered in exchange for unpaid grunt work. That was the usual end for families without a head.

"Then we gotta bounce fast."

Thinking of the future made everything look pitch black. But Ian's deadpan tone swelled hope in Rik's chest. Lowly caravan grunts couldn't escape brutal bandits easily. But they had a top-tier imperial asset: a mage. Mages were called "miracle workers." Turning impossible into possible, writing history with wonders—that was a mage.

The workers packed the valuables as quick as they could. Leaving junk behind would distract the bandits. The plan: slip away while the bastards were busy looting.

"Everyone got their stuff?"

"Yes!"

Ian led the workers out. Right then—

"Huff... huff...!"

Cashi burst from the darkness.

"Mage!"

Panting, she grabbed Ian's shoulder. "Help... me out."

Ian eyed her sweat-soaked form and nodded. Chased by bandits, huh? Of course he'd help. Ditching her for showing up late would be a dick move.

"Stick right behind me."

"...Yeah!"

The caravan hands and travelers all stared at Ian. He closed his eyes, focusing.

Playful whispers calling to him. Barely audible normally, but in pitch-black conditions, they came through faintly shy. The voices of darkness.

As soon as Ian chanted in the Maronius tongue, pitch-black darkness swirled around him like clouds.

"Eek!"

"M-Mage?"

The naive caravan workers screamed at the eerie sight. Moonlight barely outlined shapes, but the mage-summoned darkness turned everything into perfect void.

"Everyone grab the person in front's clothes. We're bugging out like this."

"Y-yes! Hold the person next to you! Hurry!"

After calling perfect darkness, Ian cast the next spell.

A spell letting you see in darkness like broad daylight. Once cast, Ian spotted the people milling around him in confusion. In the pitch black where you couldn't see an inch ahead, they couldn't even find the hands of the guy right in front of them.

Ian kindly paired up the stragglers. Cashi was fumbling too, so he lent her his ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠cloak hem.

"Let's go."

"Yeah!"

Shrouded in black darkness, Ian walked the night path. Soon enough, the bandits caught up to the rear.

"Damn."

Ian watched the bandits openly panic. With vision-snuffing blackness like a curtain blocking the way, they couldn't muster the guts to charge in.

One bold bandit stepped into the dark.

Ian summoned a small rock to trip the bandit's foot. Tripping in total darkness crushed their morale—they didn't dare pursue.

"M-Mage..."

"Quiet, everyone. No loud noises. Follow slow."

The workers flinched at occasional footsteps but trusted Ian and moved carefully. Results came gradually. Cloaked in darkness, moving silent to confuse the enemy... the bandits scattered, unable to keep tracking.

"Shit! Find 'em! Somehow!"

The bandits lit torches late. But there weren't many. Ian snuffed them easy with magic.

Ian whipped up gusts at every torch, killing the flames. Groans like screams rose from the bandits.

"Mage! It's a mage!"

"Goddamn it! Mage over there!"

"Relight 'em! They can't hold out forever!"

They could've quit, but the bandits hounded like mad dogs. At this point, Ian got curious. What the hell? Did they slather honey on the caravan? There's a mage—back off already?

"Here! This way!"

Finally, one bandit swept back the dark with his torch.

Ian targeted the torch-bearing bandit and spat Maronius words.

Whoosh! The torch exploded into flames, gruesomely charring the bandit's upper body.

"Aaaagh! Aaaaaagh!"

Sizzling sounds. The acrid stench of burning flesh filled the dark woods.

Time to bail now.

Ian caught his breath. He'd even grilled a guy alive—what more performance did they ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠want, you dumb fucks?

But while their buddy burned alive, the rest crept closer.

"Here! Kill the mage!"

These guys are total psychos, right?

Ian was dumbfounded. Bandits not running? What kind of bandit risked their neck like this? Was this standard for the era's thugs?

"Everyone... battle ready."

Ian steadied his breath and issued calm orders. With them this close, it'd come to melee. Yeah. When a mage burns all mana... they become a brawler. Smashing skulls with weapons!

The workers drew daggers and clubs, hands shaking. Tension thick enough to choke on.

"Kill!"

The bandits charged on command. That instant—

Krunch!

A massive maw burst from the darkness, chomping the bandit's upper body.

"...Huh?"

Firelight from the burning corpse illuminated the beast. Gleaming scales. A terror-inducing face that numbed the legs. A hulking mass like moving rock... A drake.

The true lord of the mountains appeared, gnawing the bandit's torso like chicken drumstick...