The defeat was short-lived, his crestfallen pace took mere moments to reverse. The flames of power were reignited just as swiftly as the mental words had been spoken. He could use this power but he needed to handle it with care, lest it overwhelmed his rational side.

The pulsation of that energy thrummed along his skin with impatience, demanding to be let loose on the way down. This was not a typical barrier like the ones cast before.

The alcove where they spent the night sat three minutes away from a dirt path up into Drake Tail Pass. It led past the foothills, down to a well-traveled road that skirted an edge around Nagelroot Hills. The bandits were positioned in such a way that had good sightlines on foot traffic while remaining hidden beyond the crest of a hilltop.

Quintin stood on that dirt path without realizing how. When he looked back to the alcove, he saw the still-disturbed cloud of dust and stone smoke emanating from a small crater fifty meters below. He shrugged and noticed the fully active bandit encampment ahead of him. It seemed as though they noticed his little superhero landing, and were now preparing to greet him at their meager fortifications.

As he got closer, he saw how badly wounded the men and women were. Not even half of them got up from their fur-lined tents. The battle-ready half brandished crossbows and other assorted weaponry in his direction.

A tough-looking man with long, greasy black hair stood confidently at the head. The man held up a gloved fist to keep his comrades cool, calm, and under control. He wore a well-crafted set of leather armor, laying his other hand on an ax pommel with the blade inserted in the grass at his feet.

When Quintin got too close, the man yelled, "Woah there! Take another step and my men won't need me to give the order. What brings you to our humble abode this fine morning?"

Stopping here meant he only needed two bursts of pressurized movement to reach their front lines. He spoke in a provocative tone, "The stench coming from this camp made it impossible for me to sleep last night. So, I thought I'd come over and give you guys a piece of my mind, but up this close, it's so much worse!"

Quintin plugged his nose and gestured the handwave of rotten smells. The bandit leader's angular face swelled with anger as a vein throbbed in the middle of his forehead.

Reining in his fury, the man took a step forward while hefting the ax over his shoulder. "Is that so? Well, you'll have to excuse us and hand over all your belongings for that one, Princess. That is if the pleasure of being alive to smell another day appeals to you."

The bandit leader licked the edge of his ax and added, "Putting you out of your misery doesn't sound like a bad idea either."

The men and women laughed it up behind him, most of them regained a bit of lost confidence after seeing the actions of the young man and hearing their leader's threat. But mixed in with the laughter, a few became even warier instead. The fog had mostly receded by this point, but the demeanor of the young man made them think twice about that.

"Ah - jokes on me for coming all polite-like. Though come to think of it, you did mention misery," his face filled with disdain as he paused for emphasis, "and I really don't mind dumping your dead bodies in the Yellow River instead."

Warning bells triggered in the bandit leader's mind as he heard the farcical tone in the young man's voice. His arm suddenly snapped forward in an outstretched motion, signaling his cohorts to take fire. The camp sprang into action with bows, slings, and other ranged implements being released. One bandit threw out an explosive potion, which sent an upheaval of dirt and rock chunks cascading around the point of impact.

No one went up close for a head-on confrontation. Soon enough, some men with wands conjured [Fireballs] that flew amongst the falling debris. It was hard to tell if the mages hit their mark, but the furious explosions sent tremors through the land. The bombardment lasted for a while longer until the apparent leader called for a ceasefire.

He beckoned to the group of close combat specialists, "Guess it's our turn, forward!"

With a sustained battle cry, they charged into the dust cloud that the explosive spells had whipped up. The sounds of clashing metal carried on from within the uncertain battlefield. The casters and bowmen strained to pick up on traces of movement inside. All they saw was unconscious men and broken blades being tossed out of the commotion, landing by the tall grass in front of them.

The air began to settle as the last remnant of noise ceased. The status of their leader was defeated as he laid prone on the ground and panting heavily. The young man claimed the dominant position, standing tall in his undamaged cream-color battle robe. If anything, he appeared even cleaner now than at the start; which begged the question - how?

The remaining men and women stood stock-still against the weakened barricades. They may have attempted to escape if not for the wounded that laid defenseless behind them. That, and the fact that none of their comrades had been killed by the mysterious visitor in the chaos.

In the nervous light of dawn, they lowered their weapons without knowing what to do. The enemy didn't even need to move from his original spot to defeat them. His perfect condition meant their continued struggle was meaningless.

The men and women flinched at the sound of Quintin's voice, "Tell your people to drop their weapons, this is over. I have some questions to ask. How you answer will determine what happens after... By the way, are you guys really bandits? That was an extremely sloppy maneuver."

Everyone turned their eyes to the bandit leader as he wheezed for breath under the questioning metal boot. Would he answer death before dishonor, or concede to the mercy of his captor?