“It’s the lumber, you see.”

Alana and I managed to find the animal at the end of the tracks we found and, as usual, Geneva made a feast fit for gods from the meat. We don’t have much shroom juice left over, having sold most of it in the north, but there’s enough to put a cup in each man’s hand after watering it down. It’s not like they have the constitution of me or my elf. I’ll be surprised if they can get through a single barrel.

Baldy seems to be handling his drink well, two cups having just given his sun-tanned skin a slight flush. He’s seated by a fire with myself and Alana. Geneva is standing alone, managing the food. Kierra is amusing herself goading the bandits into arm-wrestling. Yulia is in the carriage with Bell, settling her son for the night.

With good food and drink in them, the criminals make good company. The bandit leader’s manners haven’t abandoned him and seeing as we’re sharing a camp, I thought he might be able to ease my curiosity about the curse of the King’s Road.

“All of us are from Timberstrand.” It occurs to me I don’t know the man’s name. Did anyone ask for it? Yulia must have. She’s too considerate not to. I’ll have to ask her if she rejoins us. “Lot of us worked in the yards, cutting logs. City lives off its wood. Whole kingdom loves the stuff. Too bad there’s only so much wood and it takes trees an age to grow again. The Rosefields put a ban on logging. Said we can only cut down so many trees a year and any more is illegal. Bah!”

Baldy drains his cup. Alana refills it from the bottle at her feet, already mixed with water, and he nods in thanks. “If they’re cutting down less trees, they need less men to do it. Need less men to haul it too. Suddenly, we all found ourselves with no work and the same responsibilities. Tragic, eh?”

“Unfortunate,” I agree.

“And thieving was the first thing that came to mind?” Alana says, her tone still courteous but her eyes narrowed.

“No, milady, I wouldn’t have gone straight to thievin’. Looked for work everywhere but wasn’t anything for a common man with common skills.”

“I thought the lands around Rosentheim were full of farms,” I question. “I’m sure they could use plenty of hands.”

“Sure. Come time for harvest, there’s never enough hands and plenty of work for everyone. Long as you don’t mind hard labor, long hours, and shit pay. Can barely feed yourself on what they offer, let alone a family. Still leaves you screwed for the rest of the year. Could be the best farmhand in the kingdom and it wouldn’t be worth a crown to the Rosefields. They own all the farms and the people who run them are families that have been doing so for so many generations, they’re born green. Er, not really.”

He glances over his shoulder at Kierra, the elf with a literal green pallor. “Thing is, it’s not something one can work their way into to. Can’t even buy into it, which really says nothing. Anybody that wants to own and work their own land has to go way beyond the family’s territory. Settle something wild. But then they’re stuck between the manabeasts and the clans, crazy bastards. Almost as bad as the raiding parties from Graywatch.”

Let’s see. In one direction, there is a trend of unemployment. In the other, the clans, the group that raised a savage like Kalise that may as well be the closest human equivalent to an elf. In the other direction, there are the raiders of the seaside city, the land-bound counterparts of the pirates. The final direction is a life of crime.

Put in that light, their life choices are a lot more understandable. Except, I can’t help thinking their views are too narrow.

There has to be work for strong able-bodied men somewhere in the kingdom. Perhaps not in the capital, too many have already gone there to seek their fortunes. Maybe in Sleepy Harbor? As the center of the Guiness family’s trade empire, there’s sure to be work shuffling cargo to and fro. Or, if they are truly desperate, they could always join the north for campaigns. If it’s enough for acolytes to pay the tuition of the Grand Hall, it’s enough to support a family if spent well, bolstered by a few odd jobs.

At the end of the day, robbing hapless travelers is simply easier, isn’t it? Why do backbreaking labor or risk their lives against powerful manabeasts when they can make fifty gold in one day by threatening a carriage full of women and a young boy? The thought is enough to stop any sympathy I might feel for the bandit from growing out of control.

“Lot of my men were causing trouble in the city. Before the lord cracked down on us, I gathered the more sensible ones and took our act to the road. We shake down a few people that can afford to spare a little gold and the kingdom remains peaceful.”

“You call fifty crowns a little gold?”

“You were supposed to offer whatever you did have in a panic.”

“And we look like we can spare the wealth?” Alana asks with a scoff, unimpressed by his sad story.

“Yeah, with that fancy carriage. Riding around in that without any visible knights is just begging to be robbed.”

Could my misfortune on the King’s Road be my own fault?! The carriage isn’t that fancy and we have a good reason why we aren’t traveling with an escort.

“Fooled me good though.” The bandit scoffs. “Master casters, huh. Ah, well. This is the best meat and drink I’ve ever had so I suppose all’s good.”

“My sister wasn’t joking about being escorted by several masters,” Alana says icily.

“Yeah? And where are they hiding?’

“One of them is over their riling your men into beating each other half to death.” Alana nods her head in the direction of a friendly brawl, Kierra standing outside of the ring of brawny men wearing an amused smirk. “One of them cooked that meat you’re so happy with.” She nods toward Geneva. “One of them is with my sister, the adorable little imp you might have seen scurrying around the place. And you’ve been casually chatting with the last.” Her gaze stops on me.

The bandit leader looks at me, brows furrowing. Then he laughs. “You’re trying to pull one over me. Maybe the elf but not a girl that barely looks old enough to be drinking. No offense, lady.”

“Oh, I’m not offended,” I say, motioning for Alana to pass the bottle to refill my own cup. “But she’s telling you the truth. Well, I’m not a master caster but I’m certainly as dangerous as one. I could take out you and all your men by myself.”

He peers at me, trying to discern the truth of my words. I meet his stare and hold it. He’s the first to look away, though there’s still plenty of doubt in his expression. Not that I care. For his own sake, he had better hope he has no occasion to test the veracity of our claims.

“I don’t suppose you’ll take this night as an opportunity for reflection and give up your thieving ways?” I say lazily.

To which the bandit leader scoffs. “Not unless it starts raining grain on a regular basis.”

“Mm. Well, you might want to take a break. With the campaigns ending, there’s going to be a bunch of hunters on the road. Doubt they’re going to be as understanding about things as us.”

“…I see. Thank you for the warning, milady.”

Is it wise to warn the bandits and keep them on the roads longer? Perhaps not. While Baldy has been rather agreeable with us, there’s no telling how he usually is. Or how he would have been if he hadn’t been scared by the threat of facing master casters from the north. But right now, these men are my guests and I’m not so uncouth to send a guest into possible danger.

“No worries. Here, have another drink.”

“Much obliged.”

-

[Master Lou.]

A sultry whisper awakens me from murky dreams of freezing cold magic and dragonfire. The carriage is dark but a quick film corrects that, turning the gloom to shades of gray.

I don’t immediately detect any problems. Kierra is resting peacefully beneath me, arms crossed over my lower back. On the opposite bench, Yulia is lying on her side with Allen curled up against her chest. Alana is propped up against the wall, a blanket wrapped around her. My succubi should be resting on the driver’s bench. They don’t need sleep but they use the quiet moments to scheme. What has disturbed your quiet time, my little saint?

[Some of the bandits have proved ungrateful for your mercy. They are organizing, preparing to storm the carriage.]

Those little…after everything we did for them? I fed those bastards the fruit of my own labors and they try to ambush us in the night like…like…like a bunch of criminals. Which they are. But they’re people before they’re criminals or at least they should be.

Behavior like this is just beastly. No, worse than that. Even animals know how to properly repay a kindness. I really expected more from Baldy, whose name I still don’t know. So much for thinking of him as a gentleman in ungentlemanly circumstances.

[The leader was stabbed in his sleep. He is still alive but he won’t remain so without aide. The one leading the coup is this man.] The image of a middle-aged man with a square face, a severe frown, and thinning hair appears in my mind. [He is the one vying for control of the group but the one preparing to lead the assault on the carriage is this one.] The imagine is replaced by the face of the young man who practically drooled over Yulia earlier. Seems good sense and goodwill weren’t enough to triumph over his base desires.

[Do you wish for us to take care of it, Master Lou?]

Hm. Answer a question first. Why did these bandits betray us? Or at least, betray our expectations? They have to know this is a fool’s errand. I wasn’t shy describing our time in the north and what we did there. Kierra demonstrated her pure affinity while healing the bandits after the bare-knuckle brawls she incited. While, to my great disappointment, they are clueless about summoning and elementals, Geneva and Bell are obviously not human, something that should make anyone with good sense very cautious.

That combined with the tangible benefits of our goodwill should have been enough to dissuade them from violence. They don’t even know how much gold we’re carrying, something I made sure not to mention as our profits from selling Howie’s brews could tempt a saint into thieving. So, why?

[Have you ever touched a flame?]

A bit random. Of course I have. What fire caster isn’t interested in the subject of their magic? Saints, plenty of ordinary children stupidly stick their fingers in the pretty light.

[Precisely. Children cannot resist a pretty flame. Intellectually, they know it is dangerous. Their parents tell them. Their friends tell them. Their community elders tell them. But still, the child can’t help testing the flame themselves. Believing others exaggerate the pain. That they are tougher than others. That the reward is worth the pain. That they are special and the fire will not hurt them.]

That’s stupid.

[Every creature has a weakness, Master Lou. For many of the short-lived races, their lack of time is one of their greatest weaknesses. They are naturally bold and shortsighted, their very beings constructed to make the most of their limited time.]

Bold and shortsighted. Yeah, that sums up this plot. Then, no matter my restraint, no matter my goodwill, and no matter how saintly I am, it can still lead to a bloodbath?

[Are you asking if mercy can be wasted? Or if your kindness can be returned with ill will?]

No. The answer to those questions is obvious. I just…I thought…

[You thought things would be different for you.]

…I see what you did there.

[Nothing can change the nature of a creature, Master Lou. Apparently, not even being reborn through the power of what you call a god.]

Ouch.

[You wouldn’t have to worry about these things if you weren’t so strict about the use of the mental affinity. We could have learned of these men’s plot before the drinks were poured.]

Saints, I regret wasting good drink on these bastards. And once again, I’ll have to refuse. I won’t become another Grimoire.

[Your compassion is a shackle.]

One I willingly wear. Can you imagine a world where I know everything before it happens? A world where I know how every conversation starts and ends? Where I know every secret? Every question and every answer? Saints. I can’t imagine anything more boring. Or disgusting.

[There is much pleasure to be found in such a world.]

I’m not a succubus. I won’t enjoy manipulating people or changing them from the inside out. And I won’t give up one of the few hard morals I’m actually proud of. There will be times when I have to break that stance but it won’t be for a bunch of overgrown shits that aided in the murder of a man dedicated to their well-being so they could do unspeakable things to a group of women, including a young mother cuddling with her son.

[Shall we kill them?]

Oh. There it is. I was beginning to wonder if my empathy during the March was a fluke but the same discomfort assaults me at the thought of indiscriminately murdering the bandits. Perhaps because of the words of Baldy, a poor bastard that could die without me ever learning his true name, I don’t see them as just bandits, but poor men having fallen on hard times. And because of his actions, I find it hard to envision them as irredeemable villains. The man is saving their lives twice over and his reward is bleeding out on the ground. The world can be cruel.

I’m about to contribute to that cruelty.

They’ve made themselves enemies. That means they no longer get to benefit from my mercy or my morals. Bell, kill anyone involved. By involved, I mean those who are actively participating. Knock out the ones going along with it so they aren’t stabbed in their sleep, I’ll think about what to do with them. Same for those who aren’t going along with it, if there are any. Heal Baldy, too. He kept his end of the bargain so he gets the benefit of my mercy.

[As you command, Master Lou.]

As my virtue disguised as an adorable imp commences her slaughter, I close my eyes. My wife’s warm arms should easily lull me to sleep but I can’t ignore the sounds of slaughter outside the carriage.