CHAPTER 56: CAMPING

Coming out from between the trees and returning to the road, Aziz slightly widened his eyes in surprise at what he was seeing.

The rest of the group of bandits lay dead on the ground, without exception.

But what truly surprised him wasn’t the fact that they were dead — that was already expected, considering the chaos they had initiated. What left him momentarily speechless was the grotesque state the bodies were in. It went beyond the limits of a simple death in combat. It was as if each man there had been deconstructed from the inside out, dismantled by invisible and merciless hands.

Arms and legs were completely twisted, at such absurd angles that they seemed to belong to discarded rag dolls or sculptures made by a disturbed artist whose vision of art was based on pain and mutilation. The joints were dislocated in anatomically impossible ways, and the bones — some snapped in half, others pierced through — tore through the skin with white, jagged tips, resembling thorns of a wild creature.

Abdomens, torn open like ripped sacks, exposed a moist, pulsating tangle of partially crushed viscera, some still twitching from involuntary spasms. Stomachs, intestines, and livers were spread like grotesque crimson ornaments across the filthy, blood-soaked earth. In many, the chest had been crushed as if something enormous had collapsed onto them. Skulls, brutally shattered, exposed brain matter now reduced to a whitish paste mixed with blood, dust, and dry leaves.

The smell was a story in itself — a nauseating cocktail of metallic blood, decomposing flesh, fresh feces, and warm urine. An acidic, penetrating odor that seemed to seep through the nostrils and cling to the throat. Flies were already turning the scene into a feast: they buzzed in slow circles, landing on the half-open eyes of the dead, crawling into gaping mouths, feasting on exposed wounds as if that place were a banquet reserved for worms.

Aziz stared at the scene in silence, his body steady, but his gaze carried something bordering on fascination. He felt, strangely, a bit relieved. Relieved and... satisfied. He wasn’t alone in his brutality. There were other hands here — hands perhaps as raw and ruthless as his. That validated something within him. Something he didn’t want to name, but that pulsed strongly in his chest.

Maybe all of them had crossed some kind of line that day. A line that, once crossed, offered no return. And that was fine.

"Craa! Craa!"

The ominous sound cut through the silence like a thin blade. The trio looked up at the cloudy sky, where a dozen dark birds circled, tracing slow, rhythmic orbits, descending like a hungry whirlwind over the scattered bodies.

Crows.

Hungry, sharp-eyed, and noisy crows, hovering above the massacre. Their black feathers absorbed the pale light of the cloudy sky as if they were moving fragments of the night itself. Small, gleaming eyes observed the ground with surgical precision, choosing where to land first. This would be a bountiful meal — and they knew it. Nothing here required haste.

"Life is really strange. One moment they’re alive, laughing madly, fighting... and the next, they’re dead, turning into a feast for scavenger birds...," murmured Aziz, more to himself than to his two companions. His voice was serene, devoid of emotion, without any trace of pity — not for those men. Still, there was a hint of bitter melancholy in it, a simple reflection on the fragility of existence.

Liora and Agnes heard his words. They didn’t respond immediately. Their faces remained impassive, and no trace of regret or guilt formed on their expressions. It was as if they were observing the remains of something that, to them, had already died before even hitting the ground. Neither seemed disturbed by the fate the bandits had met. In fact, the looks they cast upon the bodies showed only contempt.

"They deserved it," Liora finally said, her voice full of disgust. "Did you see how they looked at us? Those filthy eyes, full of bad intentions. It was clear there was nothing human in them. Scum. I bet they’ve done worse things to other women. Many times."

She clenched her fists tightly, as if trying to crush the memory of the malicious smile one of the bandits had thrown her earlier. That look... there was something predatory, disgusting, as if she were nothing more than a piece of meat, a toy to be torn apart.

Agnes nodded, her face just as hard as Liora’s. Her eyes were fixed on one of the bodies, and though she didn’t speak right away, her expression said everything.

"Honestly, I think they died too quickly. If we were weaker, they would’ve done horrible things to us. Not just theft or violence. The evil I saw in their eyes... was the kind that doesn’t hesitate."

She didn’t need to finish. They all understood what she meant — and what almost happened. The threat wasn’t just physical. It was existential.

Aziz listened in silence, his jaw tight, his eyes dark. He felt the same. To him, there was a truth as solid as the ground beneath his feet: *strength defines fate*. There were no laws, no justice. Only the certainty that either you were the strongest... or you were the victim. It was simple. Brutally simple.

They didn’t have to think long to know what the outcome would have been if the roles were reversed.

"Yes, they definitely deserved it," said Aziz at last. His voice was low, almost a whisper, but filled with conviction. His eyes, once turned to the sky, returned to the grotesque scene on the ground. It was almost as if he were paying a final tribute — not to the dead, but to the dark balance that had now been restored.

There was a brief moment of silence between the three. The kind of silence that follows a battle — not the silence of peace, but of emotional digestion. A dense, heavy silence that rests on the shoulders like an invisible cloak.

"Let’s... let’s get out of here," Aziz said, taking a step forward, breaking the stupor.

The trio exchanged one last look. None of them smiled. None of them cried. And without saying another word, they began walking, carefully stepping around the scattered bodies and severed limbs. A foot here, a hand there. The ground was a grotesque tapestry of death and punishment.

The stench still hung in the air, entering their nostrils as a persistent reminder. And though their faces were calm, inside, the trio carried the weight of what had happened — and what could have happened.

As they walked away, the crows began to descend. They landed among the bodies with confident steps, tearing chunks of flesh with their curved beaks, ripping through tissue and muscle with cold efficiency. Their feathers became stained with red, and their satisfied croaks echoed along the trail like profane chants of a silent ritual.

---

After some time walking in silence, the afternoon began to fade, tinting the sky with deep orange hues. The warm light of dusk spread over the dirt road, casting long shadows that danced among the trees lining the path.

It was then that Liora broke the silence:

"We should stop here. It’s getting late, and setting up camp before nightfall is always safer."

Agnes nodded beside her. "If we stay visible on the road, we could be easy targets."

Aziz simply nodded. Even though he wasn’t tired, he knew it would be foolish to ignore the common sense of the two. As experienced as they were, he trusted their judgment.

Without wasting time, the trio left the road and entered the vegetation at the edge. They advanced a few meters into the forest, attentive to the terrain and surrounding sounds, until they found a small elevation covered by dense trees — a safe spot, out of sight, with good natural protection and enough space for the camp.

"This place will do," commented Agnes after a quick scan of the area.

Aziz then extended his hand and, from his storage space, retrieved a silver box about fifty centimeters wide. On it was a simplified image of a tent.

He pressed the button on top.

With a light "click", the box trembled, opened with precise movements, and within seconds a tent rose before them — elegant, with reinforced structure and refined finish.

Aziz entered, curious... and froze upon crossing the entrance.

The interior was vast — much more than the exterior suggested. There was enough space for a central room, three side compartments, and even enchanted furniture that seemed to magically adapt to the environment. The air inside was light, but with a strange sense of distortion.

’Spatial magic... it’s definitely spatial magic.’

He exited, still impressed. Liora and Agnes entered shortly after, exploring the interior space with interest.

When they came out, Liora looked at him with a crooked smile.

"Who gave you this?"

"My mother," Aziz replied, almost without thinking.

The two exchanged glances, visibly impressed.

"Tents with this level of embedded spatial magic aren’t exactly accessible," commented Agnes as she ran her hand over the fabric at the entrance. "Not even among high-level adventurers."

Aziz shrugged. ’I never cared about the price of things...’ he thought. ’When I return, I’ll ask her,’ Aziz added mentally, thinking of his beloved mother.

They set up camp efficiently, each one taking on small tasks without needing to say much. There was a kind of silent synchronicity among them, born not from time spent together, but from what they had shared that day. Violence binds in ways peace never could.

When everything was ready, they sat around a small magical fireplace that Agnes activated. The bluish flames cast a soft, almost cold, yet welcoming light. There was no hot food, no lively conversation. Only the crackling of the fire and the distant rustling of leaves.