?Oh, it seems your husband returned. Judging by the groaning, He got everything I asked for.”

  Valeria noticed. She did not mention the fact that his arrival was delayed by making sure every bandit except for the one with a bandaged hand was dead. Nor that he wasn’t doing it by checking their pulse, but by stabbing them with something sharp, or so the sounds indicated.

  Abram entered the house, and threw a young bandit and the middle aged necromancer on the floor.

  Franz the Corpse Pimp was silent and behaved well, just like Valeria taught him. It was no surprise that the young, red headed bandit wasn’t as well versed in manners, since his education had only just began.

  “Ah, you fucks! Give me a potion now, or Boss Morrell will have your asses! No, forget it! He’ll have your asses either way, but if I’m alive, I can at least ask him to spare your lives!”

  Valeria was pleasantly surprised. It was not every day that a captured criminal would reveal the name of the ringleader by himself, without any sort of effort on her side.

  “Good, you answered the first question. Continue to cooperate, and you might just survive this. But that’s only if we can capture your main base of operations, and the Boss, of course. Morrell was his name, I believe? Could you describe his appearance in detail?”

  Flora raised her hand.

  “Ermm… If it’s Morrell, then he is kind of known around these parts. He leads a huge group of bandits, dividing them into smaller groups to attack travelers and small settlements, and gathering them to attack villages, and even smaller towns.”

  “Haha! That’s right, boss Morrell will make sure you get what’s coming to you for cutting of my hand! If you want to die quickly and painlessly instead, give me a healing potion and let me go!”

  Valeria stood up, and slowly walked towards the young bandit. She leaned down, and looked him right in his eyes.

  “I have spared you because you smelled of booze the least, but it seems you are intoxicated regardless. I would advise you to start obediently answering questions. Now.”

  The bandit looked down at the growing patch of wetness on his crotch.

  “Apologize for pissing on the floor, or I’ll make you lick it off. Are we clear?”

  The crook answered in a weak voice:

  “I’m sorry. I’ll talk.”

  Valeria reached for his head, and grasped his chin, bringing his eyes up. Once he met her gaze, she suggested:

  “What should you say in such a situation?”

  “The young man’s eyes started to become watery.

  “P-please let me talk.”

  “Good. You catch on quick.” Valeria praised. ‘I still got it!’ She thought.

  Abram and Flora looked at her weirdly, as if they suspected her of some kind of inhuman power. In truth, cutting someone’s hand off tend to be enough to make them so scared of you, that even eye contact becomes unbearable for them It’s called trauma, and it can prove to be useful from time to time.

  “Alright then. Name?”

  “My name is Aroon.”

  “Age?”

  “Huh?”

  Valeria slapped his ear.

  This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  “I’m asking how old you are.”

  ”I’m sorry, I’m nineteen.”

  “What’s your birthplace?”

  “Malvidia, a village south from here.”

  “As a villager, aren’t you ashamed of attacking and looting other villagers like yourself? Why did you join a gang?”

  “I’m a half elf. I cut my ears down to size after I left my village, but before I did that, people from Malvidia mistreated me. I wanted to get back at them, so I joined the strongest group around.”

  ‘Elves? Those exist too?’ Valeria wasn’t all that surprised, but surprised nonetheless.

  “I see. Did you get your revenge yet?”

  “Yes. We destroyed the Malvidia two months ago. It was my first big job.”

  “Very well. Now, tell me. Why didn’t you run when you had the chance?”

  “Boss Morrell would kill me either way, if he got to know we ran from three people, among which just one was a mage. The group has the image to uphold, or so he says.”

  “Fuck you.” Interjected Flora.

  “As expected.” Valeria didn’t let herself be interrupted. “Another second rate thug drunk on his infamy. How did you know there was just one mage?”

  Flora looked hurt.

  “We asked around, how else? One powerful life mage, and his housewife, or so the people around told us. We waited for the mage to go out on a longer trip, and when he didn’t come back for almost a week, we decided it was safe to attack.”

  “We indeed never talked to anyone about Flora being a ne… decay mage.” Abram quickly corrected the forbidden n – word to ‘decay’, and his wife relaxed.

  “Oh, shit, she was a necromancer!?” Aroon looked terrified.

  “What, did it dawn on you just now that you fucked up big time?” Flora looked smug.

  “Language. Did ‘asking around’ involve threats, torture, and silencing witnesses after you got your information.”

  “We didn’t torture anyone!” Aroon hurriedly answered, as if wanting to clear himself of at least one offense.

  “Oh? Unexpected. Did people talk without torture?”

  The bandit nodded.

  “But you would use hot iron on them if they didn’t agree to talk?”

  Aroon’s silence was enough for an answer.

  “Then don’t blame me if I proceed in a similar manner. How many subordinates does this boss Morrell have? How many mages? What sort of mages?”

  “M-more than two hundred.”

  “Very well. How many non mages then?”

  Everyone, including quiet Franz looked at her like they were calves staring at freshly painted barn doors.

  “T-that’s the number of normal people. There are twenty five mages. Twenty four now, I guess. I don’t know the exact numbers, but I think one of them is a necromancer, there are several fire mages, and at least two life mages. There is also Boss Morrell himself, who uses a strange branch of life magic to enhance his physical abilities to their limits.”

  “How does the general ability of those mages compare to the one outside? When he was alive, I mean.”

  “Can I interrupt?” Abram interjected.

  “You already did, so go on.”

  For a second, the young life magician quietly debated if that answer was an actual invitation for him to say something, or just an angry ‘Fine, have it your way’, but decided to continue.

  “Te fire mage you’ve killed was more than likely far more powerful than what you probably think. The reason this house is entirely made of wood, is… well, mainly cost, not gonna lie, but also the practicality. I practically drenched it in life mana, and I’ve been doing it since we got ourselves this house, which was even before our marriage, or Flora’s accident. It was supposed to be a forward base for exploring City of the Dead. In other words, those walls are almost impossible to burn, at least not by normal means. As a matter of fact, they’ll probably look as if nothing happened tomorrow morning.”

  “So what you’re saying, is that this mage was close to you in power? His flames didn’t look half as impressive as this thorn ball you threw at me though?”

  “Their fire looking unimpressive is precisely what makes a flame mage stand out in terms of power. More accurately, they should be called heat mages, since their ultimate goal is to get the mana inside their target under control, and make it increase its temperature, with no flame visible.”

  “Because light and heat anywhere but inside their target is a waste of energy?”

  “Exactly that. Honestly, you should be completely immune to such a perfect attack. Except no one is perfect, and the ‘wasted’ heat of a ‘failed’ spell will still be enough to melt your face off. The only exception to that rule would be the Royal Wizards, but then they are skilled enough to melt your weapons into a white hot puddle, so don’t piss them off expecting to be invincible.”

  “I appreciate the advice, but I suspect I may have lost all illusions of invincibility before your grandmother was even born. Back to the topic, however. How powerful was that one mage we already got rid off?”

  “Around the bottom, I think. He joined not too long ago, which is why he was working here, and not with the boss.”

  “Your organization didn’t trust him with the details of the next big job, I presume?”

  “Yes, I think so.”

  “Did they trust you?”

  Aroon hesitated to answer.

  “I will not torture you if you don’t answer. Heck, I won’t even kill you!”

  The young bandit started seeing hope.

  Until Valeria once again stared straight into his eyes, her own optic organs looking to him like fortunetelling orbs spelling his imminent demise.

  “But I will make it so that you can only communicate by moving your eyelids, if you don’t prove that your mouth can do its job properly.”

  His newfound hope crushed, Aroon decided to spill the beans.