Below, behind the large boulder, three shadows huddled close.
The tallest one, a man with a scar across his cheek, peered around the edge of the rock. The carriage was still a few minutes away, rolling slow, the horses' hooves muffled by the dirt road.
"How much did the tip say?" the shortest one whispered. His voice was tight, eager.
"Fifty gold coins," Scar said without looking back. "Maybe more. It's for the bank in the eastern city. The whole shipment."
The third man, fat and bald, licked his lips. "Fifty gold. That's more than we've seen in three years."
Scar turned to face them. His eyes gleamed in the moonlight.
"Listen. Driver first. Then the guard. Quick and quiet. No screaming." He pulled a curved dagger from his belt. "We hit them when they pass the big oak. That's where the road narrows. They can't turn around."
The short man laughed under his breath. "After tonight, we disappear. New names. New clothes. No more hiding in the woods like animals."
"Shut up," Scar hissed. "Focus."
The fat man gripped his axe. The wooden handle creaked under his fingers.
The carriage wheels grew louder.
"Here they come," Scar whispered. "Get ready."
The carriage rolled past the big oak.
Scar raised his hand. The other two tensed.
"Now."
They burst from behind the boulder. Scar went for the driver a quick slash across the throat.
"Ack-"
The driver gurgled and slumped forward, reins falling loose. The fat bald man swung his axe at the guard.
"You!" The guard raised a sword, too slow. The axe bit into his shoulder. He screamed once, then the short man stabbed him from the side.
The horses reared. The carriage stopped.
Scar yanked open the door. Inside, wooden boxes stacked high. He broke the lock on the smallest one with the butt of his dagger.
Gold coins spilled out, catching the moonlight.
"Ha!" The short man laughed, scooping coins into a sack. "Fifty gold? There's more than fifty here!"
"Shut up and fill the bags," Scar said, but he was grinning too. His hands trembled as he grabbed handfuls of gold.
The fat man kicked the guard's body off the road. "We're rich. We're actually rich."
One of the bandits [the short one] stopped stuffing his sack and looked around.
"The horses, we can't leave them here. Someone will find them."
Scar nodded. He walked to the front of the carriage, cut the traces with a single slash of his dagger, and slapped the nearest horse on the flank. The animals bolted, galloping into the darkness.
"That's done, now grab the rest of the—"
"Wait." The fat man wiped his axe on the dead guard's cloak. "What if there's someone inside the carriage? A passenger? A child?"
The short man's eyes narrowed. "Or someone hiding underneath. We should check."
Scar clicked his tongue. "Fine. Search it. Top to bottom. If you find anyone, kill them. No witnesses."
The fat man swung the carriage door open wider and climbed inside. The short man dropped to his belly and peered underneath, dagger in hand.
"Nothing under," the short man called out.
"Nothing up here either," the fat man said, kicking at the wooden boxes. "Just gold and some cloth."
Scar grabbed another sack and began filling it. "Then we're done. Let's move. We need to be over the ridge before dawn."
One of them [the short man] heard a wet sound.
"ACK!"
Like someone had been punched.
He turned his head.
The fat man was still standing. But his eyes were wide. His mouth hung open. Behind him, a boy no, a young man, muscular, his arms thick and wrong for his age had driven his hand straight through the fat man's back. Fingers emerged from the chest, dripping dark blood.
The fat man's axe clattered to the ground.
"W-WHO—"
The short man reached for his dagger.
A shadow moved at his side. A small figure in a cloak. A curved blade swung not clean, the edge caught the short man across the neck. Not deep enough to sever. But deep enough. He gurgled, stumbled, and fell face-first into the dirt.
Scar dropped his sack of gold and spun around, his curved dagger raised.
He saw the muscular boy pull his hand from the fat man's chest. The body crumpled. The boy's eyes were calm. Too calm. He stepped over the corpse and walked toward Scar.
Scar swung.
Gaon caught his wrist. Squeezed. Bones cracked. Scar screamed.
Then Gaon's other fist slammed into his temple. The crack echoed off the trees. Scar dropped without another sound.
Silence.
Jin-ah stood over the short man's body, her curved sword dripping. Her hands were shaking. Her breath came in short gasps.
"He... he was going to stab you," she said.
Gaon looked at her. His muscles were already shrinking back to normal, his body returning to its lean, ordinary shape.
"You did good," he said.
She stared at the blood on her blade. Then at the bodies.
"We have to move," Gaon said. "Grab the gold. All of it. Quick."
She nodded and knelt beside the sacks, her hands trembling as she tied the cloth shut.
After stuffing the last sack of gold, Gaon stood up and surveyed the scene.
The carriage was still there. The boxes, the broken lock, the blood on the road. The three bodies lay where they had fallen.
"Stand back," he said.
Jin-ah stepped away, clutching a sack of gold in each hand.
Gaon closed his eyes. His body muscles swelled again not as much as before.
He walked to the carriage, placed both palms against its side, and pushed. The wooden frame was groaned. Then he drew back his fist and punched. The carriage shattered wheels flying, planks splitting, the roof caving in. He grabbed the largest pieces and hurled them toward the lake, a hundred paces away. They splashed into the dark water.
One by one, he picked up the bodies. The fat man. The short man. Scar. He threw them like sacks of grain. Each one arced through the moonlight and disappeared beneath the surface with a heavy splash.
Jin-ah watched in silence. He did not strain. He did not grunt. His face stayed calm, almost bored.
When the last body was gone, Gaon walked to the water's edge and stood there for a moment, looking at the ripples spreading across the lake. Then he turned back to her, his muscles already shrinking, his shoulders dropping.
"Let's go," he said. "We were never here."
He picked up two gold sacks. She carried the third. They walked into the trees, leaving nothing behind but blood on the dirt and the fading echo of splashes.
***
Back home, the gold coins spread across the wooden table. The fire in the hearth crackled, casting warm light over the piles undreds of coins, maybe more. Jin-ah had never seen so much money in one place. Her eyes reflected the gold, wide and bright.
She smiled. Then the smile faded.
Her hands rested on the edge of the table. She looked at Gaon, who was washing his hands in a bucket by the door, scrubbing the blood from his knuckles.
"Gaon," she said quietly.
He did not turn around.
"Are you... a good person?"
He stopped scrubbing. For a moment, he did not move. Then he dried his hands on a rag and turned to face her. His face was tired, but not angry.
"No," he said. "I'm no good."
Jin-ah's body tensed. Her fingers curled against the table. Her heart pounded.
Did I run from the Dig only to be carried by someone bad?
Gaon saw the fear flicker across her face. He walked to the table and sat down across from her.
"I'm no bad either," he said. His voice was calm, steady. "All I do is for living. If not, what am I supposed to do, Jin-ah? There's only one thing."
He gestured at the gold.
"Be rational. We didn't do anything bad. Those men killed the driver and the guard. They were going to kill anyone who saw them. We stopped them. We took what they stole. That's not evil. That's survival."
He leaned back.
"Good and bad are for people who can afford to choose. We can't. Not yet."
Jin-ah stared at him. Her fear did not vanish, but it loosened its grip. She looked at the gold, then at his hands clean now, but she knew what they had done tonight.
She nodded slowly.
"I understand," she whispered. "I think."
Gaon reached out and pushed a small pile of coins toward her.
"Then count it. We need to know how much we have."
She picked up a coin and turned it over in her small fingers.
To Be Continued.