Chapter 40 — The Sound That Woke the Mountain

The first thin line of orange light continued to creep along the eastern horizon, but the camp itself still lay in deep shadow. The air was cold and still. Only the faint crackle of dying fires and the restless shifting of horses broke the silence.

Ren crouched beside the wooden door of the first mid-level house, AK-47 held ready. Through the earpiece his voice came low and controlled.

“Lyra. Change of plan. Move to the next wooden house on your right. That’s one of the Level 50 to 52 targets. Get into position outside it and prepare your strongest spell. Do not enter. When the noise starts, they will come out on their own. Silvia will handle the remaining houses from her angle. Confirm.”

Lyra’s reply came almost immediately, her breathing steady but edged with focus.

“Understood. Moving now. Do I need to breach inside?”

“Negative,” Ren answered. “Stay outside and hidden. The moment they hear the rifle, curiosity or panic will pull them out. That’s when you strike. Prepare something that can drop a Level 50 cleanly.”

“Copy. Preparing Storm Piercer — concentrated wind and lightning. It will take a few seconds to fully form.”

“Good. Silvia, status.”

Silvia’s voice was calm, almost cold, the professional tone of someone who had killed from distance for decades.

“In position. High angle on the two houses closest to me. Arrows nocked. Waiting for your signal.”

“All units ready. I’m entering the first house now.”

Ren slowly pushed aside the thick cloth that served as a door. The material was heavy and smelled of smoke and old sweat. Inside, the single room was dim. A rough wooden table stood near the center, covered with scattered documents, small leather pouches, and a few coins. Different types of swords and axes hung on the wooden walls like trophies. In the far corner, a single bed held a heavily built man sleeping on his back — one of the mid-tier officers.

Ren stepped inside without a sound. He raised the AK-47, switched the selector to semi-automatic, and settled the front sight on the center of the man’s forehead, just above the bridge of the nose. He drew a slow, controlled breath.

Through the earpiece he spoke one final time.

“Executing.”

The rifle roared.

The single gunshot cracked through the pre-dawn air like a sudden thunderclap, shattering the mountain silence. The bullet punched a clean, round hole through the bandit’s forehead, right between the eyes. The body jerked once on the bed and then lay completely still, a dark stain spreading rapidly across the pillow.

The sudden, violent bang startled the horses tied throughout the camp. They began neighing loudly, stamping their hooves and pulling against their tethers in rising panic. The noise of the animals mixed with the fading echo of the gunshot, filling the basin with sudden chaos.

Inside the other wooden houses, the remaining mid-tier bandits jolted awake one after another. Alone in their rooms, each man muttered to himself in confusion.

“What… was that sound?”

“Thunder? In this season?”

“No… that didn’t feel right. Are we under attack?”

“Better check outside first.”

Cloth flaps and wooden doors were pushed open one by one as the men stepped out into the dim morning light, still half-asleep and squinting toward the sky.

Lyra had already finished gathering her mana. Wind and lightning coiled tightly around the tip of her wand, forming a dense, spiraling lance of blue-white energy. When the first mid-level bandit stepped out of the house she was watching — a broad-shouldered man looking upward as if searching for storm clouds — she released the spell.

“Storm Piercer!”

The concentrated spiral of wind and lightning shot forward with a sharp crack. It struck the man squarely in the chest, tore through his leather armor, and exited his back in a burst of scorched flesh and shattered bone. He never even had time to shout. His body crashed backward against the wooden wall and slid to the ground, smoke rising from the gaping wound.

On the opposite side of the camp, Silvia’s first arrow was already in the air.

A bandit emerged from the house nearest her position, hand on the hilt of his sword, eyes scanning the darkness. The carbon-fiber arrow took him through the left eye socket and punched out the back of his skull. He dropped without a sound.

“One down,” Silvia reported coldly through the radio.

Another man stepped out from the third house, muttering under his breath as he looked around. Silvia’s second arrow was already flying. It struck him in the throat, cutting any further words into a wet gurgle. He clutched at the shaft, staggered two steps, and collapsed.

“Second target eliminated.”

Ren had already stepped back out of the first house, AK-47 raised, scanning for any additional movement. Through the earpiece the three voices overlapped in short, professional bursts.

“Lyra, status.”

“Target down. Moving to supporting angle. No other exits from this house.”

“Silvia?”

“Two houses cleared on my side. One remaining mid-tier still inside the last small house. Waiting for him to show.”

The final mid-level bandit finally pushed aside his door, a heavy axe in hand, face twisted in confusion. He barely managed to take three steps into the open before Silvia’s third arrow struck him square in the center of the forehead. The force snapped his head back. He fell like a puppet whose strings had been cut.

A brief silence followed, broken only by the continued nervous neighing and stamping of the horses.

Then Silvia’s voice came through the radio, calm and final.

“All mid-tier bandits have been neutralized. No further movement from the small houses. I’m shifting position toward the main structure. Over.”

Ren answered immediately.

“Copy. Lyra, status.”

“Clear on my side. Ready to move on the boss house.”

“Understood. All units converge on the central wooden house. Stay sharp. The Level 61 will not come out as carelessly as the others. Silvia, take the primary angle. I’ll provide covering fire from the left. Lyra, keep distance and prepare another high-output spell. We end this now.”

“Roger.”

“Understood.”

The three of them began moving through the camp. Bodies of low-level and mid-level bandits lay scattered among the tents and near the wooden houses. The first orange light of morning continued to strengthen along the horizon, painting the edges of the mountains in faint fire.

Ahead of them stood the largest wooden structure in the basin — the house of the Level 61 bandit leader.

The horses continued to stamp and pull at their tethers, still unsettled by the sudden violence. The mountain air carried the sharp scent of blood mixed with the cleaner smell of ozone from Lyra’s lightning.

Ren spoke one last time into the radio as they closed the distance.

“No more stealth. From this point we fight open. Stay in communication. Do not get separated.”

Lyra’s reply was quiet but steady.

“I’m with you.”

Silvia’s voice followed, cold and focused.

“In position. I have eyes on the main entrance.”

Only the boss remained.

And the mountain was about to learn the true sound of their hunt.