The Violet Warlock

Seraphina's senses returned in fragments, her consciousness clawing its way back through a haze of pain. The stench of damp earth and mildew filled her nose, and the faint sound of dripping water reached her ears.

She blinked her eyes open slowly, her vision blurry at first but sharpening to reveal the dim confines of a cell and rugged stone walls. The floor is uneven and cold— if she was at full power breaking out wouldn't be hard.

A single iron-barred door stood between her and the outside world.

Her arm— or rather, the place where it had once been— throbbed with unbearable pain. She glanced down to see it crudely bandaged with strips of cloth, stained dark red, the fresh blood still leaking from the wound. The raw agony caused by the pain and loss threatened to overwhelm her, forcing her to bite down on a piece of jagged stone she found near her hand just to keep from crying out.

Tears pricked at her eyes, but she refused to let them fall.

Nearby, movement caught her attention.

Samuel and Edwin were also stirring, their injuries evident even in the poor light. Samuel's body was covered in gashes and bruises, his usual smirk replaced by a grimace of pain as he leaned heavily against the wall— however, he was the better of them all.

Edwin lay sprawled on the ground, his breathing shallow and labored. A nasty wound on his side bled sluggishly, and his armor was dented and smeared with dirt— it was clear his ribs had broken and stabbed his inside.

"Samuel... Edwin... Are you awake?"

Seraphina croaked, her voice hoarse, trying to keep it low.

Samuel managed a weak chuckle, though it lacked his usual humor— he was simply trying to keep a strong face.

"Barely. Feels like I've been trampled by a herd of oxen."

Edwin groaned as he pushed himself into a sitting position, wincing with every movement— his wound bleeding as he did so.

"Alive."

He rasped, his silver eyes dull but sharp enough to take in their surroundings.

"For now."

The three exchanged a brief, somber glance.

They were battered, broken, and imprisoned, but they were still breathing— it was a fragile thread of hope that they hadn't expected to be left with after losing, but one they clung to nonetheless.

"Where... are we?"

Samuel asked, his voice low and strained.

"A bandit camp, from the looks of it."

Edwin replied, his tone grim.

"Larger than I expected."

Seraphina nodded faintly, her mind piecing together what she had seen before losing consciousness— she was going in and out of focus but her mind didn't easily forget things, it couldn't seem to.

The sheer number of bandits, the crude structures hastily erected within a grove of trees— it had all been overwhelming in size. Over a hundred bandits, many of them untrained, but with several knight trainees scattered among them.

The rank-one knights clearly held authority, commanding both respect and fear from the others.

But what unsettled her most was how close this camp was to Vesta— yet it wasn't removed. It couldn't have been here long; such an operation wouldn't have gone unnoticed for long by the city's patrols or adventurers.

Their quiet conversation was interrupted by the sound of footsteps approaching.

Heavy boots echoed off the stone, drawing closer with each passing moment. The cell door creaked open, revealing a tall figure clad in dark leather armor, a rank-one knight.

His presence was commanding, his aura cold and oppressive, though it lacked the brutality of the two knights from before.

"Get up!"

The knight ordered, his voice curt.

When none of them moved fast enough, he barked again.

"Up. Now."

Seraphina, Samuel, and Edwin struggled to their feet, their injuries making every movement excruciating. The knight didn't offer any assistance, his sharp eyes watching them with disgust.

"You're coming with me."

He said, motioning for them to follow as he allowed them out of the cell.

As they exited the cell, Seraphina noted the layout of the camp during the walk, her eyes shifting to try and remember the layout without getting caught.

Crude wooden paths connected a sprawling network of tents and makeshift structures. Fires burned in metal drums, their smoke mingling with the earthy scent of the grove. The camp was bustling with activity— bandits sharpening weapons, cooking meals, or tending to prisoners locked in cages scattered throughout the area.

Most of the bandits were untrained from what she could tell, most of them were aged men with nowhere to go or young men with passion— little more than thugs and deserters. But a few stood out— knight trainees who carried themselves with a semblance of discipline.

The rank-one knights, however, were clearly the true power in the camp. The bandits gave them wide berths, and some even lowered their gazes in fear as they passed.

As they were led through the camp, Seraphina's sharp eyes counted at least four rank-one knights, including the one escorting them and the two from before. The realization left her stunned. Even some baron families struggled to maintain a single rank-one knight, yet this ragtag group of bandits had four.

Edwin's expression grew darker with every step, his silence heavy with unspoken worry— he clearly understood the implications of their captors' strength.

The knight led them to a large tent at the center of the camp.

Weapons were scattered around its entrance, and a map-covered table dominated the interior— with markers scattered around it in various areas. At the head of the table sat a man who exuded an aura of quiet authority. He was middle-aged, his rugged face weathered by years of battle and a hardened appearance.

Despite his crude attire, there was something refined about his demeanor, something that didn't fit the image of a common bandit.

As they were shoved to their knees before him, the man leaned forward, his piercing gaze sweeping over them. Edwin's breath hitched, and Seraphina's heart clenched as a wave of power radiated from him.

It wasn't just any simple aura.

This man was a rank-two knight.

The sheer force of his presence pressed down on them like a physical weight. Seraphina's knees buckled, and Samuel gasped for air— they were left unable to move or even lift their head. Even Edwin, a rank-one knight himself, struggled to stay upright, his body trembling under the oppressive pressure.

The leader's lips curled into a faint smirk as he spoke.

"Welcome."

He said, his voice calm but filled with an underlying menace.

"I am Karel. Leader of this camp, and your new host."

Seraphina's mind reeled. A rank-two knight leading a bandit camp? It was unthinkable. Even viscount families didn't have such power at their disposal— let alone a baron family.

The implications were staggering, and for the first time since waking in this world, Seraphina felt an overwhelming sense of fear and worthlessness.

She was so small, so insignificant, in the face of this man's power— he could kill her with a mere wave of his hand.

Karel's gaze lingered on each of them, his eyes like a predator assessing its prey.

"You're strong."

He continued, his tone almost amused.

"Stronger than the rabble I usually deal with. But strength without direction is meaningless."

He leaned back in his chair, his aura receding slightly, allowing them to breathe more easily.

"Tell me."

He said, his voice dripping with condescension.

"What shall I do with you?"