POV: Yoshiya
The night clung to the forest like a living thing. Mist curled around the roots, and the faint crackle of fire ahead marked the edge of the kobold camp. From where Yoshiya crouched behind a thick oak, he could see the flicker of crude tents and hear the guttural chatter of the creatures. Ten, maybe twelve of them—armed, but careless.
Nogare's hand rose. The signal. Silence descended instantly. Even Omina, who had been whispering a string of complaints a heartbeat ago, stopped breathing.
Without a word, Nogare moved. His steps made no sound on the damp soil. He slipped between shadows until the darkness itself seemed to part for him. Yoshiya could barely follow his outline—only the faint movement of cloth, the rhythm of his steady breathing. Then a soft shhhk broke through the quiet—the sound of steel being drawn.
When Nogare stepped back into the light of the campfire, he was no longer unarmed. In his hand was a katana, its blade reflecting the orange flames in liquid arcs. The sheath was wrapped in worn crimson cord, as though it had been waiting for him in that camp for years. He turned the weapon slightly, testing its balance, and for the briefest instant, a small smile flickered across his lips.
Zentake followed his lead, darting from cover like a shadow snapping into shape. His movements were sharp, efficient—hands striking throats, knees, and temples. Kobolds dropped before they even understood what was happening.
Yoshiya felt Omina shift beside him, her hand gripping his arm. "Are we… just watching?"
Before he could answer, a muffled yelp came from the camp. Nogare had already reached the center. His blade gleamed once, twice—each swing impossibly fast, perfectly measured. No wasted motion. No unnecessary cuts.
The tents didn't tear. The fire didn't go out. Every strike landed exactly where it had to.
Zentake moved in a blur beside him, slicing ropes, twisting weapons from kobold hands, breaking necks with terrifying precision.
Yoshiya finally rose, realizing the time for hesitation was over. He and Omina rushed forward. Omina's staff flared with faint light as she struck the nearest kobold in the chest, her spell bursting like compressed air. Yoshiya followed with a shield bash, knocking another creature into the dirt.
Still, they were background noise to Nogare and Zentake.
Nogare didn't even seem to see his opponents—his gaze always elsewhere, his body reacting before the kobolds moved. One creature lunged from his blind spot, and without turning, he stepped aside, letting the strike pass harmlessly before cutting upward in a single, invisible arc.
The kobold fell in silence.
Omina's eyes widened. "He's not even watching them…"
The last kobold gave a desperate screech before Zentake ended it with a flick of his wrist. Then, as if nothing had happened, the thief straightened, dusted off his hands, and grinned. "All done!"
Nogare sheathed his sword. The click of metal sliding home was loud in the stillness that followed.
The entire camp was intact—tents still standing, torches still burning, even the stew pot still simmering over a low flame. The only thing missing was life.
Yoshiya swallowed hard, his heart pounding. "They didn't break… anything."
Nogare glanced at him, eyes calm and unreadable. "Efficiency," he said simply.
---
Minutes later, the forest smelled not of blood, but of herbs.
Zentake was already humming as he rummaged through the fallen kobolds' gear. "Hmmm… good leather, decent rope, some half-dried meat—ooh! Empty bottles!" He piled the items neatly, as if building a market stall instead of sorting through corpses.
Nogare moved quietly among the tents, searching like a man who already knew what he was looking for. Each time he returned, his arms were full—knives, string, glass vials, scraps of parchment, and a few dull silver coins. He dropped them beside Zentake without a word.
"Yoh yoh yoh~!" Zentake chirped. "Exactly what we need! Knives, pouches, bottles—ah, even a mortar! Perfect. Absolutely perfect!"
Nogare's reply was calm. "Work fast."
The thief laughed under his breath and began laying out materials in tidy rows. The rhythmic grind-grind of stone on herbs filled the camp.
Yoshiya watched, unable to reconcile what he saw. They had just killed a dozen kobolds, and now it looked like a traveling workshop. Zentake worked like an alchemist possessed; Nogare circled the camp with the silent assurance of someone who'd already mapped every inch.
Omina stood near the fire, her staff lowered. Her brows knit in confusion. "Are they… always like this?"
"I don't know," Yoshiya admitted. He'd seen soldiers loot after a battle, but this was different. There was no greed in their actions. Just... purpose.
Zentake held up a flask of something viscous and green. "Health tonic, maybe poison, maybe both!" he said cheerfully. "We'll find out later!"
Nogare didn't even glance at him. "Just label it."
Yoshiya rubbed the back of his neck, glancing around. The kobold camp wasn't large, but it was surprisingly well kept. Crates of dried food, herbs, ropes, even clean water barrels. Whoever these kobolds were, they weren't scavengers—they were organized.
Nogare turned toward him. "You," he said evenly, "go to the farthest tent. You'll find something you'll like."
The words felt neither commanding nor kind—just… inevitable.
Yoshiya hesitated. "Something I'll like?"
Nogare's expression didn't change. "You'll understand when you see it."
Yoshiya blinked, then slowly made his way toward the farthest tent.
Omina crossed her arms, muttering. "Vacation, he said. Learning experience, he said. This isn't a trip—it's madness."
Zentake chuckled while mixing something in his bowl. "Madness, maybe. But effective! You'll see."
The night wind rustled through the trees. The fire popped softly. Nogare stood apart from the others, one hand resting on his sheathed sword, his gaze tilted skyward. For a moment, the reflection of the fire danced across his calm face—half warmth, half shadow.
Yoshiya reached the far tent and lifted the flap.
The air inside was cooler, untouched. Moonlight spilled over the floorboards, glinting off metal and glass. Something shimmered faintly in the corner—a collection of sealed vials, scrolls, and a rune-etched robe that pulsed with weak light.
His breath caught. "This... Is..."
The forest around them seemed to hush again, as if holding its breath.
The kobold camp, once chaotic and crude, now glowed faintly under the moon—part graveyard, part workshop. The smell of iron and herbs mingled in the air.
Yoshiya stood in the tent's doorway.
But one thing was clear—this "vacation" was nothing like what he'd imagined.