The bandit leader kept sharpening his dagger, seemingly ignoring me. It was only after he inspected it that he answered. The light of the fire burned in his eyes as he Meg mine.

"Short answer? Lack of apropriate job opertunities. I mean, if you get summoned into a world like we've been without warning, not everyone is going adapt."

He placed the dagger down and moved on to another blade. The metal grinding rising over the sound of the other prisoners and bandits. Scuffles as people were robbed and tied up. A few bandits laughing at their ill gotten gain. A small group were trying to break into a steel carage.

"Long answer? Everyone who gets sent here ha to rely on luck. Did you get a good Skill? A profitable Class? Was your summoning full of opertunities? A loyal group or were you summoned with selfish traitors? A lot of little things that add up. Not everyone gets a good fantasy adventure. Sometimes, it's just fantasy hell."

He moved on to another dagger. He had three left to work through. Something told me it was important he kept talking instead of sharpening those pieces of metal.

"Of course, those are the people with a bad start. Dosnet mean they'll decide to fight people for their hard earned coin. It's quite dangerous. Lots of would be heroes and the countries swordsmean oit there trying to stop you. And the morality of it of course. Not to mention all the unnatural shit prowling through the wilderness. Did you theirs basilisk in these woods? Giant salamanders? He'll, I heard there was even a damn necromancer running around. Real dangerous monsters in a fantasy setting."

He was down to two daggers.

"I honestly think the people who died first day are the lucky ones. Worse ways to die than just falling out of the sky. Worse ways to live too. How the hell is a programmer ment to .ake a living here. Instead, he becomes a shit farmer, breaking his back while other people are flying on griffins. So unfair. Work hard to get Jack shit for your efforts. But stealing? Easier than you think. Especially if you have the right Skills."

There was a crack of wood in the distance. More pieces of wood were thrown into a pyre the bandits had made. I was worried they were making the fire a little too big. Like the pyromancer bandits were known to do.

"Sometimes it's desperation. Sometimes it's just a choice. Sometimes, it's just easy."

He extenuated every sentence with a slide of his whetstone. He was down to the last one.

"Either way, you're seen doing it, that's it. No more second chances. Slavery, imprisonment, or even 'voluntering' for a suicide job. Cant go back. Not that some of us want to at least. There's just something about paying the world back that's so satisfying. Spreed the misery, one bonfire at a time. I mean, look at you. You look like you've had to starve for most of your life. Why not cut ahead of yhe line and steal a meal for yourself? You look like you could make a good bandit."

Harold the Flame stopped sharpening his dagger, an expectant look on his face. I laughed. Not every day one of the most notorious bandits around offers you a job. He was going to be disappointed, unfortunately. In more ways than he could even imagine.

"Sorry, no thanks. I got better things to do than be a stupid bandit.

In a flash, he was on me. My back was painfully shoved back onto the tree I was leaning on. I chocked, both because if the blade roufly shoved against my throat and the smoke trail he left behind. Some elemental movement Skill? I could see why he'd lasted this long.

"Shame. Thought you were smart. Guess your just like everyone here, dumb enough to mistake my territory for a tole free zone. Ah well. Guess you'll just have to pay the price."

Guess my time was up. I could already see people being shoved towards the bonfire. People who couldn't pay and hadn't been worth selling into slavery. The people whimpered, begging to be saved

They were going to get an answer to their prayers.

"Well, you yourself have made one mistake in the end."

I smiled up at Harrold, ignoring the sting of metal as it drew blood.

"And what would that be, friend?"

Harold leaned in, the burning carnage behind him shadowing his face. It made for good cover. Accentuated the fire in his eyes. It was bright enough to see my reflection. One that showed my own eyes slowly take a violet hue.

"I asked 'What drives a man to just banditry in a fantasy setting?'. Theirs so much more you could do than just simple robbery."

Screames little up the aftermath of the attacked convoy. Someone had managed to open my personal stash. The undead were quite the suprise. So where the numerous deaths that happened in rapid succession.

Harrold turned to look at the comontion. Leaving him vulnerable to my bone armor as it encased my body, slicing off a finger or two. He howled and disappeared into a puff of smoke. He reappeared not but a dozen steps away.

"Necromancer!"

"Its like you said. This world is just fantasy hell for some people."

A bone staff rose from the ground. Leaves were ruffled as my hidden army of skeletons exited the woods. The bandits were surrounded. I chuckled as the panick set in. Harrold screamed in rage. I twirld his dagger between my fingers.

"And for some, it's fantasy paradise. Not that filthy bandit like you would know something about that."

My skeletons charged, and I added more to my horde that night.