Sandwind Stronghold resembled a dormant behemoth, an impregnable fortress standing proudly upon a steep mountainside. Behind it stretched towering mountain ranges, their slopes as sheer as though hewn by blades and axes, forming a natural barrier.
Jagged boulders stood guard on either side, with thorns growing between their cracks like sharp fangs.
Before it rose a precipitous, vertical cliff, its face smooth as a mirror. Only a narrow, winding trail snaked upward, beside a bottomless abyss where a single misstep would leave a person smashed to pieces.
The Bandit Stronghold occupied a vast expanse, enclosed by tall, sturdy walls. Arrow slits covered the blue-brick masonry, while grotesque beast bones hung over the gates, radiating a savage menace.
Within lived over a hundred vicious bandits, each with a murderous face, a scarred body, and bloodstained weapons perpetually in hand. Their wives and children were there too, some as fierce as shrews, others hiding timidly in corners.
There were also countless abducted slaves and prisoners, dressed in rags, their faces sallow and bodies emaciated. Whip marks covered them, and despair and fear filled their eyes.
Normally, Sandwind Stronghold was heavily guarded. Bandits carrying bows constantly patrolled its walls, and the gates were manned by a heavy guard. Not even a fly could slip inside. The tension felt ready to erupt at any moment, as though they faced a formidable enemy.
Tonight, however, was utterly different. An eerie stillness hung over the entire Bandit Stronghold, so profound that it felt suffocating.
The bandits on duty, who should have been patrolling vigilantly, had gathered in small groups instead. Some leaned against the foot of the walls, while others squatted on stone tables, holding coarse pottery bowls filled with cloudy liquor. They gulped down the spirits, laughed and chatted loudly, and traded vulgar remarks.