Before any of the travelers could blink, they found themselves surrounded by three tall figures, tightly wrapped in long cloaks, their faces hidden behind masks. In their hands, long metal blades glinted dully.
“Alright, line up, no funny business,” said one of the masked figures. “Money, valuables, spare parts — whatever you’ve got, toss it into this bag. And I’ll say it again: no heroics. If anyone’s thinking of playing brave, think twice — because we don’t go easy on heroes.”
“Ugh, there you go running your mouth again, brother,” grumbled another bandit, yanking the bag from his hands and shouting, “No more talking! And make it quick, before I get mad. One, two, three.”
He stepped toward Grandpa Hedgehog and smoothly snatched a small pouch from his belt — one that jingled with coins. “See how it’s done?” he said to the first bandit, then grabbed the bag slung over the old man’s shoulder, the one containing the dismantled Charko, and gave it an evaluating shake. “Seems like something important’s in here, eh old man? Why so shaky?”
“Boys, take whatever you want, just not that bag!” Grandpa Hedgehog pleaded. “It’s no use to you. There’s only... only...”
“Only what? Junk, right?” said the third bandit, who had been silent until now. He limped toward the group, took the bag from his comrade, and slung it over his shoulder. “They all say that. Let’s go. Search the rest and let’s vanish. The night’s just beginning — lots of work ahead.”
In less than a minute, the bandits were gone, their bootsteps echoing faintly from the next street. The travelers stood silent, utterly crushed by this latest misfortune. This time, it truly felt like all hope was lost.
