The cold wind of the wasteland swept across Weiss Schnee as she climbed the last ridge, her fingers tightening around Myrtenaster’s hilt. Below her lay the town of New Vale, a ramshackle settlement bristling with scrap-metal walls, fortified guard posts, and watchtowers patched together from the remnants of another era. She scanned the landscape, her eyes sharp as she caught sight of movement near the town’s edge—a group of weary travelers being intercepted by a rough gang clad in raider armor, their laughter echoing through the crisp evening air.

Weiss’s lips pressed into a thin line. Another toll-collection. Raiders in these parts had begun to grow bolder, emboldened by stories of loot and weapons left behind by Vale’s great corporations. They extorted, threatened, and terrorized without mercy, picking off those unlucky enough to wander beyond New Vale’s borders. Tonight, it seemed, they had found a new set of victims.

As she took a breath, a familiar sensation flooded her mind—a simmering, cold fury that she could trace back to her father’s disdain for the weak and the vulnerable. He’d see this kind of cruelty as natural, a sign that only the strong could control the wasteland. Weiss had heard those words all her life, but she’d left them and him behind, and she was determined to prove him wrong.

She adjusted the weight of her rapier in her hand, Myrtenaster’s modified chambers glinting faintly under the waning sunlight. Sliding down the ridge, she approached the group with the kind of confidence only experience could grant. Her posture was firm, her gaze unwavering as she called out, her voice like steel in the wasteland’s quiet.

“You think taking what doesn’t belong to you is strength?” she asked, each word carrying the weight of her disdain. The raiders turned, surprised by her sudden presence, their laughter faltering as they took in the woman before them—a stark figure clad in worn.