He watched, keeping in the shadows, glad for the forest cameo pattern on his fatigues, and shook his head as he spotted the second sentry. They were tired, likely on the last leg of the night watch. Not checked on, not checking with each other, only barely attempting to pretend to be alert. He shook his head, and waited for the next sentry to pass, his utility knife under him to prevent an errant gleam betraying him, and then slowly came up behind the sentry, one hand covering his mouth, the other driving the dagger back, through his throat and hopefully spine, and then wrenching his head to one side, the knife toward the other, severing the jugular and widening the wound, before stabbing him repeatedly in the chest, helping him die faster.<br/><br/>Once that was done, he hoisted the body, and carried it a short ways into the woods, before stalking around in the opposite direction, and repeating the process. Once the second sentry was done, he stalked toward the nearest tent, listening carefully for a moment, before checking inside. If the bandits were asleep like they should be, he would be done before sunrise, and all of them waking in Hell wondering what had happened.