It'd be a lie if she said she didn't enjoy this.
Voicing the thought would have definitely earned a chide from her mentors — or rather one mentor, she supposed, the others gave her a lot more leeway than that. His sagacious voice already plays in her mind though, quoting some old mantra from ages (some centuries? Maybe even millennia?) ago, before waxing poetic against her tendencies of thrill-seeking and recklessness, all to emphasize the importance of staying mindful in the present for the umpteenth time, to which everyone nods and agrees (or at least pretends) with around the fire.
But if you asked Korra (which would be the most important part), having fun IS being present in the moment.
The aforementioned moment being partaking in an elaborate plan of sneaking into the nobleman's compound, neutralizing his guards, confronting their master, deciding his fate, and redistributing his material wealth to the farmers he had accumulated (or more accurately, appropriated) from.
It started well enough — the ride on (or rather, underneath) the carriage wasn't that rough to dislodge her as they entered the gate. With Korra inside the compound area, the pre-observed patrol intervals gave ample time to quietly neutralize the sentries — a firm knock on the head here, a headgrip there — and slip away from the scene, after hiding their persons, of course. Fortune seemed to be on her side, too — the guards inside seemed surprisingly far and few between, and the dim lighting approximated the dark hue of her garb, her silhouette fading into the house, almost invisible.
At least, until the pair of doors to her left slid open.
Casting a beam of bright, yellow light on her figure.
From the room replete with arms-bearing individuals, including the nearby one that opened the door.
Monkeyfeathers.
The second of dumbfoundedness came undercut by the immediate cacophony of holler, brandishing of spears, and stomping towards her signaling their unambiguous intent. Her mind dispensing all pretense of stealth (and expected scolding once again), she postured to a stance, fists raised to her shoulders and one leg in front of the other, before reciprocating their charge and yell with hers.
She's not any less adept at fighting crowds than individuals — her mentors had seen to that, either from other fighters or by themselves, and these sentries aren't nearly at the fraction of the skill held by her mentors, their basic training futile in the face of her slides and evasions, disarmaments and offenses. The greater numbers may prove a challenge, but as long as she keeps to the rule of staggering multiple long enough to take each out one by one, she reasons she can handle it.
Just as her motions fell into pattern, identical to a habitual performance, however, did the adrenaline fuel the very vice her mentor had warned against. Not to the extent of a window of extreme vulnerability, but simply a brief lapse in awareness, in being present and mindful in the moment, too focused in almost humiliating one poor guard.
Which proved opportune for his rather larger, burlier peer, who encased Korra in his arms and promptly swung her out the building.
Bruised by the courtyard's rocks, gobbles of air, tinged with an earthy smell, were inhaled as she moved to stand. Tiny crinkles of rock sounded behind her. Footsteps.
Instantly, she stuck out her left foot. The other guy dodged, no matter though, she'd swung around and threw her right hook at—
"Didn't think you needed help, kid."
Her fist hovered, eyes darting as she scanned the features of the figure before her, long hair, mustache and all.
Damn.
"He's not gonna be happy with this, is he?"
"All I'll say is we'll have to work more on your stealth, yeah," Ghazan began, moving to inspect her.
"I'm fine," Korra retorted, swatting the rough palms of her mentor.
"That's good, 'cause I'd hate to keep Ming-Hua and P'li waiting inside, yeah?"
Damn. The pair promptly hurried back inside the household as an assortment of cries and thumps emanated within, and observed as P'li's towering figure dispatched each guard, leaving Ming-Hua's diminutive form to tackle and stun them, leaving bodies strewn across the gleaning wooden floor.
"Took you two long enough," Ming-Hua spotted.
"What, and let you miss out on all the fun?"
"It was supposed to be the kid's mission, Ghazan."
"Alright, alright, I know I messed up," Korra started.
"You do remember where the chambers are, yes?" P'li cut in.
Just up ahead, Korra mused, as the last guard dropped. Descending onto the corridor, the quartet glimpsed the larger doors at its end.
The location of the quarry.
Forcing them open, they peered into the dark contents of the nobleman's residence with its large bed, table littered with trinkets, and other assorted objects of wealth — but not their proprietor himself, it appeared.
And then the slightest, almost imperceptible creak, sounded just meters to the side.
It was forceful, the way Korra's right arm swung to seize his tunic and dragged him before them, all while she took in their target's smooth and unblemished skin, lanky figure, youthful face.
A boy. Barely older than her, she mused, perhaps Yamin's son?
"Where's your father?" She demanded, her words coming out in a harsh growl. "Where's Lord Yamin?"
"You're looking at him," he attempted to snap, his following gulp hardly intimidating his captors.
If she'd been raised by anyone else, Korra might have paused, hesitated, looked around momentarily to her mentors.
Instead, her gaze matched their hardened ones, the glinting materials around the room solidifying her resolve.
In her eyes did she see the source of his subject's problems and predicament, she thought.
Complicit in the injustices of the world.
Contributor to imbalance — something she'd been sworn to correct, with the help of her mentors.
If he was here, she'd thought his bleeding heart would've suffered at the mere thought of what she was tasked to do.
But he was being tended to by Zaheer at camp — he'd be fine, in other words, and none the wiser.
Wordlessly, Korra raised her fist, clutched tightly, imagining its release.