I wake up Sorina. She’s out of her blanket quickly, knives at the ready. When she peers over the hill, she snarls.


    “Bandits.”


    “You think so?”


    “We’re in prime bandit country; I know so.”


    I clutch my sack of amulets. “Should I wake up Umbrahorn?”


    She starts muttering to herself. It takes a while for me to realize she’s counting their number. “Ten. Ten men. Must’ve seen our fire.”


    I take an amulet out. She snatches it from my grasp, easy as taking candy from a baby.


    “What’s that for? It''s ten men. I can survive, but what about —”


    “Me? Who do you think I am Raiten, some damsel?”


    “That’s not what I’m saying. I’m not questioning your strength: I’m just saying, one stray arrow and it''s over for you. Why risk that? Let me blast them to oblivion.”


    She raises an eyebrow. “How many amulets do you have?”


    “Six.”


    “Don’t waste them. There’s no point in using one here. Actually,” she starts smiling that evil teacher’s smile. “I have an idea.”


    “What is it—”


    Sorina pushes me forward, trips me over her foot, and I go tumbling down the hill.


    “All you Raiten! You got this!” she yells.


    As I roll down, I make sure to deeply regret my choice of comrades.


    Not that it does anything.


    …


    I find myself face flat in the dirt, body contorted and muscles weeping for mercy. With a grunt of effort, I stand up and dust myself off.


    Two men level crossbows at me. Five swords. One dagger woman. Two spearmen.


    “Hello gents,” I say, raising my hands. “What can I do for you?”


    The dagger-bearing woman comes up. She looks tired, weary of everything and everybody.


    “Listen,” she says, her voice low. “We don’t want too much trouble. It''s a hard road for all of us. Just give us your things and we’ll let you on — you and your girlfriend up there.” She points to the hill. Sorina waves from above, probably smiling like an idiot.


    “She’s not my girlfriend,” I mutter. One of the spearmen steps up and jabs the spear near my neck. I flinch back slightly.


    “Your things. Food, water, clothes. Anything and everything. Now,” he says, voice like a blade sharpening on a whetstone.


    I eye him darkly. Bring my hands down to my waist. Feign a grab for my sash. Then, I snatch the spearhead, snap it off. He looks at the broken end of his spear, dumbfounded. I kick forward, foot smashing into his leather gambeson. He falls back.


    WHIZZ! One bolt sticks me in the shoulder, knocking me back half a step. I growl. Something bestial is awakened within — the very same instinct that would help me back when I was a Thunder Watcher. I stagger forward and get on all fours, jumping at the nearest combatant. The dagger woman yells something. I don’t hear the command; instead, I’m atop a swordsman, delivering three rapid strikes to his face. His head bounces off the ground. He’s unconscious.


    Another bolt comes whizzing. I duck under it, dodge a sword whistling my way, bounce off the ground, and kick a swordsman. He falls, two more take his place, along with a spearman following closely behind. I back off, retreating uphill slightly. The lead swordsman with a scar takes a swing. Stolen novel; please report.


    I slide back from it, come close, go wrist-to-wrist with him. He’s confused. I deliver unto him six rapid punches with Eternal Spring. He buckles on the fifth.


    The other sword wielder, a woman with a warrior bun, presses me. The spearman follows suit. I’m put on the backfoot, forced to defend.


    Parry parry parry. This is a familiar game. I’ve done it with Sorina countless times. Even with weapons in their hands, they are amateurs — they aren’t used to fighting. No bolts come my way, probably for fear of hitting their comrades. Better for me. The woman slices forth thrice, cleverly using her momentum to propel her. She’s smarter than the others. But that won’t make up for lack of experience.


    On the third swing, she oversteps, scores a slashing cut on my arms. I hit her sword hand, and her sternum, then kick her leg. She screams. I’m surprised when she goes down, her leg a contorted mess. I stare at my own shin for a second. That second cost me a spear in the chest.


    I spurt out blood.


    “Come on Raiten, focus!” Sorina yells.


    Another bolt flashes in the night. I turn my head away — it nicks my ear off. I go deaf on the right. With another growl of pain, I push myself into the spear, the sound of my labored breathing now muted, grizzly, primal. The spearman looks at me with horror as I push the weapon further into me, cutting the distance between us. I grab him by the collar, he lets go of the spear. Rearing my head back, I deliver a headbutt to his nose. He falls, coveting his broken, bloody nose, screaming some curses.


    With a roar, I break the spear in me and take both ends out. I toss one stick at one of the crossbowmen reloading. It spins and hits him in the head, knocking him down and out.


    I hold the broken-off spear end in one hand, use it to break off the bolt in my shoulder.


    Four men rally to the dagger woman. She looks at me as if I’m some storied monster from children’s tales. As I stomp back down the hill, the other crossbowman runs into the woods. Four people left then.


    They all come charging at once.


    I duck low and spring forward, rushing the charge-leader. I stick the spear in his shoe and before he can scream I kick his leg in, with less force than I used for the swords-woman.


    These people aren’t ragtag bandits. They’re just people. Plague survivors. I can tell by their desperation.


    So I won’t kill them. I’ll just stop them.


    Easier said than done though. The other three are upon me in an instant, and I circle around them, parrying some blows, taking others. The dagger woman slides behind me and jabs her blade into my back. The other two pounce. I kick one’s hand, disarming him — focus on the other with a flurry of Eternal Spring punches. The disarmed one tries punching me in the shoulder — comes away shaking his wrist. I scoff before grabbing his neck and thrusting up with a knee to his stomach, making him keel over.


    One more.


    The dagger woman pads away, picks up a sword and levies it at me.


    “What — what in all the hells are you?” she asks.


    That’s a good question. I’m not exactly the Thunder Watcher anymore. I pause in front of her, somewhat stalling to allow my wounds to close.


    “I’m just a farmer,” I eventually say.


    She spits. “Bullshit.”


    “Why don’t you put the sword down? We can talk this out. I need not be your enemy.”


    Her hands are shaking. The sword vibrates in the night. I reach a hand out and lower the tip of her sword away from me.


    “You lot aren’t really bandits, are you?” I ask.


    She shakes her head, sets the sword down. “Just kill me.”


    “Why would I do that?” I ask, though some part of me desperately wants to just kill them. Still, my more rational side prevails, as it has been doing as of recent. “Where are you from?” I want to disarm her, both physically and mentally.


    “Have—Havenmarch.”


    Ah. No wonder they’re desperate.


    I look around at her downed band. “This your whole outfit?”


    Another shake of the head. “No. We have people. A lot of people. Children too.”


    “That really doesn’t excuse robbing strangers blindly in the night,” Sorina’s voice echoes out. I turn to see her walking down the hill slope. One man, the poor spearman whose nose I broke, tries grabbing her leg. She brutally stomps on his hand and continues on.


    “What else were we supposed to do? Our entire troop was basically robbed yesterday,” the dagger woman says out of frustration.


    “By who?” I ask.


    “Soldiers,” she spits. “Damned Western Kingdoms were supposed to help us, not enhance our suffering.”


    Sorina and I share a look. “But the Kingdoms don''t give a damn about us at the end of the day,” Sorina had once said when we first met.


    “Soldiers of which kingdom?” Sorina asks.


    The dagger woman laughs. “Who else? Catolica.”