章 8: Fighting
The depression in the ground was very neat, as if something had carefully scraped over it.
To verify his suspicions, Borne took a glowing blue magic stone from his bag.
The blue light illuminated the depression, and Borne stared in disbelief at what lay before him.
It turned out there was nothing there.
"Oh, I thought it was a claw mark… but it's just a patch of land that's been plowed," Borne muttered with a wry smile.
He shined the stone around, scanning the surrounding area, then made another circuit around the field.
"Everything is safe, nothing here," Borne reported as he came out of the field.
The village chief stroked his chin, seemingly pondering something.
After a moment, he said, "Maybe it was just the drunken ramblings of those few drunkards. I must give them a good talking to later."
The old man waved his cane around as if he were wielding a sword, and Borne couldn't help but laugh.
They returned to the house, and Borne planned to head straight to the next location without delay.
However, the old man stopped him, asking him to wait a moment.
Shortly after, the old man came out of the kitchen with half a piece of dark bread in his hand and offered it to Borne.
"No, no, I can't accept this," Borne protested, trying to refuse, but the old man quickly stuffed it into Borne's bag with surprising speed.
"Take it; it's just a small token of my appreciation."
Though Borne felt embarrassed, he accepted the gift and immediately bowed deeply to the elder.
"Alright, alright, you have things to do. Off you go," the old man urged.
Borne mounted his horse, waved goodbye to the elder, and immediately departed from the village.
His next destination was at the foot of a mountain, where several small streams flowed.
Magical beasts often went there to drink.
Thinking about this made Borne's heart tighten a bit.
His warhorse galloped, leaving everything behind in a blur.
After a sharp right turn, Borne slowly entered a small forest.
The early morning mountain air felt like a secret realm; the occasional chirping of cicadas and fluttering of birds could be heard.
Borne breathed in the fresh air and stopped by a waterfall.
Before him lay a large rock on the water, like a mirror placed amidst the flowing streams.
He decided to dismount and fetch some water, planning to rest briefly before continuing his exploration.
But unexpectedly, an arrow shot through the air, shattering the morning tranquility.
The arrow arced perfectly through the air. Borne instinctively leaned back, narrowly avoiding the arrow.
A few strands of hair were sliced off from his forehead.
His blue eyes caught sight of the arrowhead and fletching; it was a white-feathered arrow.
In the next moment, Borne quickly tugged on the reins, clenching his legs around the horse's belly, his gaze locked on a small hill ahead.
He needed to close the distance between himself and his assailant.
But then six or seven more arrows flew toward him.
He dodged and weaved, easily avoiding the first few, but the last arrow was so precise it seemed almost alive.
This arrow nicked his face, slicing through his dust cloth and drawing a thin line of blood.
"Radish!"
Borne shouted, and his warhorse, sensing the urgency, began its final sprint.
Hearing the sound of approaching hoofbeats, several figures started to emerge from behind the small hill, preparing to engage.
As Borne got closer, he could make out their faces.
They were thin, ragged bandits, their clothes tattered and worn.
The bandits had already swapped their bows for long swords and spears.
Borne knew that charging into their formation would be a foolish decision.
He loosened his grip on the reins, and his feet left the stirrups.
With his right hand, he gripped his Impact Fist war hammer and took a deep breath.
He had trained countless times for this; these movements were ingrained in his very bones.
He was calm, feeling as if everything around him was slowing down.
Now!
Borne stepped onto the horse's back and leaped from it, launching himself at the five bandits.
It was clear they were caught off guard, stunned and unsure of what he was doing, watching Borne in mid-air.
A loud neigh broke their trance.
A massive figure blocked out the sunlight, and the bandits felt as though night had fallen once more.
Their eyes saw nothing but two hooves.
The powerful warhorse raised its front hooves and stomped on the face of a smaller bandit.
It used the bandit's head like a springboard.
The remaining four, seeing their companion injured, were furious. They raised their weapons and swung at the warhorse, but it had already galloped away.
"Chase it! We must kill that beast!"
The four bandits, their faces twisted with rage, showed their yellow teeth, their wrinkles bunching together.
The next moment, another scream filled the air.
Borne hurled his war hammer. It spun through the air, striking the back of a tall, thin bandit's head.
Blood and brain matter splattered everywhere, covering the faces and clothes of his comrades.
Borne landed skillfully, rolled on the ground, and rose to his feet, squinting at the three remaining bandits.
At this moment, the three finally noticed Borne's uniform.
Panic set in immediately; they realized they had crossed someone they should never have crossed.
"Sir, we didn't mean it. We didn't know you were on the road," one of the bandits stammered, clutching his long sword.
"Enough talk! It's too late to beg for mercy now; better to kill him and leave no witnesses!"
The bandit wielding the spear clearly had no intention of letting Borne leave, knowing that if the soldier escaped, death would surely follow for them.
"Yes, we can't let him get away! Avenge our brothers!"
The last bandit, gripping a steel trident, shouted.
The three bandits seemed to have an unspoken agreement, and in the next moment, they decided to kill.
Seeing the three rushing at him with weapons raised, Borne swiftly drew his military-issued dagger.
He held it in a reverse grip, a habit he had developed during his military training.
With the dagger's tip pointing down, he tightened his grip on the handle.
The spear thrust straight toward Borne's head.
With lightning speed, Borne aimed to deflect the spear with the blade of his dagger.
It was clear that Borne was stronger; he managed to knock the spear aside.
The bandit holding the spear staggered back several steps, visibly surprised by the soldier's immense strength.
Seizing the opportunity, Borne quickly closed in, aiming for close combat.
In just three swift steps, Borne was right in front of the spear-wielding bandit, ready to deliver a fatal blow.
But the bandit's companions quickly adjusted, turning their weapons toward Borne.
A long sword swung at Borne's head, and the steel trident thrust towards his abdomen.
At this critical moment, Borne's military training and instincts set him apart from ordinary men.
He immediately chose to stab the bandit holding the trident, who was closer to him, with his dagger.
At the same time, he kicked the spear-wielding bandit.
Within just a second or two, he had executed all these actions.
Due to the momentum, Borne took a few steps back, creating some distance between himself and the remaining bandits.
Now, only two figures remained on the field.
One bandit.
One soldier.
Borne had no melee weapon in his hand, and there was no chance for him to pick up his discarded weapon.
So he raised his fists, prepared to fight with his bare hands.
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