Deathly grunts signaled the start of the ambush. Clangs of steel-on-steel ensued. Sigurd crept up to the back of the stagecoach and braced himself to step out of the relative safety of the tarp covering them.

“Whatever happens, don't leave the carriage," he whispered to Mia and Nia.

Mia puffed out her chest and bravely, albeit tinged with doubt and fear, declared, “I'm not scared. I've seen what you can do, and I know you'll beat them!”

“I mean it," he snapped at her, throwing a side glance her way. His trembling hands belied his caution.

He calmed his trembling limbs and gripped the hilts of his blades, stepping out into the dark of night.

‘Curse that skill’s side effects! It lasts too long,’ Joyce spat. ‘I'll need to be careful with using it in the future. For now, I only hope my arms and legs hold out!’

With his feet firmly planted in the soil, he traced the shape of the stagecoach and walked as close to it as possible, as he rounded the corner.

The general path, marked by disturbed yet flattened mud and grass – the indicators of frequent travel – was the stage for the chaos that unfolded there.

Everywhere his eye landed, Sigurd spotted different things happening. On one end of the road, near the merchant carriages, a couple of sneaky bandits were pilfering their goods. A few feet away, the guards the merchants had hired were engaging with another group of bandits. The battle seemed evenly-sided, with the bandits providing sufficient distraction. Opposite them all, a third batch of bandits held the scared and captured merchants with their presence.

It was chaotic yet well-organized, and with so much happening, Sigurd grappled with what to do first. Intense tactical training in his past life made him hone in on the correct choice: save the merchants.

‘Things can be replaced, lives can't be,’ Joyce thought, as she slogged her way to the separate bandit group.

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The muddy terrain added an extra layer of sluggishness to the battle-hardened soldier's already weakened steps, but still, he pushed forward. Before engaging, he did away with his sword, confirming such tactics were futile there.

When he finally reached the group, the first punch connected well.

“This isn't a very fair fight now, is it?" He smugly said, catching the first thug off-guard.

Sigurd's reduced mobility and strength only served to stagger the opponent. The bandit bounced back but his face was met with a stronger punch. Even stifled, Sigurd put his all into the blow.

The other three bandits rushed him but fell to the same fate. It was all he could do to help, in his current state.

‘I hope the bandits hurry and leave,' Joyce prayed, in a panic. ‘As I am now, I won't be able to help defend!’

Before he could go help the merchant guards, Sigurd heard a voice from afar – that of one of the bandits overlooking the area.

“Hey boss, we've got a merc over here! He took out some of our boys!”

“I was hoping to have some fun," a deep voice growled from beyond the leaves.

From the shadows, a hulking brute emerged. His mere presence caused both the bandits and the merchant guards to pause. He stomped over to where Sigurd was and stopped before him.

“What, you were bested by this pipsqueak?” the bandits' leader asked, mockingly. He looked to his beaten men, and added, “Go on, fall back, I'll handle him.”

Standing a full two heads taller than him, Sigurd gulped nervously yet calmed his breathing. He knew the only way to fell the man before him was to go all out – even if he was currently incapable of that.

With unwavering resolve, he stood firm.

“You don't want to be a hero, merc. Stand down and maybe you can walk away with your life intact.”

Upon hearing those words, Sigurd smiled confidently.

“Those are brave words,” he replied. Mustering all his strength, he pulled in close and repeatedly punched the brute in the abdomen. Six times he jabbed, before ending his barrage with an uppercut which connected on the brute's chin. “...but it seems you've underestimated me.”

Unfazed by the attack, the bandit leader let out a hearty laugh, “What the hell was that, some kind of heroic quip? You're a sad one, hero. Those punches barely tickled.”

Sigurd took two steps back and stared daggers at the brute, realizing the mistake he'd made.

“My turn then? Here, let me show you what a real punch looks like,” the brute then said, pulling his right arm back, and immediately lunging forth.

Like a jack-in-the-box springing forth, the man's fist barreled full force into Sigurd's abdomen.

“Oh f--" Sigurd barely voiced as the single punch left him breathless and flying through the air.

Equating it to being slammed into by a speeding tank, Sigurd was thrown through several trees, landing firmly in a group of them.

His vision darkening, Sigurd desperately tried to free himself after being encrusted in the bark of several mashed trees. He managed to break loose at the last second, only to collapse to his knees.

The final thing he saw and heard before passing out was Mia's voice, alongside the bandits and their leader. She had left the relative safety of the carriage and ran to his aid when she was caught.

“Well, well... look at what we have here. Not one, but two catkin girls!" one of the bandits said, pulling Nia out of the stagecoach. The bandit leader stopped Mia, forcefully grabbing her by the wrist.

With a single arm, he pulled her up, lifting her entire frame off the ground.

“It seems Mr. Hero was holding out on us. These two will fetch a high price on the market!” he sneered.

Mia's grunts and protests to let her go, as she yelled out Sigurd's name – begging him to wake up – echoed in his ears, as the world faded from view.