The crunch of leaves underfoot was somehow nostalgic. He ducked another low branch as they loosely navigated between the low trees.

Oliver had stressed about many things in his time, probably more than most had–and he didn't think that was a big indicator of maturity or anything.

Most people that Oliver had known wouldn’t count him among those considered ‘mature’. One of his weaknesses, he recognised.

Oliver simply had a lot to stress about over the course of his life, it hadn’t necessarily left him stronger.

However, there was something about being bound by the wrists in magical restraints. Something about being prodded forward at sword-point. Oliver was somewhat more stressed than usual today.

It turned out that the guards didn’t have much interest in what the prisoners had planned for themselves. Oliver’s formation had been preserved, but rather than being a separate collection of combatants, they were practically a two-body thick meat shield.

Oliver had earned himself the spot as the foremost meat shield. How courageous was he. The best fighter was furthest from the fighting. Hopefully, that was a good decision.

He didn’t claim to be some sort of strategic mastermind, his combat experience was limited to after his entrance to this world. Very little, to say the least.

If anything else, he didn’t feel more or less confident about winning than he might have before his first fight. He hadn’t had the gusto beaten out of him, which is what he had been led to believe might happen.

Credit to himself; he had scored a pretty good punch that one time. Too bad he wasn’t able to use any of his mana stuff. Would be quite handy.

What truly stressed him out was his complete lack of control over coming events. If these bandits were random people he didn’t have any connection to–pure criminals–he would still baulk at the idea of that kind of violence… But he would be concentrating simply on his own survival.

Stress came from uncertainty, what actions could he take that would create the most benefit. Self-given authority with very little means to execute it.

This wasn’t a game, this wasn’t a choice, and Oliver wasn’t a volunteer.

This time, winning wasn’t just a personal promise to himself, something meaningful to him.

Winning, this time, was his moral obligation.

The consequences of his actions in the near future…

They were unimaginably high.

“Hey. Paige.”

I need to be doing something. To be doing nothing is a failure.

Paige, a diagonal step behind him, looked up from under her poncho. An uncertain girl, unfortunate looking.

Oliver didn’t know her story.

She spoke, a wobble in her voice. “What.”

Thinkthinkthinkthinkthinkthink–

“... Are these people murderers?”

Paige flinched away from the question, the look she gave Oliver… He hesitated.

“What kind of… people are in this group?”

Oliver was poked in the back by a sword, he upped the pace.

Paige seemed to pale. It was strange, Oliver thought, that the girl who had once been championing his fear was now this reserved.

She answered, almost too quiet to hear. “T-they. They were enjoying it.”

Oliver, not looking back as to not get poked again, prompted her further.

“Enjoying what?”

“T-the s-stronger ones, they took what they w-wanted from the weak.” She left the rest unsaid.

Yet another angle to this moral FUCKING MESS… Stay calm.

Oliver was silent for a long moment.

Now, Oliver wasn’t one to give different value to people’s lives.

But he sure hoped the ‘stronger ones‘ would meet this attack head-on.

Oliver didn’t have the makings of a plan, but maybe the inklings of an approach to one.

Even with the most consequential things, if you didn’t decide to do something, then nothing happened. The intensity in Oliver’s eyes grew, he made something like a decision in this moment.

First, remove his bindings.

Mana won’t work on these, nor pure muscular strength. A sword might do the trick. I’ll have to wait until we engage.

Second, escape the core of the battle. Leave sight.

Third… make contact with those being suppressed?

He didn’t claim to have it all figured out. Lots of assumptions going around.

It was a good start, nonetheless.

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

An arrow whizzed over Oliver’s head. He heard the thump of it hitting a tree.

In the instant of realisation, more were already flying at their expedition, a line of prisoners and soldiers amongst the trees.

Oliver heard the shouts of alarm from guardsmen, as they were caught off guard.

“What happened to the scout!”

“I’m hit! I’m hit!”

Nobody could tell where the archers were shooting from, other than that the arrows were coming from ahead of them.

Oliver hit the ground as fast as possible, and began worming off to the side as best he could. For some reason he hadn’t considered ranged weaponry.

The prisoners had been standing up front, those who had been too slow were already hit.

Something terrifying about arrows, even if you were hit in a non-vital location, you couldn’t just remove it. It was going to be an active hindrance to your movement for as long as the fight went.

Oliver, in his scramble across the ground, saw a flash of blue pulling itself along too.

An authoritative voice sounded, only seconds having passed by this stage.

“GUARDSMEN - EVASIVE POSITIONING! PRISONERS, FORWARD!”

Shut up idiot.

Oliver reached a tree to cover behind, but noticed he might not be able to stay, a guard was rapidly approaching his position. The blood was roaring in his ears.

How could Oliver have forgotten, there is no planning when you’re in a life or death situation.

None of the guardsmen were down yet. Paige was drawing closer slowly, so Oliver pulled her in quickly. Upon inspection, he found she was struck in the leg.

There wasn’t room for two of them, so Oliver–in the heat of the moment–positioned her where he had been seated. Before sprinting off, he said only one thing.

“Play dead.”

The poncho girl closed her eyes.

Oliver had a thought. He leapt up, conscious of the less-frequent arrows.

Then he sprinted at the approaching guard.

“CUT THESE!” Oliver held up his restraints. The guard was younger than most of the other guards on the battlefield and seemed just about ready to piss his pants.

Oliver’s order was followed almost automatically, before the guard even had time to process what it was he was doing.

Oliver, back to the enemy, heard what he could only describe as desperate cries of war. It seemed the real thing was about to begin.

Oliver began running off to the side. He should probably think about that next part of his plan.

Whatever, just get there first.

As he was leaving, he glimpsed people break through the trees.

And he nearly threw up. They were wearing modern clothes but–ragged, hanging off their thin frames.

Children, elderly people, not a single able bodied person.

It was something of a cliché when it came to Oliver, but.

If nothing else in the world ever had before. If Oliver had been the calmest man to walk the Earth.

This filled him with pure indignation.

He was already clear of the battlefield by something like ten metres, but he spun on his heel. And that familiar energy welled up in him once again.

It might have been better used in his head, coming up with some kind of strategy or best course of action. But where it went was his legs.

It wasn’t superhuman or anything like that, but if Oliver had a “fastest speed” he could reach in a sprint, he got there faster than usual.

Still, he wasn’t fast enough for some.

The guardsmen had, of course, formed a line. Shields up, swords pointed as if they were spears. These were guardsmen, with the equipment of guardsmen, not pikemen in an army.

Unfortunately, guardsmen also had bows.

An arrow fired over the line of shields, hitting one of the scantily armed old people.

Another arrow fired. Then another.

The attackers did not turn back, however terrified they seemed. Something was wrong.

Oliver barreled into their lines from the side, an idiot in the line of fire. He grabbed a shortspear out of the hands of a small child wearing what used to be a spiderman shirt.

The guardsmen didn’t pause, they didn’t care.

The attackers turned to Oliver in vague fear, but Oliver pointed off to the side.

“RUN. GO. MOVE!”

They looked at him uncertainly, momentum lost.

They’re not moving.

Another arrow struck a child.

Tears spilled from Oliver’s eyes, he looked into the unfocused eyes of his brethren.

People from home.

It was overwhelming, nobody was moving, what could he do?

They were dying.

He turned to the guards, still firing arrows, still moving forward.

“STOP. STOP. HOLD. HALT. AAAARRGGHH”

Oliver grabbed two children under his arms and started running. They were unusually light, but he couldn’t do it.

He saw the flash of silver on grey through the trees.

What the– Shadow master!?!

The children, though light, were unwieldy to hold. They were limp, uncooperative... The effect of malnourishment?

Oliver kept stumbling away from the active battle, still very much in the midst of it. There were arrows landing around him as he adjusted his grip time and again.

The guards clearly didn't differentiate between him and the unfortunate Earthers.

In that moment of desperate action, of helplessness... Oliver felt the mana in the two children spasm.

A staff hit the ground.

Suddenly, the people from Earth turned back to the guards and continued running forward with the same vigor they had started with. The boy wriggled from his arm and ran into the fray.

Oliver managed to keep hold of the girl, but she was trying to get free. Oliver couldn’t bear to see his people impale themselves on swords.

If he let go of her to retrieve someone else, she'd run right back in. A cruel trade.

He held her with both arms in a bear hug, trying to move her far enough away, maybe she would calm down. But something was wrong with her eyes.

It has to be magic, maybe the same kind that had compelled me to tell the truth? That had seemed awfully intricate.

Oliver was running out of lives, and time. He tried putting his forehead to hers, trying to force his mana there, it didn’t really do anything.

He still had the binding rope in his pocket, cut though it was, it was long enough.

Oliver took the girl to a tree off the battlefield, found a branch within her arm’s reach that she couldn’t slide off, and painstakingly tied her hands together around it.

“Stay there, I’ll be back!”

He ran back into the fray, but half of the Earthers were already dead.

Even the guards themselves didn’t seem very enthusiastic, if a child got to the front, they wouldn’t behead them the same way they were doing for the old people. Just skewer them instead.

Oliver didn't even consider which was worse.

And the next group came through the trees.