Rising to one knee, the man who bore the name Roy Fraser on Earth straightened his back. His gaze fell upon the hilt of the sword clenched in his right hand. A broken sword. The black bronze could not withstand the force of his last strike and snapped, barely grazing the enemy's chainmail. If it weren't for Roy's experience, honed in dozens, if not hundreds, of fights against black-skinned outlaws who had long been the rightful nocturnal rulers of Cape Town's streets, eager to humiliate or maim someone with fair skin, he would have perished now[1]. The experience, that had proven itself well on Ain too.

A sharp blow to the throat prevented the opponent from taking advantage of Roy's broken weapon, and a precise, well-practiced thrust of the knife to the eye ended the attacker's life.

Had Fraser not raised his rank to Iron yesterday, this battle would have been his last in this life. As it became for the last two earthlings of his team. Just a few days ago, some unknown and mighty assholes cast the five of them into these lands. Right, initially, there were five earthlings in his group.

Today, he was left alone.

Struggling to his feet, Roy carefully examined the wide wound on his side. There was a lot of blood, but the cut from the enemy's blade was not deep. Taking off Sergey's shirt, Fraser tore off the sleeves, tied them together, and used them to bind his wound. Sergey wouldn't need this shirt anymore. The dead don't need clothes. And the healing potions had long run out.

Clenching his teeth, Roy dragged the bodies of his companions under the trunk of a large oak tree. Closed their eyes. And when his palm touched Hinata's eyelids, a pang shot through Roy's heart.

If it weren't for him, his team would be alive. Sergey. Torin. Mara. Hinata.

Four names.

Four lives.

Lives that were cut short due to his arrogance and mistake.

Having heard a new assignment from the celestial bastards yesterday, the earthlings approached the locals and offered assistance clearing out nearby dungeons. And they were refused. That's when Roy decided to spit on the natives and their rules and conquer the dungeon themselves without asking the locals.

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The earthlings succeeded.

But when they emerged from the dungeon, a squad of tunnellers was already waiting for them. Clearing someone else's dungeons without permission turned out to be as dangerous an undertaking as the local sheriff had warned them. Mara, the group's healer, died in the battle with the tunnellers at the dungeon Gate. But the four earthlings managed to break free and escape.

However, the locals had no intention of letting the strangers who violated their customs go easily. A chase ensued. Moreover, the local tunnellers had also suffered losses in that battle. This morning, the earthlings were caught up with, and another skirmish occurred. Roy's team was reduced to three, including himself.

In the first battle, Roy killed three tunnellers and managed to increase his rank. The earthlings thought they had inflicted too much damage on their pursuers, and they would back off. That assumption was wrong.

And now Fraser was alone.

Alone in a hostile, alien world. Wounded, fully aware that it was his disregard for local laws that had essentially killed his comrades. It was hard for him even to look at their dead bodies.

Hinata. Sergey.

He had volunteered to be their leader. And it was his leadership that led them to their deaths. Fraser felt that he would never be able to atone for his guilt before them.

Finding a small ravine, Roy threw the bodies of Sergey and Hinata down and covered them with leaves from above, not forgetting to take the weapons and ammunition from the dead.

The steel sword, which had previously belonged to Sergey, fit comfortably in his hand, but this did not please Fraser at all. Neither did the fact that there were no more pursuers.

They were all dead. He had killed them all. He had avenged his own. But this thought did not comfort him in the slightest.

After changing the bandage on his wound, Roy stood still above the ravine with the bodies of the earthlings and saluted.

"My fault. My mistake. Forgive me if you can," he said in farewell.

"Worthy words," came a voice from behind.

Spinning around, Roy raised his sword. At the other end of the clearing, ten meters away from him, stood a warrior of bronze rank. The local sheriff.

"What name shall I write on your grave?" the new enemy asked, gripping his axe with both hands.

Taking a deep breath, Fraser clenched his teeth and uttered a single word:

"Nate."

[1] TLN: I searched but haven't found such stories on the internet. On the other hand, I found that many Cape Town street gangs historically appeared because black people were displaced during apartheid times (the government was evicting all the "non-white" people from certain neighborhoods). So, there's a reason for grudges that can last through generations there. And if Nate had to grow up in a primarily "black" poor area, it wouldn't be surprising for such a story to take place.