“Stand and deliver!” shouted a gruff voice.

Artyom looked up from the dossier with a sigh as he slipped it back into his knapsack. While his eyes weren’t at all on the path in front of him, the interruption came as no surprise. If anything, the only surprise was that the three men standing in his way had the guts to try what they were about to.

“Give us your goods or else!” shouted the same man again. He was clad in a pitch-black armor that if it weren’t for the spikes and extraneous decorations, Artyom would believe he was some kind of wannabe goth kid. The man wore a leather helmet that hid most of his head, but a messy tuft of black hair and the scraggly beginnings of a beard stood out.

A few feet to either side of the night-clad man was a similarly dressed fellow. While their hairs were different colors, yellow with a mustache and brown yet clean shaven respectively, they all shared a similar expression.

“Yeah, we work for the Dark Lord, we’re part of an elite scouting party! All of us are at least level twenty!” said the blond one with a sneer.

“You’re as good as done for if you don’t give up, so make it easy!” said the brunet with a chuckle.

Artyom stared at the three as they each pulled out a weapon, and in the case of the blond one, summoned a wisp of flame in his right palm.

“Well, isn’t this a surprise,” said the linen-clad man from Earth. “Not even ten minutes in and I’m getting mugged. Is this place really a Fairytale world, or did the techies screw something up? It might also explain the weird noosphere readings.”

The three thieves looked at their potential mark with a look of confusion before the two apparent subordinates glanced at their black-haired leader for a cue. The man in the center lifted his sword up higher and shouted, “It appears you didn’t get the memo, we’re more powerful than you! I’m level twenty five! And how many do you have?”

“I don’t think I’ve gotten any yet,” replied Artyom with a bored expression. “Unless they’re handed out for taking a quick walk.”

From his years of experience, Artyom knew that most worlds had their own leveling system, a seemingly artificial phenomenon that would reward effort put into a particular profession with numerical “levels” in a matching “class.” These levels would provide artificial boosts in ability to relevant competencies. So practicing the sword would award levels into the “Swordsman” class that in turn inherently made one a better sword user, independent of the skill gained as a natural result of practicing.

Not much was known about how these leveling systems came to be, but no two worlds’ operated the same. Every one was a surprise and their systems incomparable, but there were some very common signs to gauge someone’s true strength.

“Poor sword form,” mumbled Artyom, looking closely at the man in the front. “Your stance is incredibly unbalanced and you’re not even gripping your weapon hard enough. A strong breeze would probably knock you over if your armor were made of metal instead of painted leather, but those spikes definitely aren’t helping your balance. Gotta admit though, whatever dye you use for your getup is working wonders on the intimidation factor. Just not on me.”

“Excuse me?! I-” he shouted back, but couldn’t get further as Artyom continued speaking.

“That magical energy leakage from that flame is terrifying!”

“Looks like he knows who the real threat is, eh-”

“I really hope you learned how to cast that from a book or something- actually, not even that. A decent magic textbook would at least try to mention efficiency! If an actual person taught you that, they should be ashamed of themselves. Less than half the magic you’re pouring into that little candle of yours is actually being put to any use!”

The blond mugger felt the flame in his hand reduce in size as his back began to sag.

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“And you,” said Artyom, looking at the brunet holding a mace.

The thief’s eyes widened and a bead of sweat began to drip down underneath his helmet.

“If you swing and miss, you will hit yourself in the face.”

“That’s all you have to say?” he blurted out.

“That’s all there is to say. You can figure out what went unsaid for yourself.”

“Hey!” shouted the leader of the trio. “Are we going to let this unruly peasant get the better of us like that? Let’s teach him a lesson, and then take his stuff!”

The other two perked up at that, and their faces began to turn red in anger and indignation. Without another word, the three of them charged forwards.

Artyom merely shrugged and seemingly disappeared in a pop.

“Teleportation?” asked the blond.

“You’re the mage, you should know!” replied the leader with a scowl.

“Maybe he’s just really fast?” asked a voice from behind them.

The trio attempted to turn around, but the linen-clad man moved quicker.

A single punch impacted the leader’s back, sending him flying several feet forward, where he landed face-first into the ground.

The blond tried to flob the candle flame at Artyom, but with a single snap, the fire went out. The mugger-mage attempted to reignite it, but failed. After several seconds of attempts, he began to cough, and quickly fell to his knees while grasping at his chest.

“Null-magic field,” said Artyom. “It’s harmless, but the lack of any magic around you will feel like the very air went missing.”

While the blond didn’t respond, the last of his compatriots made his move. The brunet charged at Artyom with his mace held high, and once within range, swung down with all his might.

Artyom casually stepped to the side, and the heavy ball went wide, completing a full arc that concluded at the back of the man’s head. He fell to the ground in a heavy thud.

“I guess I was wrong, you hit yourself in the back of the head instead of the front. I must be getting rusty.”

Artyom straightened his shoulders and walked over to the leader of the group, who was now raising himself off the floor, and placed a heavy foot on his back, pushing him back down.

“I’m not exactly a fan of brigandage, and getting rid of you three would probably make the lives of anyone who lives around here way easier.”

“There’s no prison anywhere near here, and the Dark Lord will have an easy time breaking us out of some peasant’s basement!” shouted the leader, still apparently filled with bravado.

Artyom leaned down and whispered loud enough into the man’s ear for everyone else to hear, “Who ever said anything about prison?”

Everyone went stock still.

“Y-you don’t mean…”

Before Artyom could continue, his eyes flashed in realization.

This was supposed to be a Fairytale world, and the behavior of these three proved it. Not with their criminal intentions, but with how they went about it. All the posturing, no mentions of actual consequences for resisting, and their assumptions going towards prison rather than the most common form of rural justice for hardened criminals. A true desperado would have just tried to kill him and then loot the corpse.

If Artyom actually killed these three, Gus would just double down and increase the length of his stay! There was only one thing to do.

“You’ve been defeated,” said Artyom while gritting his teeth. “Do you promise to never attack innocents ever again?”

Years of experience screamed at the TOAL soldier to end this threat here and now, but that was the entire point of this “vacation” after all; make him chill out a bit before he accidentally committed a war crime. That was how Artyom saw it, anyway.

But the result was the same and the man from Earth waited for a response.

“Y-yes,” said the leader of the three. “You win, you’re stronger than us. We give up.”

“And…” said Artyom while rolling his eyes.

“And we promise never to attack another innocent.”

“Good,” said Artyom as he lifted his foot off the man and dispelled his anti-magic field. “Now get out of here and don’t come back.”

The three of them got up, regrouped together, and dashed into the open field to the side, leaving Artyom once again alone.

After waiting a few minutes to make sure they had well and truly run away, Artyom pulled out the dossier from his knapsack and continued reading. “Even if they break their promise, the worst they’re probably going to do is steal candy from a baby or something like that. I just hope I don’t run into anyone else this annoying.”

And he kept walking.