Chapter 4
The Adventure of the Solitary John (2)
----------------------------------------
Amidst the falling petals, the crooks froze in shock and awe.
One of their own had collapsed to the ground in a single strike, making the others hesitate. But John’s curling lips and taunting gesture stoked their emotions. Rage clouded their judgment as they rushed forward in a blind charge.
Three against one. That was an asymmetrical battle.
Surely, this should have been an overwhelming disadvantage. But as long as he carefully controlled the flow, John wouldn’t be the one caught in a tight spot.
-----
Throughout history, war has never been fair.
If there’s one truth historians agree on, it’s this: The battles worth remembering are the ones where an outmatched force defies the odds. Even in defeat, they earn glory—but if they win, their victory becomes legend.
Among all battlefield strategies, one of the most timeless is ‘Divide and Conquer’—a method used by brilliant tacticians to break superior enemies apart, striking them once they become isolated and weak—flipping the table of who is inferior and who is superior.
In the Waterloo Campaign, Napoleon used this tactic…
I know, I know—it seems like a bad example since he lost in the end. But hey, facing the British-Prussian coalition—when combined, they were nearly twice the size of his own army—his situation was technically screwed from the beginning in modern perspective. Still, from June 15 to June 17, Napoleon moved swiftly and gained the upper hand, thanks to ‘Divide and Conquer.’ And one of his fatal mistakes was his failure to fully execute the strategy—allowing his divided foes to regroup and crush him at Waterloo.
So, as long as John successfully finished his enemies one by one—he wouldn’t end up on St. Helena…
-----
Instead of defending, John chose offense.
As the first thug lunged, John struck first. His arm snapped forward, hooking around the man’s wrist. With effortless control, he twisted the limb outward—forcing the attacker’s balance to shift. Using that stolen momentum, John swung him sideways, hurling him straight into his companion.
John controlled the field—ensuring he never fought more than one at a time.
Now, only one man remained standing. The crook hesitated—but only for a second. Then, driven by reckless rage, he swung his fist.
John didn’t step back.
He didn’t even dodge.
He stood his ground.
With a flick of his wrist, John’s cane snapped upward, slapping the crook’s hand away. I must admit, even watching it, I found it to be an annoying move. The thug threw punch after punch, but John barely had to move. He parried each strike effortlessly, conserving his energy while his opponent grew weary with every failed blow.
Finally, the crook was barely holding his guard, his breath ragged, his body heavy with exhaustion.
Chuckling, John grabbed the wine bottle from the shopping bag in my arm, then smashed it against the exhausted crook, who was too slow to react.
CRACK!
Glass shattered against his skull. Alcohol splashed across the floor.
His body stiffened—then collapsed.
“Damn it, we shouldn’t have underestimated him!” one of other crooks cursed under his breath as they scrambled to regain their footing, daggers flashing as they drew them from their pockets and charged forward.
“Oh, so you’re saying that you were holding back?” John mused, amusing.
With a swift motion, he grabbed the entire shopping bag and poured the apples onto the ground in front of him. The fruit scattered, creating a slippery mess that made the floor a hazardous terrain, no-ideal to run.
The first thug, eager but clumsy, lost his balance on the slick surface. His foot skidded out from under him. Before he could right himself, John seized the moment—planting a firm hand on his chest and shoving him straight into the nearby wall. The man’s body slammed into it with a sickening thud, and he crumpled to the floor, groaning in pain.
The second thug, undeterred, rushed in with his knife raised high.
John barely moved. He sidestepped with practiced ease, letting the momentum of the attack work against his opponent. The crook stumbled forward—exactly what John had been waiting for. In one smooth motion, he hooked his leg behind the man’s, sending him crashing face-first onto the floor.
Before the thug could recover, John knelt down, gripping the broken bottle from earlier, its jagged edge gleaming under the dim light. He leveled it just inches from the man’s throat.
“Stay down!” with a low and steady voice, he commanded.
The thug, wide-eyed and terrified, scrambled backward before turning tail and fleeing, leaving his unconscious companions behind.
-----
Jujutsu Art of Grappling & Throws
La Canne de combat
Improvising Weapons
Environmental Control
Disruptive Tactics
Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.
Energy Efficient
-----
“Wait, is this a real… Bartitsu?”
The very martial art that the Original Sherlin and other ‘British Gentleman’ hero tropes used to fight against villains. In my two incarnations, this was the first time I had ever seen it outside of television and film!
-----
John, standing over his fallen opponents, turned to me with a knowing smirk.
“Oh? So, you recognize my fighting style despite never practicing it?”
“Could you please shut up!? You aren’t finished fighting yet!” I snapped, pointing past him. John followed my gesture with an unhurried glance. The last thug was still struggling to stand, his limbs shaking, groaning in pain.
“You mean that guy?” John rolled his shoulders, as if this whole ordeal was an annoying chore. “Alright, I’ll put him to sleep.”
Before I could say anything, John casually reached for my scarf—the very one he had wrapped around me earlier—and unwrapped it without a second thought.
“Wait! What are you—? Are you trying to murder him!?”
“Of course not. I just want to make him unconscious,” John replied nonchalantly as he wrapped the fabric around the thug’s neck.
“Seriously!? Do you have to strangle him!?”
“And what do you suggest? Should I just knock him out with something?”
“NO! I—Urgh… I don’t know!”
“Relax, I’m a professional,” he assured me with an infuriating amount of confidence. “I know my own strength.”
I wanted to argue, but in this situation, I didn’t know what to argue. Actually, I never knew what the proper way to knock someone unconscious even was! Oh, no, why must I have to see something like this!?
But then—“Damn you…”
My breath hitched.
The first thug—the very one John had knocked out first—was stirring.
As soon as he regained consciousness, was fumbling inside his coat—reaching for something in his pocket, and—Sh*t! It’s a gun!
John was still busy restraining the last conscious thug, completely unaware of the danger before him. So, “John—Look out!” I warned him to act. With a quick thinking, John responded by kicking one of the stray apples to disrupt the aim.
It wasn’t enough to disarm him completely.
But it was enough to give me an opportunity.
Alright, I knew what I was about to do was reckless and absolutely unprofessional. But, come on—who the hell needs to be professional when it comes to biting?
-----
“GAHHH!?”
-----
Just like that, my teeth sank into the thug’s hand.
He let out a strangled scream, his fingers instinctively loosening—just enough for the pistol to slip from his grasp and clatter onto the floor. My job was technically done the moment he was disarmed, but I didn’t stop there. I bit down harder, sinking my teeth in deeper until my jaw started to ache.
Unfortunately, the thug had no intention of letting me get away with my dirty tactics.
“Y-You little—!” he snarled, rage twisting his face.
Before I could react, his free hand tangled with my hair. With a vicious yank, he pulled my head back, tearing me away from his bleeding hand. A sharp pain exploded across my scalp as I was forced to release my bite.
Good grace, I’d made him furious.
If he wanted to kill me now, I understand him.
His eyes burned with fury as he reared his arm back, preparing to strike. My heartbeat pounded in my ears. But before anything could come down to harm me—SHINK!
A sharp, metallic whisper sliced through the air.
The villain froze.
For an instant, the fire in his eyes was smothered—extinguished by the cold steel now resting mere inches from his exposed throat. It was a concealed blade drawn out of his cane.
“I’d advise against that.”
John’s voice was calm, but his gaze bore down on us with an icy menace. The thug shuddered, his entire body going rigid. His grip on my hair loosened. I staggered back, rubbing my sore scalp.
“Smart choice,” John muttered.
And in the next instant—CRACK. John’s boot met the thug’s face. The man’s body jerked violently before collapsing to the ground, unconscious.
This time, I doubted he’d be waking up anytime soon.
“Wait—you’ve been carrying a sword this whole time!?”
John slid the blade back into his cane and turned to me, his expression sharp and—wait, was he angry?
“Is that really your biggest concern right now!?” he shot back. “What the hell were you thinking when you threw yourself at a gunman!?”
I flinched at his intensity. I had expected sarcasm, maybe even smugness—but anger? This was new.
“What if something went wrong? What if he shot you? Did you even consider what could have happened!?”
My irritation flared. “Oh, so now this is my fault? My fault!? The guy was about to shoot you! I was technically saving your life! Shouldn’t you be more grateful!?”
John scoffed, pinching the bridge of his nose like he was trying to contain a headache. “Grateful? You’re the one who dragged me into this fight in the first place! I should be the one asking you to be more grateful!”
I threw my hands up. “Fine! How about 300 gold coins? Can I pay you that?”
His head snapped up. “…What?”
“500 gold! I’ll pay you 500 gold coins if that makes you feel better!”
John stared at me like I had lost my mind. “Do you think I’m some cheap mercenary you can buy off with pocket change?”
“Wha—1,500 gold! That’s over half of what I won today! Are you seriously not satisfied!?”
“You—Stop it! If I really wanted your money, don’t you think I’d squeeze everything out of you!?”
“2,700 gold!” I all but shouted, desperate to end this ridiculous conversation. “Take all of it! Just let me go home in peace!”
John exhaled through his nose, rubbing his temple like I was giving him a migraine. Then, with a smirk that sent a chill down my spine, he said, “After getting mugged three times in a row? I think not. I’m walking you home whether you like it or not. But as for my payment—I’ll ask for it later, as a favor.”
That sounded... ominous.
I narrowed my eyes. “Wait—what kind of favor?”
“Don’t know, yet,” he shrugged. “I’ll think of something."
"Hold on, and what about your financial loss!?"
“Oh? Worried about me now, my dear Sherlin?”
“Considering I’m more worried that my savior might sink into debt, yes.”
John chuckled, tapping his cane against the ground. “Don’t worry. In this era, nobles aren’t the only ones who are filthy rich. Commoners have their own ways of standing equal to the aristocracy of the Ancien Régime.”
He gave me a pointed look, his smirk deepening.
“Besides, I gained something far more valuable—an experience no amount of money could buy. So today, I’m very happy to lose money to you.”