Amukelo's journey had been long and arduous, with each passing day marked by the slow, persistent ache in his injured arm. The pain in his arm, though still significant, had dulled to a manageable throb, and he had grown accustomed to the discomfort, pushing forward with a determination born of necessity.
Two weeks had passed since his battle with the Landwyrm, and during this time, the path had been relatively uneventful. The forests he traversed were dense and quiet, the only sounds being the rustling of leaves and the occasional distant call of wildlife. The dirt road beneath his feet was well-trodden, indicating that he was nearing a settlement. The thought of reaching Ansford brought a sense of relief; his supplies were running low, and the town offered the promise of rest and perhaps even medical attention for his still-healing arm.
The town itself came into view as the sun dipped toward the horizon, casting long shadows over the landscape. Ansford was a modest settlement, not large by any means, but it was well-fortified with sturdy wooden walls and watchtowers.
As he walked, his senses sharpened by a sound reaching his ears—a chorus of rough laughter and harsh voices carried on the wind. The words were indistinct at first, but as he drew nearer, their meaning became clear.
"Hahaha... Give it to us without resistance, and we will spare your life, but if you will resist, you'll pay the price for it," a voice, gruff and filled with malicious amusement, echoed through the trees.
Another voice, this one trembling with fear and desperation, responded, "Plea... Please leave me alone, I need these supplies..."
Amukelo's steps quickened, his instincts kicking in as he followed the voices. He moved off the road, slipping quietly through the underbrush until he reached the edge of a small clearing where the scene was happening.
Five men, their attire rough and mismatched—typical of bandits—surrounded a lone merchant. The merchant, a man perhaps in his forties, was dressed in simple, worn clothes. He clutched a small cart filled with various goods, likely provisions or goods for trade, his livelihood in jeopardy at the hands of these thugs. One of the bandits, larger and more imposing than the others, struck the man hard across the face, sending him sprawling to the ground. The merchant's plea for mercy was met with nothing but scorn.
"Do you think I care? We want these supplies as well," the bandit sneered, his voice dripping with contempt.
The merchant, now on his knees, looked up at his assailant, his face a mixture of pain and desperation. "But please, my life will be ruined if I lose these supplies..."
Amukelo watched the scene. His eyes scanned the group of bandits, noting their weapons and their positioning. They were armed with a motley assortment of swords and daggers, their stances relaxed, too confident in their superiority.
"In that case, you don't leave me any choice," the leader of the bandits said with a cruel laugh, drawing his sword from its sheath.
Amukelo could no longer remain idle. With a measured calmness that belied the pain in his arm and the weariness in his body, he stepped out from the cover of the trees and onto the road, drawing the attention of everyone present. His movements were deliberate, each step firm despite the lingering soreness in his limbs. The bandits turned toward him, their laughter faltering as they took in the sight of this new arrival.
"Leave him alone, otherwise you will regret this," Amukelo's voice was steady.
The bandit leader, still holding his drawn sword, looked Amukelo up and down, his eyes lingering on the makeshift splint supporting Amukelo's injured arm. A smirk spread across his face, quickly turning into full-blown laughter.
"That's a good joke! Now, go away before we change our minds," the bandit taunted, his voice full of mockery. The other bandits joined in the laughter, their eyes glinting with amusement as they sized up Amukelo, clearly underestimating him.
Amukelo didn't say anything more, he just moved with the speed of a predator, his movements too fast for the bandits to register his action. The bandit barely had time to react, his sword raised defensively, but it was too late. Amukelo's blade flashed in the dim light, and with a swift, practiced motion, he disarmed the bandit, sending his sword clattering to the ground. In the same fluid movement, Amukelo delivered a shallow cut across the bandit's chest, a mere scratch, yet enough to show the vast difference in their skills.
The bandit gasped, clutching his chest in shock, his bravado evaporating as he realized just how outmatched he was. The other bandits stood frozen, their earlier confidence shattered as they witnessed their leader so easily overpowered. The clearing fell silent, the tension palpable as Amukelo turned his gaze to the remaining thugs, his expression cold and unforgiving.
"If you surrender now, I will let you go," Amukelo said, his voice calm but laced with a warning.
Before any of the bandits could respond, the older man, still recovering from the assault, interjected with urgency. "Don't let them go! They will trouble other people."
Amukelo paused, considering the man's words. He turned to the man and asked, "So what do you suggest?"
"I will help you tie them up," the man replied, determination in his voice despite his earlier fear.
Before Amukelo could respond, one of the other bandits, desperate and panicked, lunged at him from behind with a yell, "We won't let you catch our boss!"
In a swift, powerful motion, Amukelo pivoted and delivered a devastating kick to the bandit's midsection. The force of the blow sent the bandit flying backward, crashing into a nearby tree with a sickening thud. The bandit slumped to the ground, unconscious and out of the fight.
The remaining bandits hesitated, fear and uncertainty flickering in their eyes. They were no match for Amukelo, and they knew it. Amukelo, not wasting any more time, sheathed his sword and stepped toward the bandit leader. With a single, powerful punch to the stomach, he drove the air from the leader's lungs, sending him crumpling to the ground, gasping for breath.
One by one, Amukelo incapacitated the remaining bandits with efficient, precise strikes. The bandits barely had time to react before they were rendered unconscious, their bodies collapsing in heaps around the clearing.
As the last bandit fell, the merchant rushed forward to help. Together, they began tying up the unconscious bandits, using lengths of rope from his cart. While doing that he introduced himself as Versted. Amukelo worked quickly, his movements deliberate despite the lingering pain in his injured arm. The task was soon completed, and the bandits were secured and loaded onto Versted's cart, their bodies slumped and lifeless in their enforced sleep.
Versted, wiping sweat from his brow, turned to Amukelo with a look of profound gratitude. "You saved my life," he said, his voice trembling slightly. "I can't believe how strong you are. I can't thank you enough for what you did. Is there anything I could do for you as a thank you?"
Amukelo, who had been quietly observing the bound bandits to ensure they were secure, paused to consider Versted's offer. He had little need for material goods, but he needed information. After a moment, he looked at Versted and asked, "Do you know by any chance a city called Gathe?"
Versted nodded. "I do. What's about it?"
"I'd like to travel to that city," Amukelo explained. "Do you know how I could get there?"
Versted rubbed his chin thoughtfully, his eyes narrowing in concentration. "This place is very far. You are traveling alone, so it could be dangerous, but with your skills, I don't think it will be impossible. But the biggest problem would be time. If you'd be to walk there, it would take you probably more than half a year."