Two brigands, their eyes filled with rage, charged at the silver-haired woman with loud cries. The first, a massive man with a wild beard, raised a rusty axe above his head, ready to bring the blade down on her. The other, a skinny and nervous woman, held a sharp dagger, searching for an opening to strike.
The woman, calm, didn't move an inch. She waited until the axe was almost upon her, her gaze fixed on the sharp blade. Then, at the last moment, she pivoted to the side with fluid grace. The axe crashed into the ground with a dull thud, scattering earth, but the woman was no longer there.
Taking advantage of her movement's momentum, she reached out and, with a quick gesture, grabbed the bloodstained sword that the decapitated body of the previous brigand had left at her feet. The weapon slid into her hand as if it were a part of her, shining with a deadly gleam. Without losing a second, she straightened and turned, the blade tracing a precise arc through the air.
