The soldiers had barely lowered their weapons when Sam decided it was time to shift gears. The amused smirks and curious glances from the soldiers were all he needed to make his next move. After all, nothing says "serious negotiation" like a swift demonstration of power.
Sam grinned widely, eyes gleaming with the kind of mischievous energy that should've had the soldiers running for the hills. "Alright, fellas, it's been fun, but I've got a key to collect."
Before anyone could process what he meant, Sam sprang into action. One moment, he was standing there with that casual grin; the next, he was a blur of motion, his sword cutting through the air with deadly precision.
The soldiers barely had time to react. The first few who lunged at him with their weapons found themselves disarmed—literally—before they even realized what was happening. Sam moved like a whirlwind, each swing of his sword accompanied by a cheerfully sarcastic remark.
"Oh, you wanted to keep that arm? My bad!" he quipped as a soldier's weapon—and arm—clattered to the ground.
Another soldier, clearly more concerned about the sudden increase in casualties than his own safety, took a step back, eyes wide with horror. "What is he?!"
"Just a guy who really wants a key," Sam replied, delivering a roundhouse kick that sent the poor man flying into a stack of crates.
The rest of the soldiers finally snapped out of their stupor, charging at Sam from all directions. But it was like trying to catch the wind—no matter how fast they were, Sam was faster. He ducked, dodged, and countered every attack with a grace that was almost comical, considering the chaos he was causing.
"Come on, guys, I thought we were having fun!" Sam called out over the din of clashing swords and panicked shouts.
One particularly burly soldier managed to corner Sam, raising his massive axe with a triumphant roar. Sam simply raised an eyebrow. "You sure about that?"
Before the man could bring the axe down, Sam ducked under his swing and, with a swift upward slash, sent the axe—and the soldier—flying through the air. The soldier landed with a crash, the wind knocked out of him as he stared up at the sky, wondering what had just happened.
The soldiers who were still standing exchanged uneasy glances. This was supposed to be an easy job—guard the camp, stop intruders. No one had mentioned anything about facing a one-man army with the fighting skills of a legend and the attitude of a class clown.
Finally, the captain, who had been watching the carnage unfold with growing horror, realized that this wasn't a battle they could win. He took a hesitant step back, then another, his gaze darting between Sam and the increasingly dwindling number of his men.
When Sam's eyes locked onto his, the captain's survival instincts kicked in. He turned on his heel and bolted, sprinting toward the edge of the camp, his heart pounding in his chest. If he could just get away, regroup, maybe get reinforcements…
But Sam had no intention of letting him go. "Running already? We were just getting started!" he called out, a mocking lilt to his voice.
Without missing a beat, Sam reached for his Arcon. The sword seemed to hum in anticipation as he drew it back, a wicked smile playing on his lips. "You should've picked option one, Captain!"
With a swift, powerful throw, Sam launched the Arcon through the air. It sailed with deadly accuracy, spinning like a crimson blur as it closed the distance between them in seconds. The captain barely had time to gasp before the blade pierced through his chest, its force carrying him a few steps forward before he crumpled to the ground, lifeless.
Silence fell over the camp as the last echoes of the captain's fall faded away. The remaining soldiers, now frozen in place, stared at Sam with a mixture of fear and awe, unsure whether they should flee or beg for mercy.
Sam casually walked over to the captain's body, pulling the Arcon free with a slight flick of his wrist. He inspected the blade, noting the faint trace of blood on its edge, and then wiped it clean on the captain's uniform. "Guess that settles it, then."
He turned back to the soldiers, who were now collectively holding their breath. "So, about that key…?"
Without hesitation, one of the soldiers—who had somehow managed to remain unscathed—scrambled to retrieve the key from a nearby chest. His hands shook as he held it out to Sam, desperate to avoid meeting the same fate as his captain.
"Here! Take it! Just… just don't kill us!" the soldier pleaded, his voice trembling.
Sam took the key with a satisfied smile, tucking it into his pocket. "See? That wasn't so hard, was it?"
The soldier shook his head frantically, while the others nodded in agreement, eager to show they were no longer a threat.
Sam sheathed his Arcon, the tension in the camp easing as the soldiers realized they were, for the moment, safe. "Now, if you don't mind, I've got places to be. And next time, maybe try the whole 'asking nicely' thing first. It might save you a lot of trouble."
With that, Sam turned and walked back toward the camp where Lyla and the others were waiting, leaving behind a group of thoroughly bewildered soldiers and one very dead captain.
As Sam approached his friends, Lyla shook her head in disbelief, though a small smile tugged at her lips. "I can't believe you just did that."
"Why? It worked, didn't it?" Sam replied with a grin, holding up the key like it was the grand prize at a carnival.
Roran chuckled, though there was a hint of exasperation in his tone. "You're something else, Sam."
"Yeah, but you've got to admit, I'm effective," Sam said, winking at Lyla.
And with that, they set off, the key to the teleporter in hand, ready to continue their journey. Though the night had been filled with chaos and humor, they all knew the real challenges were still ahead. But if Sam had proven anything, it was that he was more than capable of handling whatever came their way—preferably with a good dose of flair.