His grin widened, as if the thought of what was about to happen filled him with genuine delight. "I'll even do you a favor. I'll fight with no magic... and my left hand behind my back."
The arrogance in his words hit the bandits like a slap to the face. Their expressions twisted in anger, their egos bruised by Silas's audacity. Without hesitation, they charged at him, their weapons raised, intent on cutting him down where he stood.
Their swords collided with a sharp clang, the sound reverberating through the clearing, but Silas was no longer between them. His feet now rested on their heads, one foot planted on each bandit's skull as they struggled to comprehend what had just happened.
For a split second, Silas stood there, balancing effortlessly on their heads, before he pushed off with force, launching himself toward the remaining bandits who were now rushing toward him. In a fluid motion, he landed behind the slowest of the group. Without hesitation, his fist drove into the man's spine with a sickening crunch. The bandit let out a choked gasp, crumpling to the ground as his body went limp, his spine shattered.
Another bandit, slightly ahead of the one Silas had just incapacitated, spun around and swung his sword wildly. But his blade sliced through nothing but air. His eyes widened in confusion, his breath caught in his throat as he realized Silas was no longer in front of him.
"Too slow," Silas's voice whispered from behind him, cold and mocking.
Before the bandit could react, Silas's hand gripped the top of his head like a vice. With effortless strength, he lifted the man into the air, his body dangling helplessly. The bandit's comrades, now filled with desperation, rushed toward Silas, but the man in his grip was no longer just a casualty-he was a shield.
The sharp edge of an ally's blade met the bandit's torso with a sickening thud, and the man screamed in agony, blood pouring from the wound as Silas used his body to absorb the attack. His pitiful scream echoed through the forest before Silas flung him aside like a rag doll, his body crashing violently against a tree with a loud crack, where he slumped, unmoving.
The bandit who had inadvertently struck his own ally staggered backward, his face pale with horror and rage. But he didn't hesitate for long. With a furious shout, he swung his sword again, this time in a wide horizontal slash aimed at Silas's midsection. But Silas was faster. He ducked effortlessly beneath the blade, the movement smooth and unhurried.
Without missing a beat, Silas stepped forward, his right foot planted firmly on the ground as he delivered a devastating uppercut. The force of the blow sent the bandit's head snapping back, his body lifted clean off the ground as he was launched into the air. His limbs flailed helplessly as he soared upward, disappearing momentarily into the canopy of the trees before crashing down into the dirt several yards away, unconscious and broken.
As the dust settled and the last few breaths of the fallen bandits mingled with the cold evening air, three remained - silent, eyes locked on Silas, their confidence shaken but not completely lost.
They had seen what he was capable of, and though fear danced on the edges of their thoughts, desperation fueled their movements. They couldn't back down now.
The first of the remaining bandits, a man with wild eyes and a scar running down his cheek, broke from the trio. His boots pounded against the dirt as he sprinted towards Silas, gripping his sword with both hands. With a vicious snarl, he swung his blade in a horizontal arc aimed directly at Silas's neck.
But Silas, unfazed and calm, ducked effortlessly under the slash, his movement smooth and precise as if he had done it a thousand times before. His eyes caught the glint of a discarded sword lying in the dirt. Without hesitation, he snatched it up, his grip firm and steady. In one swift motion, he drove the blade into the charging bandit's heart, piercing flesh and bone with ruthless efficiency.
The man gasped, his eyes wide with shock as his body tensed in response to the fatal blow. Silas didn't give him the dignity of falling naturally. With a sharp kick to the bandit's chest, Silas sent him flying backward, his lifeless body crashing to the ground with a heavy thud. The sword he had been holding tumbled slowly through the air, glittering in the fading light.
Before the sword could even touch the ground, Silas caught it mid-air, his movements fluid and calculated. He didn't miss a beat as the next bandit came charging at him, his face twisted in fury.
The clash of steel rang out through the clearing as their swords locked, the pressure of the impact vibrating through both men's arms. Silas could feel the strength behind his opponent's strike, but his expression remained indifferent, his grip unwavering.
The third bandit, seeing his opportunity, attempted to flank Silas, his feet pounding the earth as he closed in from the side.
Silas's sharp eyes caught the movement, and without a word, he twisted his body just enough to break the sword lock with his current opponent. With a quick flick of his wrist, he deflected the incoming blade, redirecting the force toward the approaching bandit.
It happened in an instant. The second bandit's sword, no longer aimed at Silas, cut deep into his unsuspecting ally. The blade sank into the man's side, and his eyes bulged in disbelief as he stumbled, clutching at the wound. The attacker's face twisted in horror as he realized what had just happened-he had killed his own comrade.
The moment of shock froze him in place, leaving him vulnerable. Silas, ever the opportunist, didn't hesitate. With one clean, effortless motion, he swung his sword in a horizontal arc. The blade sliced through the air, cutting cleanly through the neck of the stunned bandit. The man's head tumbled to the ground, rolling a few feet before coming to a stop near the bloodied bodies of his fallen comrades.
The headless body remained standing for a split second, as if unwilling to accept its fate, before collapsing in a heap at Silas's feet.
Silas stood there for a moment, his breathing steady and controlled, surveying the carnage around him. Blood pooled beneath the lifeless forms of the men who had dared to challenge him, their faces frozen in expressions of terror and disbelief. The clearing had turned into a graveyard, the stench of iron heavy in the air.
With a slight curl of his lip, Silas cast the sword aside, letting it clatter to the ground next to the dead. He raised his left hand, finally uncuffing it from behind his back, his muscles tensing as he stretched his arm.
"Pathetic," he muttered, his voice laced with contempt as his cold eyes swept over the bodies littering the ground. Blood still trickled from their wounds, seeping into the earth like a crimson river.
With that, Silas turned away from the scene, his back to the massacre as if it was already forgotten. The wind picked up again, rustling the leaves in the trees as he continued his journey, his footsteps leaving behind only silence and death.