In the stupidest and bravest act of his life, Arsanguir throws his pitchfork at the bandits.
The bandits with lots of experience under their belt although surprised are able to react to the pitchfork weaving to the side, narrowly dodging it. The bandits dazed and shocked from this mere peasant's bravery exchange glances, a silent communication. They were not going to underestimate the peasant any more. The burly man with the bushy beard laughed seemingly entertained by Arsanguir's actions. "Hey, he's got more balls than I thought." He laughs heartily, before turning to Arsanguir with a sinister smile that dissolves almost instantly as he sees the peasant charge at his men with eyes that make his soul shiver.
In the instant that it had taken the bandits to recognise and dodge the pitchfork, Arsanguir had charged in towards the nearest bandit starting to close the distance. Surprised yet again the bandit swung at Arsanguir's unprotected head as hard as he could, his mistake. Seeing the bandit's swing Arsanguir ducked and grabbed the bandit's arm twisting it violently, loosening the bandit's grip on his sword before catching it midair and pivoting with his feet like he had seen knight do during training, swinging the sword in an arc around him causing all the bandits to take a step back. Aiming for the bandit he had just disarmed he thrust the sword at his knee. Taken by surprise the bandit is unable to react, his whole world had been shaken, he who had trained for years, a core member of a feared bandit group was being fought off by a peasant. If he had known that Arsanguir had not undergone any sort of formal physical or sword training he would have killed himself off the spot, with this disparity in talent why try?
Having stabbed the bandit in the knee Arsanguir pulled the sword and swung horizontally, this time going for the bandit's neck.
Clang *
The bandit's friend comes in just in time to save his life. Leaping back Arsanguir readies himself noticing that he the bandits had begun surrounding him he mentally prepared himself to inevitably get injured to some extent.
Just because he had survived the last 10 seconds unharmed didn't mean that he was winning. Suddenly he sees his pitchfork flying towards him, Arsanguir twists his torso and leans back to dodge his own "weapon". Flying past him, it sliced through the skin just above his liver leaving a deep gash. Seemed like he wasn't a match for the boss just yet.
As he tugged his pitchfork out of the ground the bandit's finished surrounding giving him no place to retreat. With the bandits closing in Arsanguir brandished his pitchfork like a spear swinging it around constantly turning not letting the bandits in close. He soon realised that swinging the pitchfork around was eventually going to get it killed as it was quite tiring he picked up the sword he was using earlier off the floor and picked a direction.
Arsanguir had decided that charging into a wall of bandits was less likely to get him killed, although the right decision, it was stupidly brave (I'm starting to see a reoccurring theme here ). Charging in Arsanguir started attacking the weapons the bandits had in their hands aiming to disarm as many people as possible all whilst dodging and weaving attacks.
Being a complete beginner in practical combat Arsanguir's performance could be considered monstrous but that didn't matter, what mattered was that he wasn't not enough not yet anyway. If he had racked up two the three years of practical combat training he would have been able to wipe out the whole bandit camp in ten to fifteen minutes, luckily for the bandits they were facing him whilst he was a complete beginner.
Continuously changing the recipient direction of his attacks Arsanguir kept the bandits scared and wary for a while as time ticked he quickly became exhausted even with the adrenaline pumping through his body he couldn't keep it up for much longer.
Finally unable to raise his sword any longer Arsanguir drops to his knees his mind filled with only one thought "I'm sorry … Itzima." Losing all hope Arsanguir clutched the ring on his necklace and his pitchfork, momentous from his parents.
In the distance, the clip clip of horses' hoofs echoed through the air as a knight cavalry brigade emerged from the forest weapons drawn charging the bandits causing them to scatter running in different directions. Arsanguir begins to chuckle soon evolving into maniacal laughter before breaking down into a sob crying into his hands before immediately collecting himself with an ever-growing smirk gracing his face.