Oh a rough day it had been...
The moment the carriage came to an abrupt halt, Alan's body jerked upright.
The sound of the wheels screeching to a stop was sharp in the otherwise quiet evening air, and for a second, he was disoriented, blinking rapidly to shake off the lingering drowsiness that had begun to cloud his mind.
The steady motion of the carriage, the rhythmic clatter of the wheels against the cobblestone road, had been soothing — almost hypnotic.
He had been so close to dozing off when the sudden stop yanked him back to full consciousness.
He glanced out of the small window beside him, but all he could see was the growing darkness of the evening sky.
The air was thick with the scent of fresh pine and damp earth. The road was narrow, lined with thick trees that blotted out much of the surrounding world, and the winding path ahead seemed empty, desolate even.
Alan's brow furrowed. Something didn't feel right. He instinctively pressed his ear against the door of the carriage, straining to hear through the wood.
The muffled voices that reached him were indistinct at first, but as he listened closely, the low murmurs and the occasional sharp shout became clearer.
There was no doubt about it now — something was going on outside.
Bandits.
Alan's mind instantly sharpened. His fingers hovered over the hilt of his new sword, the cool metal reassuring as he assessed the situation.
He had no time for this. Yet, he knew that he couldn't ignore the danger at his doorstep, not when he was in a vulnerable position like this.
He closed his eyes for a moment, focusing on the sounds outside. The rattle of metal, the scrape of boots against gravel.
The deep, rough voices of men who had no business being here — no business waylaying him.
It sounded like a small group, maybe a handful of bandits, not enough to overwhelm him but enough to make a mess of things if he didn't act quickly.
He listened as the bandits began shouting orders. "Get the driver!" one of them barked, and the sickening thud of a body hitting the ground followed.
Alan's hand clenched around the handle of his sword. The moment they got too close, he would act. He wouldn't be caught off guard — not today.
He pressed his ear harder against the door.
The bandit leader's voice rang out, rough and mocking. "It's rare to see carriages passing by this place," he said with a low chuckle.
Alan could imagine the smirk on his face—probably one of those men who thought he was untouchable. "I wonder… is the passenger of this carriage a rich person?"
Alan's eyes narrowed. The bandit wasn't wrong. The roads around here were infrequent, often avoided by travelers who preferred the safer, more populated routes.
It was clear these men were looking for a big score — looking for someone who might have more to offer than just a few coins.
The leader's voice shifted, his tone dripping with greedy anticipation. "Force the passenger out of the carriage."
Alan heard footsteps approaching. He didn't hesitate.
With one swift movement, he yanked open the door, stepping out into the gathering twilight.
The moment he emerged, the world seemed to freeze for a beat. His frame blocked the last of the fading sunlight, casting an imposing shadow over the small group of bandits.
The flickering flames of a campfire were nearby, illuminating the faces of the men. His eyes, bright and crimson, glowed eerily in the growing darkness.
For a second, the bandits paused, their eyes widening in surprise as they took in his appearance.
The leader, standing in the center, quickly regained his composure and sneered, clearly not intimidated by the unexpected interruption.
"Well, well, look what we have here," he said, his voice dripping with mock amusement. "A fancy man with fancy eyes. Must be a rich one, right?"
His fingers casually twitched toward the hilt of his sword, an empty gesture meant to project confidence.
Alan didn't flinch. His expression remained impassive, his body relaxed, but his eyes never left the leader. "If you think I'm an easy mark, you're mistaken," Alan said, his voice low and calm, though there was an unmistakable edge to it.
The bandit leader chuckled, the sound rough and grating. "Easy mark? I think you're mistaken, friend. You're in no position to talk."
Without warning, he motioned to the two other bandits flanking him.
They were quick, their swords drawn in a flash as they moved toward Alan, intent on overwhelming him by sheer numbers. But they were too slow.
Alan's movements were a blur. With a swift flick of his wrist, he disarmed the first bandit, sending the man's sword flying into the air before it clattered to the ground.
He didn't wait for the second bandit to make a move before grabbing him by the collar and tossing him aside with a force that left the man sprawling onto the dirt.
The two bandits were on the ground before they could even process what had happened.
The leader's smirk faltered, his confidence slipping as he watched his men get taken down without so much as a scratch to Alan. "You think you've won? This isn't over!" the leader spat, his voice desperate now as he pulled a dagger from his belt and brandished it in front of him.
Alan took a slow step toward him, his gaze cold. "You should have thought about that before making this decision," he said, his voice still calm but with an unmistakable weight behind it.
The leader lunged at Alan with the dagger, but Alan was already moving. He sidestepped the attack easily, his hand grabbing the leader's wrist and twisting it sharply.
The dagger dropped to the ground with a clang. Before the man could react, Alan shoved him back, sending him crashing to the ground.
For a moment, the leader just lay there, winded and humiliated, staring up at Alan with a mix of disbelief and fear. Alan looked down at him, his eyes still glowing faintly in the dimming light.
"You still want to fight or run?" He asked.