The next two days passed in essentially the same way as the first day. Edwin kept being invited/sent to the front carriage, where Forala would spend the next eight to ten-ish hours talking at him, then it would be dinnertime, with him igniting the fire, followed by bed. Not once did anyone other than Forala and Aerfa speak to him or address him in the slightest, which was honestly fine by him. Fewer people, fewer problems so far as he cared. He didn’t need anyone else. He was an introvert, after all. Loneliness wasn’t a problem for people like him.

Not at all.

The fourth day they were on the road, Forala was interrupted mid-sentence as he was going on about something or other involving one of his friends from back home and the girl said friend was interested in, and it was all Edwin could do to avoid falling asleep altogether. Their wagon suddenly stopped, though, which snapped him back to attention. From outside, he heard voices faintly yelling, both incomprehensibly muffled. About half of the people currently in the wagon went to investigate, dropping from the wagon onto the cobblestone road below and looking around the side. There, Aerfa was animatedly discussing something with a raggedy-looking man with a drawn sword just off the road. Behind him stood a group of similar-looking people, a mix of human, a couple avior, and a few other green-skinned individuals of a race which Edwin hadn’t yet seen but which he guessed were orcs, all with weapons drawn.

Whatever Aerfa was saying, though, the bandit leader (what else would they be, really?) didn’t seem happy, and started to raise his sword in some sort of signal. As he did so, though, the two Skyguards on duty swooped down from above, talons extended and ready to strike. However, they were each intercepted by an arrow piercing their wings, which brought about a sympathetic wince from Edwin. That was bound to hurt. Still, they weren’t content, and a sudden sword swing by the bandit leader- the blade seemed to lengthen mid-swipe before returning to its normal size- chopped down Aerfa as she attempted to flee, leaving her on the ground with a giant gash in her back. The Caravan Medic dove forward, trying to reach their fallen boss, but had a wing severed with another casual swing from the bandit leader’s blade, which fell to the ground in a swiftly-growing puddle of blood.

The man looked around pensively for a moment, seemingly waiting for something, then, when whatever it was didn’t happen, he let out a bark of laughter. As he wiped off his bloody sword on the fallen wing of the medic, he directed his followers forward with a few hand signals towards the small crowd of onlookers, who scattered, rather appropriately, like a flock of birds. The only one left, standing dumbfounded at the scene, eyes fixed on the blood pouring over the grass, was Edwin.

Edwin’s mind immediately went to how he had managed to take down a bunch of fully armored soldiers, whereas the bandits seemed lightly armored at most, before mentally berating himself. He was unarmed beyond a small knife in his pocket and absolutely did not have a bunch of alchemical bombs just lying around. Okay, what could he do? Think, think… As one of the bandits got close enough for him to Identify them as a Cruel Swordsman- what kind of Paths led to a class like that?- he began to slightly panic. He didn’t have time to come up with some intricate plan, he just needed to move enough to avoid dying. As he scrambled backwards, trying to keep out of range of the intimidating blade, he found himself literally backed up against a wall, pressed against the side of a wagon. So, he did the only thing he could think of. He breathed fire.

The torrent of flame was… somewhat less impressive than what Edwin had hoped for, but it still got his attacker to back up a couple of steps, enough for him to slip away and start running down the caravan train. A protruding board caught his eye, and he grabbed it, using it to swing himself up onto a ledge then further up, clambering on top of the second wagon in the train. From above, he was able to see as the last of… one, two... 17 bandits emerged from the woods, spread out slightly as they approached the wagon train in a loose collection. Most were congregated near the front of the train, on some small plants and grass near the edge of the road. A few smaller rocks were scattered here and there, but other than them and a handful of larger bushes, the area was a clear battlefield. In the back, Edwin noticed an additional pair of bandits- two avior archers on an elevated bluff, roughly equal in height to where Edwin was. Fortunately, they either didn’t care about or notice him, but he still dropped onto his stomach onto the wooden roof to reduce his profile. No point in inviting another arrow to his shoulder, after all.

Okay, so they’re all on the one side. If I drop down on the other side and make a run for it into the woods, I might be able to get away while they’re busy plundering or whatever, Edwin strategized. He was just about ready to put it into action when his eyes widened¸ Shoot! My bag! I need that. It had his notebook, after all, and he still needed that to access his Almanac, alongside what few other odds and ends he still had from the dwarves. He also snuck a guilty look at the bleeding form of Aerfa, Sorry. I wish I could help, but not with all these- wait, what was that?

A flash of silver caught Edwin’s eye, and he saw a blur of brilliance leap from the other side of the road, land on top of one of the wagons, and then jump down from there, touching down next to one of the bandits a moment before the bandit in question’s head fell with a thump, leaving the rest of the body to slump over.

“He’s here!” Edwin’s Polyglot managed to pick up a snippet from one of the bandits, though still with a hefty accent.

“Lay down your arms and surrender, so you may face justice! Your crimes end here!” the silver figure called out in a crisp, clear voice.

Now that the newcomer was stationary, Edwin was able to tell that he was clad head to toe in shining silver plate armor, with a crimson eagle emblazoned on his front as the only section of their regalia not a uniform shining silver. In his hand was a reflective blade the same color so radiant it almost glowed, only the trickle of blood slowly running down its length marking it as an actual, physical object.

The overall impression he got was that someone had forged literal moonlight into a blade and suit of armor, but that didn’t stop the bandit leader from pointing his sword at the knight and shouting, “There… kill him!”

Okay, so Polyglot wasn’t perfect yet. So what.

A spear-wielding bandit reached the knight first, charging at the armored figure and trying to stab him, the tip of his spear bursting into flames as he did so. With almost contemptuous ease, the knight sidestepped the blow, moving with an ease that belied the weight of what must have been nearly a hundred pounds of solid steel on him. The spearman, overextended from his own strike, tripped over his own feet, and was swiftly disarmed. His severed forearms thudded to the ground, still gripping his spear, but before he could even fully collapse to his knees, the silver blade was buried hilt-deep through his chest.

Two more bandits, these ones orc siblings from the looks of their matching hair, skin, and battleaxes, were the next to assault the warrior. One of them was knocked off his feet when the corpse of the spear-wielder was kicked off the end of the silver blade, serving as a makeshift, but very heavy projectile. His sister kept up the attack, though, attempting a powerful downwards cleave at the knight’s head. But then it… missed? He’d barely even seen it, but the armored figure had taken a half-step backwards, putting him just out of reach of the attack. As before, getting knocked off-balance for even a split second proved a death sentence, as the woman’s green head went flying a moment later, her axe still stuck in the ground.

Her brother managed to escape from under the corpse lying on top of him, wrenching his sister’s axe from the ground and wielding it alongside his own, the twin battleaxes forming a deadly rhythm and forcing the knight to give ground. The silver blade flickered out, and one of the axes was turned from its course just enough that it hit its pair, severing the head and disarming the man from one of his two weapons. Before the knight could follow up on his advantage, though, a pair of arrows, shot by the archer bandits some distance away. The first arrow glanced off the knight’s helm, doing nothing but drawing his attention. The second was met by a shimmering silver wall that sprang into existence, deflecting the shot such that it took a bandit trying to sneak up behind the knight in the throat, who fell with a gurgle.

At this point, the rest of the bandits had haphazardly surrounded the knight, trying to attack from all manner of flanking positions. They didn’t seem to be very good at it, though, as even Edwin could tell that they were just getting in each other’s way. One’s attack forced another to duck, another bandit with a shield was positioned directly in front of another with a sword, and so on. As obvious as it was to Edwin, it was certainly not lost on the knight, who simply moved out of the way of the next pair of arrows, allowing one to hit a bandit behind him in the side, who collapsed in a heap, and the other embedding itself in the side of the wagon Edwin was on.

Three bandits took the opportunity the opening provided by the quick dodge to strike in unison, two spears and the same axe-wielder from before. In response, the silver barrier that had deflected an arrow so easily sprang back up, causing each of the attacks to stop dead in their tracks, rebounding off as though they had struck a steel wall. The bodies of those affected fell to the ground a moment later, bisected just below the ribs.

There was a bit of a build-up of corpses at this point, with only a single opening in what was otherwise a complete circle of bodies around the knight, who, for his part, had barely even moved. The remaining bandits looked at the silver figure, unmarred save for a few drops of blood, looked at the mutilated bodies of their companions, and took off running into the woods. The knight merely watched them as they fled, head turning as though marking each of them and where they went.

The bandit leader cursed at their cowardice, then looked at what he still had available to him. Of the original nineteen members of the bandit group, only the two archers, himself, and the Cruel Swordsman remained. He barked an order, and the Cruel Swordsman tried to disengage from fighting the knight, but was stymied slightly by virtue of being backed up against a knee-high rock. The two archers firing additional shots gave him the opening he needed, and slipped away from the engagement to stand by his boss’ side.

“Fine… myself.” The bandit leader said, brandishing his sword in a clear challenge to the silver knight. The knight, for his part, turned his head to affix onto the bandit, gaze not so much as flickering while he caught a new arrow in his hand, crushing the shaft to splinters.

The two advanced towards one another, and sparks flew as their blades crossed.

It became immediately apparent that the bandit leader was both a league ahead of his peers and several steps below the knight in martial prowess. His probing strikes were effortlessly batted away with almost contemptuous parries, his attempts to feint utterly ignored. Some unseen signal passed between the bandit leader and the Cruel Swordsman, and they attacked in unison, the leader taking a broad swing at the knight’s head, the swordsman trying to stab at the base of the breastplate. In response, the knight raised a gauntleted arm, a phantasmal silver shield akin to the walls from before flickering into place to intercept the headshot, and his sword darted down, knocking the lower strike away such that it struck the center of his armored thigh instead of his torso.

The two bandits circled around the knight, taking advantage of the distraction brought on by another pair of arrows to flank him. After cutting one of the projectiles out of the air, the knight pivoted, dodging the second shot while also trying to keep both of his opponents in front of him. A new arrow clanged off his helmet, shot faster than the previous volleys, which proved to be a mistake on the part of the archer, as the knight used his foot to retrieve a spear from among the fallen bodies, throwing it like a javelin at the bowman. It passed clean through the archer’s chest, exploding out the back with a spray of blood, and continuing in an almost flat arc into the woods beyond. Even as the other archer realized it might not have been quite so safe for him to have stuck around and started to fly off, it was too late.

In the intervening seconds, the knight had crossed swords with the Cruel Swordsman, sliding their blades together until they met at the hilt, and grabbed the forearm of the swordsman. With a solid yank, he pulled on the bandit enough to give him a solid headbutt with his armored helm, sending the swordsman reeling back with a crack, and giving enough of an opening to disarm the bandit, yanking his sword away, such that the knight held one blade in each hand. He didn’t keep the second sword for long, though, and threw it end-over-end at the fleeing bandit archer, where it handily impaled a wing, sending the avior plummeting to the ground, where they landed with a crunch on the grass next to the road.

That just left the knight against the bandit leader and the disarmed Cruel Swordsman. As the Swordsman went after a weapon lying on the ground, the knight disarmed him at the shoulder, his blade gleaming with a silver light and passing through flesh and bone with barely any resistance, the limb falling to the ground next to its gripped longsword. He screamed, which was itself cut short a second later as the blade swung once more.

At the sight, the bandit leader’s face contorted into an expression of rage, shouting a word which Polyglot didn’t provide a translation for, but Edwin still pretty much understood.

The armored face of the knight was unperturbed as he responded in a soft voice, “Tolra Revashs,” he intercepted a wild swing of the leader- Tolra’s- sword, “You have committed crimes,” he moved almost imperceptibly to dodge a stab, even as the blade lengthened “against the Empire, including but not limited to,” the shield made another appearance, stopping an overhead slash glowing with crimson light dead in its tracks, “banditry, murder, defilement, incitation of violence,” each word was accompanied by the casual deflection of another rapid strike as Tolra was pushed back farther and farther, “assault, assault of an Officer, rejection and incitement of rejection of Citizen status, and obstruction of a criminal investigation. Have you,” he blocked a two-handed strike, the glow present for the attack guttering out in an instant, the sword returning to its normal length, “Anything to say in your defense?”

Tolra grunted, and said something, Polyglot switching languages mid-sentence, “…kill you!”

“Let the record show that the Ravenous Sword-Reaver Tolra Revashs presents no defense,” he said, a final swing of his sword splitting Tolra down the middle and sending his blade catapulting through the air, where it embedded itself, sinking to the hilt in a nearby rock.

And then there was silence.