Now that the reinforcements had arrived, the few remaining guards stood no chance.

They charged down from the surrounding thicket and completely slaughtered nearly every guard in the town within just a few minutes. Only once all the khods were gone did Malt finally get the chance to see the residents for the first time.

As they were ushered out of their houses it quickly became apparent just how badly they had been treated.

The men walked with slumped shoulders and a stumbling gait, eyes sunken as they breathed a sigh of relief upon seeing their Astoundrian saviours. Their hands were heavy calloused and rough as gravel, having been forced to labor endlessly at the mill for the past who knows how long.

The women, especially the younger ones, might have been in an even worse shape. Their scars didn’t lie on the surface, a single look into their dejected eyes was enough to guess what they’d had to endure.

Not even the children were exempt from the abuse. The lucky ones could reunite with their parents, the less fortunate ones wandered around the village aimlessly.

Malt clenched his teeth, muttering all manner of obscenities under his breath. He understood that it was the norm and a sound tactical choice as well, but the idea of involving civilians just didn’t click with him. He was, after all, still a human.

The scene before him was making him think otherwise about the khods.

After the villagers had been safely procured came the messy part. The soldiers ravaged the town, taking anything that could be of use. After a house had been looted, it would be lit aflame and they would move onto the next.

Soon the night was aglow with the light from dozens of blazes. Each time a building collapsed a noxious plume of ash and smoke would disperse, creating a near untraversable barrier that would hopefully buy them time to escape. Stray embers born from the flames were carried by the wind and into the forest where they started their own fires.

The situation was getting out of hand very quickly.

Soon, the air was polluted with an impenetrable cloud of ash. Eyes started to water as breathing became difficult, making hard labour all the more difficult.

To make things worse, scouts confirmed that the khods were going to arrive quicker than expected, probably alerted by the raging inferno just a few leagues from their main camp.

Seeing that the situation probably wouldn’t get any better, Stromund made a decision. Inhaling all the air he could without suffocating, he yelled a command.

“Retreat! We’re done here!”

Malt breathed a sigh of relief as he helped Geld load Henry inside a wagon. The elderly and children aboard looked at the injured boy cautiously, cringing as they saw his clammy complexion and bloodsoaked clothing.

Malt bit his lip, there was a very real chance that Henry would bleed out before even reaching Dagridge. Even if he did, his chances of surviving were probably low considering that alcohol was basically that world’s only form of antibiotic.

Geld grasped him firmly on the shoulder, “Getting anxious isn’t gonna help him. C’mon, we’ve still got work to do.” He nodded uneasily and turned away from the wagon.

Before he could, an elderly man shuffled over to Henry and began analyzing his wounds. He looked up to Malt and gave him a small smile, “Don’t worry ‘bout him lad, I’ll do what I can.”

The little boy sitting beside him shot up, clenching his fists enthusiastically, “Gramps is the best physician in town!”

He chuckled, “Well, I am the only physician in town, but I’m quite confident in my ability. So just go on and do what you need to do.”

The edges of Malt’s mouth tugged upward into a slight smile. He stood straight and gave a single bow of appreciation. Taking one last glance at Henry, he jogged off to the other soldiers.

Malt approached Stromund, who was in full on commander mode. He was analyzing the situation one second and barking orders the next, never stopping for a breather himself.

“We ready to haul ass?”

Stromund nodded, but he was clearly troubled by something. “Yeah...but something’s off.” Malt sighed, of course a plan as audacious as the one they were attempting wasn’t going to go off without a hitch, but this was just getting ridiculous.

“How so?”

He squinted his eyes, “The subjugation force they’re sending is certainly impressive, but not as large as we expected.”

“All the better for us right?”

He shook his head, “No, they have to be planning something.” He turned to Geld’s direction and beckoned him over.

“Change of plans, we need to spread ourselves out more evenly. Can I leave the rear to you two and a couple others?”

“Yeah, me and the kid’ll take care of it. You just make sure nothing’s blocking our way.”

He nodded before turning to address the soldiers, “Let’s scram boys! We’ll be buried in khods if we stay here any longer.” And it was true, when Malt squinted into the inferno, he could make out tiny silhouettes moving toward their position. On top of that there seemed to be a lot of them, which was alarming to say the least.

The carriages, loaded with bundles of loot and the injured, creaked forward. While slow at first, they quickly gained momentum and soon were racing off into the thicket.

Soldiers ushered the more able villagers forward on foot. They were in for a long and uncomfortable march, but those at the very back definitely drew the short stick.

On top of being the most likely to enter combat, they had the task of setting the forest behind them ablaze. The most unfortunate part though would be the fact that they were the only ones holding strong light sources.

Soon enough they’d be swarmed by khods, similarly to how a lamp attracts droves of moths in the night.

Despite this Malt accepted a torch from Geld. It dawned to him that the burning stick was dripping some mucus-like liquid. Upon further inspection, he realized the liquid had the consistency of cooking oil and created a small flame wherever it landed.

“What is this stuff?”

“No clue. But it burns well so use it to your advantage.”

Malt held the torch a little farther from himself, slightly wary of the dubious substance.

Geld grabbed his own torch and started off into the forest, “I’ll take left, you take right. Make sure to drop the torch and get the fuck outta there if you get surrounded, you hear?”

“Loud and clear. I’m not that stupid.”

He looked at the boy doubtfully, “I hate to tell you but…”

“Oh shut it.”

He snickered and sprinted off into the forest, while Malt did the same.

Running through the forest in the dead of night was an experience he’d probably never forget. The adrenaline rush he received when he heard the yells and footsteps of his pursuers growing louder and louder, was exhilarating.

Having shed a majority of his heavier armor, he was able to maintain a significant lead. Any time he encountered a thick bush or dense drove of trees (which was pretty often) he flung a healthy wad of flaming ooze onto it in hopes that it would further delay his pursuers.

Even with all this, the khods were drawing closer and closer. At one point he tripped on a root and stumbled to the ground at a considerable speed. He wasn’t down for long, but it gave the khod closest to him more than enough time to catch up.

It was a regular khodic man-at-arms, one that Malt could probably defeat even without proper armor, but he simply didn’t have the time.

All he needed to do was incapacitate him.

With this in mind he flung the burning ooze onto the khod just as he was about to charge in.

The khod let out quite a horrific scream as a few drops landed on his exposed face, causing it to quite literally catch on fire. Taking advantage of the opening, Malt planted his foot square into the man’s chest and watched as he rolled off into god knows where.

The woodlands weren't flat by any definition. They were extremely geographic, with plenty of ditches, ravines, and small hills scattered throughout its vast expanse. One often couldn’t take ten steps without being on a different elevation than before.

Meaning that as long as he could get them off their balance, they’d probably at least sprain something during their unpleasant trip down.

And so he repeated this tactic over and over, in every situation he could. It may seem naive of them to keep falling for it, but basic human instinct was leading them.

“A hunter is most vulnerable when he's about to pounce”, or so Geld had taught him. The pursuer had the number and combat advantage, to them Malt was just something to chase down and easily take care of.

In that moment of overconfidence, he could strike. It was a cheap trick really, but really, who cares?

Soon enough though, his pursuers had grown cautious. They’d seen the cruel injuries their comrades suffered and grew wary of their quarry.

This was a psychological trick. He was essentially trying to make him seem more dangerous than he really was by leaving a trail of injured in his wake. Maybe they’d get intimidated and leave him alone.

Unfortunately for him it had the opposite effect.

The khods were now organizing themselves better, intending to confront him with numbers to increase their chances of success. He could take one on no problem, any more than that and he’d be cornered.

Suddenly, he heard Geld’s voice echo from some ways away.

“Oi brat! Get over here!”

While confused at first, he realized that this was his saving grace. Maybe if it was Geld they could escape the hellish situation.

At this point his breathing was ragged and his legs were about to collapse under him. Having to sprint almost full speed under pressure wasn’t pleasant, even though his endurance was presumably higher than average.

But if he could just get to Geld, his problems would disappear, right?

Wrong.

The moment he approached Geld the man went running off in the opposite direction.

“There’s trouble near the front, I’ll leave these guys to you.”

Malt’s eyes widened, “You’ve got to be fuckin’ with me right?”

He turned around one last time just to smirk at the boy, “Consider this your final trial to complete my training.”

“Final trial my ass! Get back here and help me the fuck out, prick!”

“My, what a sailor’s mouth you have! Well, no matter. I left you some presents, they should make your life a little easier.”

Malt looked down curiously to see that there were corpses strewn across the dirt. Dismembered heads, disemboweled stomachs, just about as gruesome of a crime scene as it gets. The ground was literally painted red.

“What do you mean by easier?! They’re just gonna see this and get even more pissed!”

By that time Geld was already nearly out of sight, but he was just close enough to cheekily yell “Good luck have fun!”

Malt was left dumbfounded, surrounded by the sounds of approaching footsteps and armed with only a single sword.

As he was still struggling to catch his breath, khods began emerging from the foliage. There were initially the ones that were chasing him, four, then six khods. Then the ones that were pursuing Geld arrived and his meager chance of escaping unhurt was just tossed out the window.

There were nearly a dozen of them and they were all armed better than he was. Furthermore, more seemed to be on their way.

At that point he’d already accepted that he was completely and utterly screwed. All that was left to do was wave around his torch and sword menacingly, in a futile attempt to intimidate them.

Surprisingly, it seemed to be working better than he expected. The khods formed a half circle around him but seemed hesitant to enter within melee distance of him, even though they’d easily be able to kill him whilst barely exposing themselves to any real danger.

It was like some sick game of chicken, one khod took an advancing step and the moment he did, Malt would shoot him a glare and point his sword toward the guy, to which he would stutter back and wait for the next person to try.

The situation was almost comical. A dozen well armored men afraid to gang up on a single lightly armored and exhausted boy waving around a torch. Hell, the torch was even more useful than his sword. The longsword couldn’t be used effectively in one hand against anyone, let alone a well armored opponent.

So why were they so afraid of him?

The answer came to him when he put himself into their shoes.

They’d been chasing an unknown person through the woods in the dead of night. Every now and then they’d come across one of their friends mortally wounded by someone, presumably the person they’d been chasing. As a final nail in the coffin, when they found said person, he was standing above a literal pile of their dismembered comrades. He’s standing there, wild eyed and panting heavily. In one hand he holds a sword and in the other, the very torch that lit your comrades aflame. His clothes are soaked with blood that likely isn’t his. His eyes are darting around wildy and he’s swinging his weapons around like a desperate madman, presumably ready to add the next person to try him to the pile of deadmen he’s already amassed.

You can’t really blame them for being afraid of Malt.

Malt begrudgingly thanked Geld for the set that he’d laid out for him. He’d been given a chance to bluff his way out of the shittiest situation possible.

Malt glared as hard as he could, making his movements more erratic and sudden. He bared his teeth and started practically snarling at the khods surrounding him.

He was going for the aesthetic of a cornered beast, dangerous and desperate, not willing to go down without a fight.

It was all fake of course, if they just charged Malt would die one hundred percent. Fake it till you make it, or so they say.

He raised his sword into the air, ready for a strike. The khods all raised their shields and weapons in front of them even if they weren’t in the way of the swing.

Malt’s body tensed like a spring as he readied a devastating, momentous action that would decide the course of the battle. All the khods had to fight the urge to turn tail as the dangerous warrior in front of them prepared his ultimate move.

Then, at the peak of tension,

He fled.

As fast as humanly possible, he threw the torch down and scurried away into the forest with his tail between his legs.

The khods stood dumbstruck. The flash of light created by the torch being thrown down combined with the fact that they were completely unprepared to give chase rendered them imobile for a few vital moments. Eventually, one of them snapped out of it and scrambled to chase him.

Others quickly followed, but it was too late. Malt had already gained a significant lead on them. He was now even harder to track, not having to carry around his torch anymore.

Of course, he knew that he couldn’t outrun them all the way to Dagridge, even with his lead. He had a different idea in mind.

He ran until he found what he was looking for. A small hill that had a primitive path etched on it.

He stumbled up the hill and turned around to make sure his pursuers could see him. From there he reached the peak of the hill and began his descent, escaping their line of vision, albeit temporarily. As he exited their perception, he made sure veer right, where the little path followed.

Just as they could no longer see him over the hill, he changed course and ran to the left, immediately diving into a dense thicket. He then lay motionless, only raising his eyes to witness what would happen next.

Not long after, the group of khods erupted over the hill and began scanning the area. To his relief, they quickly continued down the little path, in the complete opposite direction of his position.

He waited until their voices faded and all was silent before letting out a heavy sigh of relief.

The method he used was called perception direction.

Despite the fancy name, it wasn’t a fancy illusion spell or anything of the sort. It was an evasion method that Geld had taught him.

The basis is basically to direct your pursuer’s perception to make it seem that you're going one way, but actually go the other. In his case he made them think he was going to follow the path, which was a logical thought process. They’d been chasing him this whole time and he did the same thing continuously without variation, so they’d assumed in the heat of the moment that he’d do the same.

During a pursuit people seldom expect the person they’re chasing to just stay still. They obviously expect the person to try and get as far away as possible.

The only minor problem about the tactic was that he was now behind enemy lines without any support whatsoever. A very minor problem indeed.

Within the hour, when his pursuers either realised they’d been duped or assumed that he had escaped, a perimeter search would most likely start. In fact even then he could hear khods starting to encroach upon the areas around him.

He couldn’t run either, he’d just be stuck in the same situation he was just in earlier.

And so his only choice was a grueling and slow crawl to safety. It would in fact probably be a literal crawl.

He’d most likely need to crawl from thicket to thicket, avoiding detection all the while, presumably until he reached Dagridge.

There were so many things that could go wrong. For starters he could only travel at a snail’s pace and couldn’t hope to reach safety before dawn came.

He also had a time limit. He could go a few days without food and water, but the risk of him giving into exhaustion was uncomfortably high. And he didn’t want to bank his survival on whether he snored or not.

It was a really shitty plan. And not a plan he wanted to decide on, but between this and capture he preferred the crawl.

He’d find out soon that the crawl would get him into a lot more trouble than just surrendering.