Suran Ibrahim stepped forward with full intent to obliterate the foolish bandits before him, but there was just one problem; he had no idea how to use a sword. At the moment, Suran had the bandits quivering in their boots from his terrifying entrance. He kept up the dreadful aura with the stern, stoic look and the posture of a cold killer while fiddling with the sword in his hands, trying to figure out how to hold it. As long as he kept them paralyzed in fear he could gather some time to sort this sword thing out.

Clank

He fumbled the sword. Oops, he thought, staring with great annoyance at the sword on the ground then back at the bandits with his ruthless persona. Squatting down, he maintained eye contact with the discombobulated bandits as he grasped the black sword in his hand.

“Gerad, i-is the guy messin’ wit’ us?” The bandit on the left stuttered out to the man with the torch, not sure if he should be terrified, confused, or both.

“Maybe he don’t know how to use one? It did just appear out o’ nowhere!” On the right the bandit nodded his profusely sweating head. Suran, on the other hand, was poised on the surface, but he was internally screaming as the bandits tried to figure him out.

“Thats exactly what I’m worried ’bout you dolts!” Gerad shouted at both of his companions, silencing them like an owner would scold their misbehaving dogs. “The bloke stood back up after getting stabbed in the chest and a black sword magically appeared in his hands. What part of that doesn’t sound like trouble?!”

“T-then what do we do, Gerad?”

“Do we just leave the lad alone, Gerad?”

Please pick that option, Suran prayed to himself. He found a way to comfortably hold the sword, but he was worried simply holding a sword would not be enough.

Gerad, after pondering for a moment, found his answer, “This bloke might as well be a wizard. No one could heal a wound or summon a sword like that.”

His companions grew pale at the comment and just looked at their dear friend Gerad and back at the naked man, trying to rationalize the situation.

“B-but, Gerad! There is no way we can deal with a magic user!”

That could not be possible, Suran mused. Magic? Wizards? In all of his travels, he had never encountered such abilities. No matter how strange a world he ended up in, he refused to believe that such a thing could exist.

“I know, lads,” Gerad responded with a heavy sigh. “We’d be as dead to a magic caster as would be turning tail to the boss.” Gripping the sword in his hand, Gerad laid down the ultimatum, “It’s either we fight and die, or run and die anyways.” With the matter settled, the trio approached Suran as desperate as injured animals backed against the wall.

Suran grasped the sword with both hands and held it out in front of him. He had no idea what he was doing. Perhaps he should have done anything while the bandits were chatting, he thought.

Gerad came at Suran first with an overhead swing. Raising up his black sword, Suran parried his enemy with the flat part of his blade and shoved him back. As he staggered back, Gerad flailed the torch at Suran, but it was just short, fire licking his chest.

Suran hopped back, creating distance between him and the brigands. Gerad’s strike had no strength behind it and was painfully slow to him. However, one swing was not enough of an indicator to judge their strength, he presumed.

Instead of waiting for the bandits to enclose them in their triangle formation, Suran rotated to the left, furthering himself from Gerad and the one on the right and aiming for a one versus one scenario. He created a window of about five seconds with the space and wasted none of it.

Suran swung the sword like a bat and the bandit barley blocked it. The swords locked together for merely a moment before Suran put his entire body and brawn behind his blade, knocking the bandit’s sword from out of his hands and launching him to the ground. Exactly five seconds. From the corner his eyes, he noticed the right side bandit charging in at his back for a stab.

At the last moment, Suran swung his right shoulder back, shifting his body to avoid the strike then stuck his right foot out and tripped the bandit, causing him to fall face first into the rocky ground. Without any hesitation, he flipped the sword around and drove it straight down into nape of the bandit’s neck. Blood oozed out of the puncture as Suran withdrew the pitch black blade from the withering bandit choking on blood.

He let out an exasperated sigh. While it is wrong to underestimate your opponent, he never thought it would turn out like this; either he was leagues ahead of the bandits in strength, or they were simply fodder to begin with. It didn’t even matter that he was just swinging his sword randomly when he simply outclassed them. Only two were left. Gerad and his remaining compatriot regained their ground on either side of him. Suran sprinted at Gerad, wanting nothing more than to get this over with.

Paralyzed in fear, Gerad was unable to react to the speed at which Suran came at, allowing Suran to slice diagonally across his chest, tearing his leather armor. However Suran did not stop there and ducked past him, slashing down his entire back. Gerad crumpled to the floor, falling down on his torch which began to consume his body.

Shrieking in terror, the remaining bandit abandon the fight and his weapon, but Suran pursued. He closed the distance, readied his sword, and tossed it to the side, tackling the bandit and placing him in a choke-hold.

“Apologies,” Suran muttered, tightening his hold around the bandits neck. The bandit squirmed underneath him, gasping for breath as Suran continued, “I need some clothes, and it just wouldn’t do to have them stained in blood.” Applying pressure to the neck, Suran snapped it in an instant and the bandit went limp.

A moment later, Suran stood clothed in a plain white tunic draped with a dirty brown leather chest piece. Sporting a simple, baggy black pair of pants and brown shoes that were just a hair too large. While the clothes were a poor fit and did not look the best, Suran figured it was better than wearing nothing and prancing around naked. Retrieving his sword, he looted a sheath and housed the blade in there, fastening it to his side.

The ground shook as an explosion in the distanced rocked the area. With a sigh, Suran began strolling over to the rising plumes of smoke and the cries of men and women. How fitting it was for him to be trying to save lives on a battlefield once more.

Rounding the corner, he stumbled upon bloody lines of corpses and rows of flames. Scanning down the street, he saw the next group of assailants. He thought it a safe assumption as they violently stabbed an elderly man, letting his bowels gush out to the ground. This time there was six, one of which was clad in metal armor, standing above the rest. Breaking down a door, the armored one and an accomplice entered the next home.

In the essence of time, Suran opted to blitz the enemy to prevent more townsmen from dying; he felt he could handle these four quickly then turn his attention to the more problematic armored one.

The remaining four did not notice his speedy approach, and Suran began by drawing his blade and puncturing one brigand’s chest. In a state of panic, the remaining three began shouting at each other, trying to asses the situation. Taking advantage of the confusion, Suran unsheathed his sword and closed the distance on his next target. Keeping his sword low, almost dragging it on the ground, he side-stepped an overhead swing and brought his sword to the bandits neck, cleanly cutting it off. Meanwhile, the other two bandits had assembled themselves and charged Suran.

They were the same as the others, Suran plainly thought as he parried strike after strike. Their movements were sluggish and their attacks lacked strength. He quickly quit playing around, and went on the offensive. Clashing with one attack, he reflected his enemy’s sword upwards then circled his sword around to slash deeply into the man’s chest. Using the momentum for his swing, he swung around and blocked the side strike from the last bandit. Taking his time, Suran waited for the next strike which came diagonally. Countering the attack, he stopped it short, then let it slide off his sword, avoiding his body, so he could follow through with his own swing, coming back around and slicing the bandit’s upper legs. With his legs incapacitated, the bandit fell forward and Suran met his fall with his blade, running it through his gut.

Removing the dead man from his sword, Suran took a moment to appreciate the quality of his blade. It cut through bone and armor cleanly, almost like butter. Not to mention its sleek, jet black color with the embedded crimson stone gave it an exotic and terrifying appeal.

A piercing shriek from the home indicated now was not the time to be admiring his sword. Entering through the splintered wooden down, he found a dead man with a knife in his throat on his left, a man in gray armor hoisting an elderly women in the air by the neck, and a young lady with a fruit basket viciously munching on a potato.

“Put the old women down you iron-clad buffoon.” Suran taunted, hoping the knight would let go and ignore the civilians and engage him instead.

The knight craned his head back towards Suran, stared at him for a moment, then tightened his grip to the sound of cracking bones. He let go and the women crumpled to the floor lifeless. “What was that?” he mocked Suran, bringing his hand to his ear as if he didn’t hear him.

“Ah, shit,” Suran mumbled. In hindsight, taunting the man who was already strangling an elderly women might not have been the best idea. The knight should be stronger considering he is wearing heavy armor, but that would mean the armor would slow him down, Suran theorized.

However, he felt his theory was wrong as he was launched out of the home and skidding into the street by the knight who crept up on him in an instant.