I had, after all, been caught unaware by those street thugs before, so I was, pardon me, a little nervous! It wasn’t like I intended to let my guard down that day, but taking my eyes off of them for a single second was all it took for them to knock me out cold. I couldn’t let them do anything like that this time. At least now I knew for sure those goons were gonna attack, so I had the time to mentally prepare.
“They’re here.”
“Well, I guess I’ll handle them with my scabbard…”
I wasn’t planning on going at my opponents with an actual blade, but I doubted Nishka intended to be similarly merciful. She nonchalantly whipped out her machete and swept her gaze around the alley, shouting, “Don’t hide like that, boys! You think some nobodies like you can sneak up on the great hunter Nishka?”
Nishka twirled the machete around skillfully and turned to look back the way we’d come.
Several adventurers approached from that direction. And ahead, a group of nasty-looking hoods formed up to block our path.
“Country trash. You’re gonna pay for making a fool out of Lutbayasky like that.”
“The long-eared bitch with the huge tits is headed for slavery—but you, naked man? We’re gonna slit your throat real slow-like, and then we’re gonna piss on your grave. Get ’em!”
This guy—the street tough stereotype with the bad hair—was the very same guy who had popped me on the chin way back when. I hadn’t seen him at the slave trader’s earlier, so he must have been waiting nearby or working somewhere else.
“That’s funny, ’cause I owe you guys something, too,” I spat back. “Turn your calendar back, dipshit, because I’m gonna beat you into last week!”
The red-faced bald adventurer cried out, “You got some nerve!” and drew his sword on me.
At the same moment, I took a step toward him. Guy looked sloppy.
Back in the day, I won first place at a regional sword-fighting competition, but the next year I got eliminated in the first round. My opponent was a beginner and—while he looked soft—the guy had some previous martial arts experience, so I’d underestimated him.
Turned out the guy knew some kenpo. Kenpo guys will just come flying at you. I had the impression that it was a ferocious fighting style full of stances that lean forward, one where fighters will slam themselves into their opponents. They start off each match by facing each other and bowing, and as soon as it starts, the first thing they do is lunge in for their opponent’s collar. But I acted way too sure of myself in my turn with this guy and clung to the numbskull idea that keeping my distance was the thing to focus on.
As soon as our match started, he closed that distance before I could get in a good stance to knock him off. He took me out in seconds.
This felt a lot like that. Reversed.
I drew my shortsword and, holding the scabbard in my left hand, I jabbed the scabbard at the bald guy and it landed right across his throat. It was glorious.
There wasn’t any power behind my hit, though—if you jab someone in the throat when they’re not expecting it, you’ll kill them. I just stabbed the tip of the scabbard into his neck ever so slightly. That was enough to take out ol’ red-faced baldy.
Mr. Tomato-Head knew a little hand-to-hand fighting, which I guess made him a little too confident.
Another opponent shouted, “I’ll kill you!” or maybe, “I’ll get you!” or something just as trite.
“Not today!” I snarled.
He moved like a complete novice. How did someone this inexperienced get a job as an adventurer?
The thug swiped his sword at me, but I parried the blow and slammed my fist into his gut in the same movement. I wasn’t going for his stomach. I aimed straight for his ribs. One of the most basic strategies is to hit someone in a spot where they have no muscle.
But I was still nervous, deep down. As soon as I parried the man’s strike with my scabbard, the scabbard slid farther than I thought it would and I nearly sliced my hand open. It’s really hard to protect your hand without a hilt!
The man let out a weird noise like “Grooo!” and I slammed my fist still harder into his ugly face.
He slumped, I dropped him to the ground, and I squared up to the last two guys who yelled more generic combat dialogue. I think it was, “You’ll pay for that!” Classic.
They looked terrified, like they had lost all their nerve, but they still thrust their swords out at me…and held them there, trembling.
I deflected their swords with a clash off my scabbard, then charged one of the guys, driving my shoulder into him. Pinned him against a wall.
The other one yelled something—or maybe he just screamed—as he lunged with his sword, but I dodged aside and he whacked the sword hard against the wall of the alley.
What pitiful technique. I grabbed a fistful of hair on the back of his skull and hammered his head against the wall five or six times. There we go. Now he knew what it was like to be a poor, chipped little sword.
That took care of my thugs. Now it was Nishka’s turn. What techniques would she deploy against her fellow man? What savage blows could the great Amazon, this slayer of wyverns, rain upon these poor goons? Surely I was to witness something as unforgettable as it was haunting.
I turned around and saw the amber-skinned elf barbarian raising a whirlwind with her wind magic, cackling as adventurers tumbled in the air, buck naked and screaming.
“Ha ha ha! Shooter, look! They look like scraps of paper flyin’ around!”
The wind magic had shredded their clothes—and their dignity—to pieces. They were totally incapable of attacking Nishka.
“Aiiiieeeee! Please, let us go! We’ll do anything!”
“Quit yer grumblin’ and come at me! Let’s see what you’ve got!”
And I thought the thugs were vicious.
Once Nishka the Scalesplitter released her wind magic, the naked adventurers fell to the ground in tatters and Nishka proceeded to whack each one with the flat back of her machete.
“What a savage…”
“I ain’t a savage!” Nishka snapped, her massive rack swinging back and forth as she beat the men extremely savagely. “We’re supposed to hate these guys, right? I’m doin’ this for you, Shooter! We’re gettin’ revenge for you!”