The horse, which I had named simply Mare (giving names to tools is an exercise in useless sentimentality), methodically churned through the mud. Her hooves struck a steady rhythm, and my mind instinctively began adapting my supply consumption schedules to match it. If this pace held, I would reach the foothills of the mountains in four days. Plus or minus six hours for unforeseen circumstances.
The unforeseen circumstance materialized two hours later.
It came in the form of an old stone structure flung across the Arn River. The spring snowmelt in the mountains had turned the river into a roaring torrent of mud and sharp ice. Fording it was out of the question. A detour meant losing three days.
I pulled on the reins, halting fifty meters away. Near the entrance to the bridge stood two merchant wagons. People were milling frantically around them, but this was no mechanical breakdown. Five men in mismatched armor—something between deserters and forest bandits—were gutting the bales of cargo. Two of them held crossbowns leveled at the terrified drivers.
"We’ve got another one coming!" one of them shouted, spotting my gray silhouette.
I nudged the horse and moved slowly forward. My hood was drawn low, masking my face.
"Halt, wanderer!" the leader, a broad-shouldered brute in a rusted cuirass, stepped into the road, blocking the path. A heavy cleaver hung at his belt, and he held a shattered spear shaft in his hand. "We collect a toll here."
I brought Mare to a stop five paces away. From beneath my hood, I could see only his filthy boots and the lower half of his pockmarked face.
"How much?" my voice sounded flat.
"The horse, the sword, and the coin purse," he smirked. His lackeys behind him snickered. The crossbowmen shifted their aim toward me. "And hand over the cloak. Looks clean. We can find a use for it."
"I offer a standard silver piece," I said calmly, retrieving the coin from my pocket with my left hand. "Fair passage for a lone traveler."
The leader spat beneath my horse’s hooves.
"You didn't catch on, kid. Drop the gear, or we take it off your cooling meat."
He stepped closer and reached out, intending to yank off my hood.
"Let’s see what you’re hid—"
Illogical. Though on the other hand… humans rarely operate on logic.
The millisecond his fingers brushed the fabric of my cloak, the world slowed down for me.
My right arm, concealed beneath the wool, lunged forward with a brief snap. I intercepted his wrist.
Crunch.
The sound of splintering bone cut through his first scream. I clenched my fingers, grinding his radius to gravel, and yanked him toward me. The leader lost his footing and pitched forward.
In that exact heartbeat, my left hand drew the sword. A short, upward thrust. The steel punched clean through the leather brigandine of the closest bandit.
"Bring him down!" yelled one of the crossbowmen.
I vaulted out of the saddle, using the leader’s body as a shield. A bowstring snapped, and a bolt thudded heavily into the back of the bandit I was still anchoring by his broken wrist.
Two bounds—and I closed the distance to the second crossbowman. He was scrambling to reload. His fingers were trembling. I didn’t waste time with the sword. A kinetic strike from the prosthesis straight to the chest. I felt the target's ribs collapse inward. The man flew three meters backward and crashed into the mire.
The remaining two froze. One dropped his spear. The other, the first crossbowman, leveled his weapon at me with shaking hands.
"Back! Back, you devil!" he screamed.
I walked toward him, unhurried.
"A crossbow bolt travels at fifty meters per second," I said in an even, level voice. "From this distance, you will miss. I will not."
He pulled the trigger. I immediately pivoted my torso, letting the missile ricochet off the iron pauldron beneath my cloak. A shower of sparks, a sharp ring—and I was already in his guard.
An impact from the sword's pommel to his jaw. A brief crack. The crossbowman dropped unconscious.
The last bandit, the one who had dropped his spear, simply turned on his heel and bolted toward the forest. Pursuing him… a waste of calories. In all probability, he would perish at the claws of monsters within minutes anyway.
I walked over to the leader. He lay in the mud, cradling his ruined hand and whimpering. His terror-stricken eyes kept trying to scan for something beneath my hood.
"Are there more outposts ahead?" I asked, wiping the blade on the hem of his own shirt.
"N-no… please… we’re just…" he choked on his tears.
I looked down at him. Threat neutralized.
I turned and walked back to the horse. Mare was shifting nervously from hoof to hoof, but she had held her ground.
"Good animal," I said quietly.
"My lord…" a timid voice called out from the wagons. One of the merchants, an old man with a shaking beard, was staring at me. "Thank you… Are… are you a knight?"
I paused, already holding the reins. A knight? …Ridiculous.
"No," I replied without looking back. "I am just a traveler."
I adjusted my hood and surged the horse into a trot. The road continued
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