What does it mean to have truly lived? Is it being remembered as great, an unstoppable force that burned brightly? Or could it be setting the foundations for any number of accomplishments, even if they lack that fire of dominance on the surface? What should one aim for? Their own goals, or the ones that the world has set for them? How can one tell if their goals are truly theirs, if the self that they claim to be is a self of their creation? All were questions that Ted frequently asked himself, but as he sat there, half asleep on the road of fate, the questions felt more real than ever.
This well-explored train of thought was thwarted by a stray rock that bumped the wagon and Ted along with it. He groaned as he roused from his slump on the uncomfortable wooden bench. By the Primordials, how long was I out? He thought as he looked up and around the wagon, various aspiring adventurers accompanying him on the ride.
Many of these adventurers wore standard adventurer gear, a tunic with shoulder pads, some wrist guards, and, if they felt extra, perhaps some proper armor. Ted was firmly in the 'Just use the basics' category, as his greatest piece of defense was a green vest that sat over his cream-colored sweatshirt, along with some brown slacks. He didn't bother to buy proper armor, as he thought it would have been too bulky. But now, he felt nearly naked.
I'll stop and buy some in the next town, he thought to himself, jostling as the wagon hit yet another bump. They were rolling along a path deep in the woods, with trees as the only significant structures for miles. The horses that pulled the cart buckled from time to time, the uneven road only became more so as they came farther upon it.
It was early summer, so the undergrowth of the forest had only just begun to thicken once more. Either way, he couldn't see far past the tree line. He asked a man to his left how long he had slept, which turned out to be about four hours. Plenty of time then, he figured. I might as well get comfortable… He thought about how he was at least a day's ride away from Fort Trionis.
He folded his hands behind his head, leaning back against the backrest. The frontier of Vestia, where he was heading, was the beginning of his life. His real life, at least. It had taken him months of travel north to get here, and at last, the promised time has arri-
His thoughts were cut off once more with a wet thunk, the man next to him falling into the floorboard like a sack of potatoes. Ted opened his eyes again, his gaze trailing down to look at the man. An arrow had come from… somewhere and shot through the back of the man's head before shattering in the front.
Several men stood up with varying responses, a mix of anger, fear, and confusion crossing their faces. Another arrow whistled through the air and thudded into another man's back. Ted came out of his shock when the sound of the second arrow hit him. He fell to the floor, hiding behind the wall of the wagon. A cold sweat came over him. Who the hell is dumb enough to attack a wagon full of adventurers? Sure, we may be a bunch of bright-eyed amateurs, but they didn't know that. Right?
He looked between the wooden panels of the wagon wall, where he could see the treeline. In between trees, there were one, two, three… eight bowmen. Ten melee combatants, armed with an assortment of weapons, marched closer. Ted pursed his lips, it was likely the same story on the other side.
Ted reached for his bag and tugged it towards him. He untied his glaive from it and held it steadily in his hands. He looked at his reflection in the blade of the glaive, his slid-back dark brown hair visible. He was trembling, but truthfully, he was excited. This is what he trained for. He wasn't worthy of being a heroic adventurer if he fell here.
Of the melee assailants approaching them, an older man stepped forward. He was likely the leader, Ted could tell from the casual confidence with which the man carried himself.
"Alright, I think we've already hurt enough of you, yeah? We just want your things, so, unless one of you tries to do something really stupid, we shouldn't have any problems, right?" The man said, slowly drawing the shortsword at his hip.
A man, maybe in his mid-thirties, from what Ted could tell, stepped to the edge of the wagon, "What exactly is it that you want? Everything?"
"Anything worth at least a silver." The leader replied.
Ted tensed at that. He'd rather fight them all himself than hand his things over. He would rather have no one here to hand their goods over, if he had anything to say about it. Though that was wishful thinking for now. If only…
There were a couple of people on the wagon who seemed capable of helping. There was a tall woman with waist-length green hair and arms that looked like they were clad in bark. She looked tense and had a large, one-sided axe in her hands. An older man sat about two men down from her, wielding a shortsword along with a shield.
As another man from the wagon joined the negotiation, Ted considered his options. Option 1: He tries to escape from the wagon. At best, he makes it out with mild injuries and has to walk the rest of the way. At worst, he gets turned into a pincushion. Option 2: He tries to fight the bandits. At best, he rallies the rest, and they win. At worst, the said pincushion scenario. Option 3: He gives his stuff up. Hell no.
As he weighed the one option and the two non-options, a voice struck through his train of thought, "Alright, get off of the wagon and leave yer shit. Especially that one creep in the corner."
Who? Ted thought, but after looking, the bandit wasn't wrong. There was someone sitting in the corner of the wagon, clad in a black cloak that completely concealed them. Everyone, including the cloaked man, stood up and started filing out of the wagon. He let several people pass him as he watched carefully, waiting for any opportunity to strike.
The leader then motioned at the cloaked person once more, "Now, that cloak looks like it costs much more than a silver. C'mere."
And they did, the cloaked figure approaching the man, who held his short sword casually in his left hand. He reached out to grab at the cloak, but the cloaked person's arm blurred into motion, embedding what looked like some sort of blade into the man's thigh. Before Ted could move himself, blood shot out from the man's thigh, like a geyser. Ted jumped out from his hiding space as he saw several other adventurers also preparing their weapons.
The bandit leader grunted and yelled profanity at the cloaked figure, slashing violently down at them. The cloaked figure moved to the side, only allowing for the blade to graze the edge of the cloak. The bandit then threw his fist at the cloaked figure, who promptly redirected the fist with their offhand. Then, the cloaked figure quickly moved, jamming what Ted now saw was a large sewing needle into the chest of the bandit leader. The leader grasped the needle. Yet, the man seemed to grab at… nothing? The needle had disappeared, leaving a gushing wound. What? How? Ted thought, but he quickly stopped questioning this reality. He could ask whoever that was later.
The man's subordinates were taken aback by the exchange, but they came to their senses. Another bandit raised their sword, aiming to slash down at the cloaked figure. Unfortunately for them, Ted was there. He readied his glaive and dived from the wagon, pointing it directly in front of him. The poor man never stood a chance as the glaive pierced through the skull of the bandit, slicing through the other side before planting itself in the ground. With this strike, the battle began properly.
Ted ripped his glaive out of the ground and was immediately forced into a defensive position. While he had predicted that he'd be at a disadvantage, it was a bit more than he had expected. Two bandits emerged from the small crowd, slashing down at him. He kept backing up as he deflected the slices with the blade of his glaive. He hadn't expected how much it hurt to even deflect an attack, but damn, it did. He kept looking for an opening so his poor hands wouldn't be shaken out of whack, and eventually was given one.
One of the slashes' trajectories had ended up in a way most favorable to Ted. He jabbed his glaive forward, catching the blade with the hook of the glaive. The bandit had tried backing up, but the damage was already done. He pulled on his glaive, launching the blade into his hand. Then, when the other bandit tried hitting Ted when his glaive was still recoiling, Ted grabbed the blade and parried the bandit. They exchanged a few blows before Ted was able to skirt by a jab and stab the bandit in the stomach, before delivering a kick to knock them down.
The man doubled over, a mess of red pooling on the grass underneath him. Ted turned his attention back to the man he had stolen the sword from, but he was gone, instead, several of his comrades replaced him. Ted leveled his glaive at them, returning to his defensive stance. In the corner of his vision, something blurred, and he swayed to the left.
An arrow ripped past his head and embedded itself in the earth behind him. Fuck that! He screamed internally as the group of swordsmen swarmed him. Panic nearly overcame him, there were at least five of them! Not even considering the archers, who were probably training their aim on him! Ted leaned back on his training, his movements turning into more of a dance.
His glaive arced out in large, sweeping motions, not really aiming to attack, but really just holding off. The men around him poked and prodded at his defense but struggled to make it past his long reach. As he spun once more, he caught a glimpse of the tall green-haired woman cleaving her way through men towards him.
Ted fell into a rhythm, but just as he got comfortable, another blur reminded him he could lose his life at any moment. He twisted himself hard, the projectile ripping through his side and once more thudding into the earth. Cover. Was there any cover? Ted thought, but he quickly remembered his location: Ass to the ground, on a dirt road, with the nearest cover being a wagon that was a few feet away.
"Fuck!" Ted yelled out.
He seethed as he braced the blunt end of his glaive on the ground. He had to will himself to stand once more, resuming his dance. Though now he was sluggish, and he felt a gushing warmth spreading from his wound and down his side. I can't do this, if something doesn't change, I'm… I'm going to die here!
The realization washed over him, and nearly as quickly, a hot rage flooded every vein in his body. Suddenly, he interrupted his smooth sweeping motions, instead he jerked his glaive forward, ripping through the air and tearing through the front half of an unsuspecting bandit's throat. The man stumbled back, his sword clanging to the ground as he gurgled on blood that rose up from his throat.
He killed one more guy. That would make all the difference when the next move he'd take would kill him. If only he were better equipped. If only he had more time. If only it were different. Ted wanted to live! More than that, he wanted to thrive. But here he was, seconds away from dying on a dirt road, hundreds of miles from home.
This wasn't the way he thought it would go, hell, this couldn't be the way it would go. Ted wasn't meant for this. He wasn't meant to decay and rot instead of reaching the level that he had to reach. This death, this death did not fit an adventurer. An adventurer would be able to fight, even if they had to in two places. An adventurer would be able to control his weapon to the most detailed level, they wouldn't even have to think. An adventurer would be able to predict every movement of his enemy, down to the millisecond. I must grow to the occasion. I must be strong enough. If I'm not…
This overwhelming will thrummed through him. It was then that he felt it. His Voice shone out and responded to the very nature of his request. The ambition going into pride, the fate that Ted desired, would be his. That message is what changed Ted's fate, and his Voice came out.
His vision doubled.