"If I were you, mister, I'd hand over all my money. Better broke than beheaded, yeah?"
Shhhing—
The chilling sound of three or four knives being unsheathed echoed across the road.
A gang of scruffy, masked thugs stepped out from the shadows along the roadside, eyes locked on Eric, wary of any sudden moves. They looked like the kind of men who hadn't bathed in days and thought intimidation was a personal brand.
All with 20 HP. No armor.
That was the first thing Eric noticed. Handy perk of his interface.
He raised an eyebrow. "You lot think I'm easy prey?"
A voice called from behind the trees, "What gave it away?"
Five more figures emerged from the foliage, flanking him.
Eight in total.
Eric clicked his tongue. Since when does a sleepy little town have this many lowlifes hanging around?
No, this wasn't just your typical band of drunk back-alley punks.
Bandits.
That's what they really were.
And they needed to be dealt with.
Eric cracked his neck. "You boys are welcome to try."
Suddenly—shing!—a longsword materialized in his hand. Half the thugs jumped back on reflex, eyes wide.
"Scared of a party trick?" their leader snarled. "We've gutted worse!"
He pointed his blade. "Get him!"
Clang!
A clear, metallic clash rang out as the bandit leader expertly parried Eric's sword with his dagger. Three others swarmed from the sides, thrusting their blades at Eric's arms, chest, and back.
If any of those landed clean, it would be game over.
But the moment their daggers struck, there was a clang and a flash of silver—a full suit of shining armor snapped into place around Eric, blocking every attack.
"What the—?!" the bandits stumbled back in disbelief.
It was one thing to summon a sword out of nowhere—but pulling out a full set of armor mid-fight? That was just showing off.
Several of them were already reconsidering their life choices.
"This guy's cheating!"
"Quit gawking and kill him already!" their second-in-command barked, though he was already inching backward himself.
To their credit, a few brave idiots still charged.
Slash!
Seeing their puny knives couldn't do much, Eric stopped holding back. He spun, stepped in, and with a single swing cleaved into the bandit leader, following with another stab straight through the chest.
The man crumpled.
Eric kicked the body off his blade, then turned to face the others.
Slash! Slash!
He cut down another two without hesitation, ignoring the wild, desperate strikes that bounced off his armor.
He fought like a berserker in full plate—untouchable, unrelenting, and completely uninterested in fancy footwork.
To be fair, he wasn't a seasoned swordsman. Any random thug probably had more real combat training.
But none of them had magic armor, a system interface, and zero hesitation to kill.
In a fight like this, technique took a backseat to sheer guts and gear.
Eight bandits? Please. Compared to the undead horrors he'd faced before, these guys were target practice.
At last, after another fell, one of the remaining bandits cracked.
"This is dark magic! He's a warlock! He's immortal! RUUUN!"
He tossed his dagger and sprinted into the forest, not even looking back.
The rest followed his lead, bolting like startled rabbits.
Eric chased a few down, slicing into two more with swift, brutal cuts. But when he glanced up, two of them had already vanished into the woods.
He could catch them if he wanted.
But... meh. Not worth the effort.
Fight over.
He rummaged through the bodies for valuables, buried the corpses in a shallow pit (more out of habit than sentiment), and melted down the stolen weapons into raw materials.
Then he continued down the road.
The air reeked of blood, and this stretch of path was getting real "ambush-y," but strangely, he didn't see another soul for days—not a single traveler, bandit, or even a shady squirrel.
Still, signs along the road told him that while the area looked deserted, it wasn't exactly peaceful.
Three more days passed.
As twilight bathed the world in gold, Eric spotted a dark silhouette on the horizon.
A ruin.
He squinted, flipping through his mental map.
Weathertop.
A name popped into his mind, matched with the image of a once-proud fortress. He broke into a jog, bounding up the slope using summoned stepping stones, eager to explore something—anything—besides dirt paths and trees.
The ruin was, well, ruined. But even in decay, it had a kind of rugged charm. Eric wandered through crumbled halls and shattered towers, poking at old stones like a curious tourist.
In one partially intact corner, he pulled out a torch and examined the ruins under flickering firelight.
He was crouched over some ancient bricks when he tripped over something, catching himself on instinct.
Wait a second.
It was pitch black.
Eric frowned. The sun had set while he'd been busy sightseeing. And his torch? Lit like a beacon atop the tallest hill in a sea of shadows.
Stupid!
He cursed under his breath and snuffed the flame.
The fire vanished. So did his confidence.
Standing on an open peak in the dark with a torch was basically ringing a dinner bell for every creepy thing within five miles.
He wiped the sweat from his brow. "Okay. Chill. It's only been a few minutes. Probably didn't attract anything... right?"
Fwip!
A gust of wind tore past his cheek.
Eric turned sharply—just in time to see something slump behind a broken wall.
An orc.
Ugly. Big. Definitely dead.
With an arrow sticking out of its skull.
Cold sweat dripped down his back.
That arrow... if it had been aimed at him?
That could've easily taken half his HP—or his whole head.
Lucky for him, the orc had been the one in the wrong place.
And unlucky for him, it hadn't come alone.
From the shadows, more orcs began pouring out—ugly, snarling, shouting threats like goblins on meth.
"HAHA! Dinner just walked in!"
"Fresh meat!"
"Rip off the armor and boil it!"
"I call dibs on his skull! I need a new wine cup!"
Eric blinked. "Wow. Charming."
There were around a dozen of them, maybe more. Individually? Not impressive. About 16-17 HP each, ragged armor, and all-around filthy.
Definitely not an elite force.
More like a homeless orc militia.
But that didn't mean they weren't dangerous in a mob.
Still, Eric had fought worse. Undead. Bandits. He wasn't some clueless newbie anymore. Once the initial shock wore off, he sized them up—and saw an opportunity.
Time to strike first.
He charged with his blade, slicing down two orcs in one motion.
Blood hit the ground, and the rest went feral.
They swarmed.
A couple tried to flank him, going for a sneak stab while he was focused on the front.
Eric didn't even turn to block.
Thwip. Thwip.
Two arrows flew from the dark—each hitting a would-be backstabber right between the eyes.
"COME OUT AND FIGHT, YOU COWARDLY RAT!" one orc screamed into the night.
Another arrow answered for him.
Thunk.
Down he went.
By now, Eric was nearly done with the rest.
Low HP, no armor—these orcs were little more than XP snacks. A few more swings, a couple stabs, and the hilltop was littered with bodies.
He hadn't even lost much stamina.
And the mysterious archer in the shadows? Definitely helpful.
[Achievement Unlocked / Title Earned: Orc Slayer]
"Nice," Eric muttered, flicking blood from his blade and sheathing it. He raised his hand in a non-threatening gesture and looked toward where the arrows had come from.
Total darkness.
"...Thanks, I guess?"