"Stranger, if I were you, I'd hand over all your coin now, save yourself from losing your head in the next moment."
As the words fell, the sound of three or four daggers being drawn rang out.
Shing.
A group of rough men, dressed in ragged clothing with their faces masked, slowly emerged from the roadside brush, eyes fixed on Garrett without blinking, ready to strike if he attempted to flee.
Each had 20 HP and no armor. That was the first piece of information Garrett gathered.
"You think you've got me cornered?"
"What else would you call it?"
Another five figures stepped out from behind the trees lining the road.
Eight in total.
This many cutthroats operating from a single town? No, these weren't just ordinary town ruffians anymore.
Brigands.
That title suited them much better.
Time to teach them a hard lesson.
"You're welcome to try."
The brigands suddenly saw a blur, Garrett now held a longsword that had appeared from nowhere. That alone startled several of them into stepping backward.
"What are you afraid of, you cowards!" The leader snarled, "It's just some conjurer's trick, we've killed worse! Take him!"
Clang!
A sharp parry rang out as the leader deftly deflected the longsword with his dagger, while three underlings immediately rushed in, stabbing at various parts of Garrett's body.
A direct hit would certainly prove fatal. But in the next instant, a complete suit of gleaming iron armor suddenly materialized on his form, deflecting all three strikes.
"What in blazes?" Several brigands recoiled in shock.
The sudden conjuring of a weapon had been alarming enough, and now full armor as well?
Some were already considering retreat.
How were they supposed to fight this?
"What are you gawking at? Attack!" The second-in-command behind them urged, though he had already taken several steps backward himself. That shout did motivate a few reckless ones to charge forward.
Shing.
On Garrett's side, seeing that the pathetic little daggers were barely scratching his armor, he stopped bothering with careful defense. He charged through the crowd and cut down the fleeing leader with a single stroke, then drove his blade into another's chest, wrenching it free while standing over the corpse.
Then he spun and slashed again, and again, ignoring the daggers striking uselessly at his back, unleashing a relentless assault. Like some armored warrior immune to their blades, no matter how they attacked, whoever he focused on was doomed. In terms of combat technique or experience, even a random brigand could probably best him. But even so, he was able to overwhelm several of them.
For a fight at this level, skill wasn't necessary, he could win through sheer durability and trading blows. Even eight brigands combined weren't as threatening as a single barrow-wight.
Of course, that was because he now had proper armor.
Finally, as another one fell, the rest realized their desperate stabbing had accomplished nothing. One of them broke mentally and shouted, "It's sorcery! He's a wizard! An unkillable wizard! Run for your lives!"
He dropped his weapon and bolted into the forest, abandoning his companions entirely. The rest seemed to wake from a trance and turned to flee. Garrett gave chase, struck down a few more, and left several brigands dead behind. But when he looked up again, two were already disappearing into the distance. He could pursue them if he wished, those two would collapse from exhaustion long before he did.
But it wasn't worth the effort.
The battle ended.
He searched the corpses, dug a pit and buried them on the spot, then melted down the captured weapons for raw materials. After that, Garrett resumed his journey. Perhaps the scent of blood kept others at bay, or perhaps the road truly was as remote as it seemed, he didn't encounter another soul for several days, not even a trace of other brigands. But signs along the roadside told him: though desolate, this region was far from peaceful.
He maintained a steady pace for another three days.
By the dimming light of dusk, he spotted the silhouette of ancient ruins in the distance. As he drew closer, he searched through his memories and finally recalled the name: Weathertop.
As the images in his mind gradually aligned with reality, he felt a surge of excitement. This monotonous journey had finally brought something significant. He immediately placed some stone blocks beneath his feet and quickly climbed to the summit, looking around with a traveler's curiosity, examining this, touching that.
After a moment, he couldn't help but feel awed. Even though the watchtower had long since fallen into ruin, he could still glimpse traces of its former majesty. He ventured into several corners that hadn't been completely destroyed, and pulled out a torch to illuminate the space more clearly, examining broken stonework and crumbling walls.
Lost in his exploration, he accidentally stumbled over some debris, only then did he realize night had fully fallen.
Something felt wrong.
He quickly extinguished the torch, plunging the area into darkness. Atop the peak in the vast black wilderness, that flicker of torchlight suddenly vanished.
Cold sweat ran down his back, and his heart began to race.
He had grown too comfortable with peaceful days, his vigilance had dulled. To make such a careless mistake... Fortunately, night hadn't been upon them long. With only a brief lapse of time, hopefully nothing... evil had noticed his presence.
Whoosh.
A sudden gust of wind grazed his cheek. He instinctively turned his head and saw something collapse behind a crumbling wall.
An arrow protruded from its skull.
That grotesque, savage face, what else could it be but an orc?
Chills ran down his spine. In the next second, his full suit of iron armor materialized over his body.
Even then, he couldn't shake the lingering dread. If that arrow had been aimed at him... wouldn't he have just lost his head?
Fortunately, the target had been the orc lying in ambush. That said, this was his first time encountering an orc in person.
He didn't have long to process this. The moment the first ambush failed and the orc dropped, something seemed to surge up from the darkness. From places hidden to the naked eye, a pack of hideous creatures rushed forward, shouting with guttural voices.
"Hah! Looks like we got dinner tonight!"
"Man-flesh! Fresh man-flesh!"
"Chop him up! Strip that armor and use it for cookpot!"
"Gonna use his skull for drinking!"
Even Garrett was momentarily startled by the scene. A quick assessment told him there were about a dozen orcs, not an overwhelming number, but visually, they swarmed like a dark tide, surrounding him.
For an ordinary person, the sight of these twisted, snarling monsters would be paralyzing. But he had already fought barrow-wights and tangled with brigands, he was no untested novice. After steadying himself, he took a closer look: these orcs had, on average, only sixteen or seventeen HP, and their equipment was tattered and incomplete, with gaps everywhere, utterly wretched.
Clearly just a ragtag band of wandering orc stragglers. Even a determined common man could probably handle two at once.
In an instant, he understood the situation. Without hesitation, he charged forward and cut down two orcs with a single sweep. The smell of blood spurred the others into action. These creatures might be cowardly, malicious, and prone to infighting, but when it came to ambushing and overwhelming opponents, they were experienced.
While he was cutting down their comrades, two orcs crept up from behind, daggers ready to stab his flanks. He had no intention of wasting energy on defense, but in the next second, thwip, thwip, two arrows whistled through the air. The ambushing orcs collapsed instantly, each with an arrow through its skull.
"Filthy sneak! Show yourself!" one orc, who appeared to be a squad leader, bellowed in impotent fury toward the direction the arrows had come from.
The very next moment, another arrow flew in from a different angle and dropped him with a wet thud.
Meanwhile, Garrett had nearly finished off the remainder. Just a dozen or so low-health, lightly-armored orcs, once he found his rhythm, they were dispatched in a few sweeps. He hadn't even depleted much of his hunger bar.
Not to mention, someone was providing assistance from the shadows.
[Achievement Unlocked: "Orc-slayer"]
Another new title to add to his collection.
He cleaned the blood from his sword, then stored it in his inventory to show he meant no harm. He called out, "To whoever aided me, may I ask to meet you?"