A small caravan of four carts trudged along the muddy road, inching closer to the sprawling city of Certa, one of the grandest in the kingdom of Idra. The wagons, laden with merchandise, indicated the presence of merchants eager to ply their wares in the bustling market.

At the forefront of the procession, the first cart was manned by two drivers who took turns navigating the treacherous path. Currently seated together, their voices hushed as they engaged in a quiet argument.

"I can't shake off this bad feeling," hissed the first driver, his brows furrowed with worry.

"Have you seen him? Any would-be thieves, who catch sight of that guy, will turn tail and run," replied the second driver with a smile, though his words were kept low.

"We should have hired more guards. We shouldn't have been so stingy. One man, no matter how intimidating he appears, is not enough," hissed the first driver once more, his apprehension palpable.

"All your doubts will disappear once we arrive safely, and you see how much money we saved thanks to this decision. Trust me, I have a knack for spotting good deals. This one was exceptional," reassured the second driver, his buoyant demeanor undeterred by his companion's somber outlook.

"If you're such an expert, then why are you stuck on the same cart as me?" grumbled the first merchant.

Meanwhile, inside the final cart, amidst the cargo and concealed by a heavy cloak, a figure sat upon a bag of grain. A deep hood kept a mask of shadow on his face. Despite the fabric, it was evident that he was a massive man. He swayed gently with the cart's movement, indicating his apparent disregard for his duty to protect the merchandise.

Pressing onward, the caravan ventured beyond the rugged, pockmarked portion of the road, which had been ravaged by the ceaseless passage of local farmers. As the terrain became more solid, the wagons emerged into the edge of a forest. The trees stood scattered at first, but as they delved deeper into the woodland, the foliage thickened, casting deeper shadows upon the immediate surroundings. A sense of unease settled upon the merchant in the first cart.

Then, as they rounded a bend, both drivers abruptly noticed a fallen tree obstructing their path.

"Hold!" shouted the driver, bringing the caravan to an abrupt halt.

Meanwhile, the second merchant, gripped by fear, frantically scanned the surroundings, desperate to spot any lurking bandits.

"I told you it was a bad idea. I told you..." he muttered, his voice trembling.

"Just shut it!" his companion snapped, bringing the horses to a halt. "Prrrr! Prrrr!"

With the reins pressed into the other merchant's hands, the first man stood up, maneuvering himself to peer over the cart. Only his head managed to poke out, allowing him a limited view.

"There's a tree blocking the path!" he shouted. "We either need to untie a horse to pull it away or find an alternative route!"

"Just untie the horse!" came the response from the cart behind.

Letting out a weary sigh, the merchant leaped off the vehicle, quickly attending to the straps securing one of the horses. However, the rustling of nearby bushes caught his attention, growing louder with each passing moment. Soon, a group of figures emerged, armed with makeshift weapons and clad in tattered attire. Their gear was haphazard at best, with reforged scythes, other tools, and threadbare clothing reinforced with rough patches of leather stitched directly onto the wool.

"Morning!" bellowed the largest of the group, a bald man with a black mustache. A gleaming greatsword rested nonchalantly upon his shoulder.

In total, there were eight men, their menacing presence overwhelming.

"W-Who are y-you? W-What do y-you want?" stammered the merchant from the forefront, his voice quivering.

"If you hand over your goods, including the carts and horses, we'll allow you to leave with the remaining one," declared the bald man, getting straight to the point.

At that moment, a piercing crunching sound of metal resonated through the air, drowning out the natural melodies of the forest—the rustling leaves, the songs of birds concealed within the treetops.

It was the cloaked figure who had descended from his perch, moving purposefully from behind the cart. Without uttering a word, he advanced toward the group of bandits, his intent clear. He even dropped the cloak, letting it fall to the ground, as he revealed his remarkable armor.

"And who is this? Your guard?" the bald man sneered. "You should invest in more, you greedy bastards." The snicker escaped the lips of the bandit, spreading contagiously among his comrades.

However, the imposing figure remained unfazed, offering no response as he continued his determined stride. It was evident now that he was heading straight towards them, prompting a few members of the group to instinctively take a step forward, brandishing their weapons.

"Stand down, soldier, or you're going to die," the bald man growled at him.

The mercenary halted. He gripped the handle of his axe, nestled securely behind his belt, but refrained from drawing the weapon just yet.

"Leave, and I won't kill you," he declared, locking eyes with the leader of the outlaws.

"The one who's going to die is you," the bald man snarled, raising his sword to charge. "Raaa!"

With a battle cry, the thug swung his blade from above, but his strike sailed through the air, missing its mark. The armored mercenary effortlessly evaded the attack with a single sidestep, simultaneously rotating his body. He swiftly utilized the two talons protruding from the bracer on his left forearm to seize the sword, yanking it free from the bald man's grasp. The bandit was taken aback by the unexpected turn of events, but he had little time to ponder as the mercenary advanced, delivering a forceful backhanded blow.

The slap reverberated through the air, powerful enough to render the bandit unconscious as he crumpled to the ground.

"Next," the warrior calmly stated, his gaze fixed on the remaining bandits.

A collective hesitation fell over the group as they exchanged wary glances, each waiting for someone else to make the first move. Sensing their wavering resolve, the mercenary's voice thundered once more.

"Next!" he repeated, this time with increased volume.

One of the bandits succumbed to the pressure, mustering his courage and charging forth, wielding his reforged scythe. However, his attack was swiftly parried by the heavy bracer, and the tall warrior seized the wooden shaft below the blade, effortlessly disarming the outlaw and nearly causing him to stumble. The bandit managed to regain his footing at the last moment, but the momentary distraction proved fatal as the mercenary lunged forward, landing a powerful punch squarely on the bandit's face.

A sickening crack resounded, accompanied by a spatter of blood on the warrior's fist. The second bandit crumpled to the ground, defeated.

"Next," the warrior repeated, his gaze unwavering as he surveyed the remaining men in the group.

Faced with the overwhelming display of strength and skill, the bandits made a collective decision to flee. Panic gripped their hearts as they turned and disappeared into the undergrowth – a hasty, and messy retreat.

Gasps of disbelief escaped the merchant seated in the front cart, soon followed by unrestrained laughter. Meanwhile, the mercenary resumed his movement, approaching the fallen tree obstructing the road. With an astonishing display of strength that silenced the laughing merchant, he effortlessly lifted the massive obstacle and hurled it aside, unblocking the path. The tree crashed heavily to the ground amidst the surrounding forest, its weight resonating through the earth and stirring the senses of those present.

Without uttering a word, the mercenary, now watched in awe by the astounded employers, retraced his steps, retrieving his cloak along the way, and jumping back on the cart as soon as he reached it, vanishing from the view.