The woman stood at least six feet and five inches tall… give or take. It could've easily been seven inches instead of five, though.

Instead of a gambeson like her companions, she wore strips of leather. Her upper body was left bare, save for the brown leather that was wrapped around her breasts. Aiden guessed that it didn't just conceal them—it served to keep them from bouncing.

A large loincloth covered her groin, falling as low as her knees. When Aiden gave it a little more attention, he realized that none of it was clothes. They were all animal skin.

But as intimidating as her size and chiseled muscles were, Aiden's attention was fixed on what she held in her left hand. A bow. It was a large thing, maybe six feet in length, maybe shorter. Brown as a tree bark, it displayed simplicity the likes of which only a master craftsman could achieve.

The bow had a handguard that covered the wielder's knuckles. It told Aiden much. Most people with bows like that practiced the art of fighting with their bows in the melee. Unlike her companions with their normal bows, he had a strong feeling that the woman either had a skill that helped her with close-quarter bow combat or was simply very good at it.

Or it could just be an added design for the enchantment, Aiden thought. On the surface of the bow was a simple enchantment, a single rune, if he was being honest.

Wind, it read.

Aiden wasn't a fan of this variation of the rune. It was a single word. He could still identify it, but it had been twisted and turned. Most people with the [Enchanter] class would describe it as perverted.

Shamanic enchantment, he thought in annoyance.

The use of enchantments in an unnatural manner. If he were to put it in an ethical manner, if normal runes and sigils were used for normal enchantments, it was like using kind words and guiding them down paths that suited them. Shamanic enchantment, on the other hand, was beating a child until they learned a skill that they were not good at. It was like teaching a fish to fly, and when it failed as it obviously would, grafting wings onto its back was saw, and sickle, and rusted needles.

It forced a sigil to do more than it was supposed to do.

"Staring on the battlefield," the woman snorted in disgust. "An unfitting act. A woman should not distract you in times of war."

Then she held her hand out to the side. The air shimmered in front of it, and an arrow as massive as the one still embedded in a tree somewhere behind him landed onto her fist.

Her muscles toughened as she caught it. She nocked it with a little strain and pulled the bow back.

As if they were waiting, the four men around him moved to attack. Three rushed forward, long knives in one hand while their bow remained in the other. One stood back notching a simple arrow to his bow.

Aiden met his attackers head-on. He blocked a swinging strike, guiding the blade to slide over his. Ignoring the man, he ducked, leaning so far back that his knees bent a little too far forward. A bow swung past his face.

His perception flared. The almost inaudible snapping of a bow. He hoped and let himself fall completely. He hit the ground and rolled. An arrow stabbed into the ground where his leg had been, probably aimed at his heel. Then the ground erupted where he had been.

Aiden came back to his feet, dodging a knife slash with steps that carried him to the side. He'd been aware of the fact that at least one of the men still conscious had skills that manipulated the ground beneath his feet.

He moved to the side, gathering steps like a basketballer moving into a shooting motion, then swung his sword low. The man charging him jumped back, avoiding a severed leg.

Aiden's attention was barely on them. His attention was on the lady with the bow. She held it in the distance. The massive arrow drawn back. Waiting.

Getting hit by one shot from her would most definitely put him in the ground. The man with the bow drew another arrow, took aim.

Aiden turned to him, already moving to evade.

The man vanished.

Aiden's eyes widened in shock.

A man with a bow and arrow and a clear aim on him had just vanished, shattering into smoke. There was no world where that was a good thing.

He brought his hands together.

[You have used Class skill Walking Canvas]

What little mana he still had left rushed out of him, suffusing the area. Its reach was surprisingly wide. Too wide.

Now was not the time to focus on that.

[You have used Class skill Broken Weave]

…

[You have used Broken Weave of Lesser Lightning]

Now was not the time to be using up too much mana. The woman was still waiting for her chance.

The air grew charged. Aiden felt the hair on his skin stand as he hopped away from an attack, then dropped to a squat and lunged for a second man.

Metals clanged as his sword slash was blocked by the man's long knife. Aiden turned his wrist, twisted the angle of the collided blades. He saw realization in the man's eyes and the man moved his grip, in an attempt to not be disarmed.

Aiden stepped into him, forcing him back. The man's footing faltered. He caught the man by the inside of his elbow, turned and threw him over his shoulder. Grip still tight, he flogged the man into the ground.

The man bounced off the ground and Aiden's eyes darted in their sockets. Where the fuck is he?

The woman remained standing in place, aim ready. She still didn't move to release the arrow. She was taking her time.

Aiden didn't see the man who had disappeared.

He moved again, wasting no time. He had to stay in motion. It was the best strategy when you didn't know where the archer you were fighting was. Something flickered to his side. He caught it in his senses and it flickered out before he could move on it.

Frowning, he threw himself forward and into his next opponent.

The air exploded in a loud boom. Aiden dived. He felt the wind in his hair. It was a powerful thing. He hit the ground and rolled. Another boom erupted, followed by the sound of shattering wood as a tree lost a chunk of its stem.

"Fuck!" the woman swore as Aiden rolled to his feet and leapt at another man.

Something flashed in his periphery again. He darted away from the man he was charging, terminating his attack before it was complete.

He returned his attention to the man he had been attacking before the woman had fired her arrow only to find him crumpled on the floor. He was missing his head. Blood pumped out of him like a broken faucet.

That explained why the woman had sworn. She'd killed one of her own.

"A man should not run around so much," she called out, sounding smug. "That is the domain of women."

Aiden cocked a quizzical brow as he moved from the body, feet carrying him in constant motion. Was she goading him? Did she think taunts and insults like that worked in a fight?

"And women do not fire arrows the size of a tree trunk," he called back in the same language, playing her own game. "That is the domain of an overgrown gorilla." He paused for dramatic effect. "Then again, you do look the part."

The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

The same thing that had been dancing around him snapped into reality again, forcing him to retreat, changing the direction of his new attack. He moved quickly. It was either a new enemy or a skill in effect.

[You have stunned Buchi]

Aiden's brows furrowed. The woman's face morphed into a terrible scowl. The something that had kept on appearing and disappearing took form—a man with a drawn bow.

The man's eyes tightened in pain for a split moment, then widened as he saw Aiden coming for him. He released his drawn arrow, aimed at Aiden's head.

Aiden had already thrown himself into the attack. He tilted his head to the side. A warm line of heat traced a path along his cheek as the arrow passed him. He shifted his hand, moved his aim. Fear filled the man's face as he realized he'd missed. Aiden's sword pierced a perfect stab into his shoulder.

Then the air boomed again.

Pain flared in Aiden's outstretched arm. He heard his skin tear and his bone crack. It was like having a chunk of his arm being ripped out by a hungry man ripping a chunk out of a loaf of bread. Blood splashed into the air, hot and bountiful. He gritted his teeth against the pain but still couldn't hold back a pained growl.

The man with the sword in his shoulder reached out and dug his hand into the injury.

Aiden roared in pain.

"YOU FUCKING BASTARD!"

The words spilled from his lips just before he slammed his free arm into the man's neck. The blow choked him. The man staggered back, releasing Aiden's arm to grab his neck as he gasped for air. Aiden stepped into him as his other arm hung limp by his side and drove his fist into the man's nose. He felt the nose give under the weight of his blow.

The man went down hard.

Aiden ignored him. Turning on his heel, he ignored everyone else and moved.

The woman stood in the distance with a frown on her face as she notched another arrow. The shamanic enchantment of the knuckle guard of her longbow glowed purple.

"I won't miss again," she said, meeting his gaze from across the distance.

Aiden bared his teeth in anger and pain. A man moved somewhere to his side and he ignored the man. The woman released the arrow and [Dash] carried Aiden across the distance.

The air boomed.

A tree shattered somewhere in the distance.

Aiden met the woman head on, teeth bared in a feral snarl. She swung the bow to meet him. It was a confident swing. Aiden weaved beneath it, pivoting on one foot to carry him beside her. His one good hand came up as the other hung limp.

[You have deactivated Class skill Walking Canvas]

…

[You have used Class skill Lone Weave]

…

[You have used Weave of Strength]

[Effect: +90% increase in strength]

[Duration: 00:05:00.]

The woman spun into her swing. Adding momentum to the action, the bow came around again. Aiden ignored it. For all her speed, he was faster.

Hand poised like a spear, he drove it into her side. The impact would stun her. Pain would cause her swing to falter. In her disarray, he would break the hand she had used to hold the arrow that had injured him, then he would snap her neck.

His hand buried itself into her side. Aiden felt skin and flesh and muscle give way. He felt her entire body stiffen around his wrist.

The woman's swing faltered. She coughed. Blood splashed on Aiden's face.

[You have dealt Telma a Critical Blow!]

Aiden ripped his hand free. The woman staggered back, tilted, then teetered backward. She dropped like a felled tree.

Anger and pain and surprise forced Aiden to breathe heavily. The entire forest seemed to stand still. Silent. Petrified by his action.

Try not to kill anyone. Try not to kill anyone. Try not to kill anyone.

The words rang in his head as he stared down at the woman, also fully aware of the men around him. She gasped for air, struggling to breathe through the blood. There was a vicious hole in her side, unkempt and gruesome. Blood bathed the ground from it.

Aiden looked down at the hand he had used. It was his blackened hand.

Try not to kill anyone. This time, the thought was intentional. He spoke to himself.

Around him, the world continued to remain still. The enemies he had just faced said nothing, did nothing.

Along with his [Weave of Strength] and his increased strength, he had miscalculated. He had put too much power into the strike.

For all her height and rippling muscles, the woman's physical form had not been sturdy enough to withstand him.

Still frowning, and reminding himself to kill nobody, he bent down and grabbed her bow. Dying as she was, she held on tight.

He ripped the bow from her hand. He heard something snap. A cracked finger? The woman twitched on the ground.

Aiden used [Detect] on her.

[Telma-Battle Archer (Lvl 53)]

[Battle Archer].

Her class wasn't necessarily rare, but it also wasn't very common.

Level fifty-three.

She would have enough strength to heal from the injury if left alone. She would not bleed out and die.

"This," he said, holding up the bow in front of her, "is payment for your life."

He turned away from her and faced the silence of the forest.

Anger rippled through him. Pain numbed his other arm as he held the bow in his bloody, black hand. Everyone stared.

Everyone waited.

Everyone feared.

"Alright then," Aiden growled through the pain and restraint. "Let's get this over with."

…

"What do you think?" Zen rubbed his jaw like an ancient sage. "We can swim it, right?"

Feira sighed.

In front of them was a river. It was long and wide. They could see the bank on the other side. It was something that they could swim in Feira's opinion, but she didn't want to go motivating her older brother. He was already an unnecessary risk-taker at heart. Always trying and failing and wanting to try again.

In truth, she hadn't been surprised when he'd gotten the [Time Walker] class. If she remembered correctly, he had also received the option of the [Gambler] class. He had been more than happy to not take it—only a fool took the [Gambler] class.

Everybody knew that.

Feira shook her head in response to her brother. "I don't think that would be a good idea."

"Really?" Zen squinted at the river, not the other side of it. "I guess we'll have to find another way around."

Happy to have demotivated her brother's itch for the dangerous, she turned her attention to their saviors and possible kidnappers.

"Lord Lacheart," she began.

The subject of her address waved her words away with a gesture. "Call me Ted. I find the whole lord thing to be very stressful."

Feira paused, thinking about it. So far, Ted had seemed grounded, much unlike young lords who had their heads up in the clouds. Still, she wasn't completely sure why he had said what he'd said.

Was he flirting?

In her experience, young lords only asked to be called by their names when they were flirting. It was the same with men old enough to be a lady's father. They always asked to be called by their name instead of some title of respect or the other. As if it would somehow make a lady forget just how old they were.

"Ted," she said, trying it on.

Ted looked at her. "I'm listening."

"In what direction are we going?"

"Whatever direction my brother says when he gets here."

Feira looked from him to the knight and the other member of the group. None of them seemed bothered by the answer.

"And when is your brother getting here?" she asked. They had already been waiting for more than two hours.

Ted shrugged. "When he gets here."

"And how long will we wait?"

Another shrug. "Until he gets here."

"Then may my brother and I be given leave?"

The young lord offered her a warm smile. "No."

Their saviors had become their captors.

The knight moved from where he had been standing to meet them.

"What Lord Lacheart is trying to say," he said, eliciting a groan from Ted, "is that his brother has plans for your brother. He has come a very long way just for your brother."

"Why?" she asked respectfully. Everyone knew that a knight was potentially more important than a young lord, even if this one seemed to be playing… bodyguard?

"The young lord will share it when he returns," the knight said.

"What if he doesn't return?" she blurted out, knowing she should not have said it.

"Then we will go looking for him," Ted said. "It's quite simple."

"With us?"

"You worry far more than your brother."

Ted had not been the one to answer. In fact, the voice came from the trees behind them. Everyone turned in its direction.

The second young lord walked through the trees, approaching them.

He looked a terrible mess. One of his arms was a deep black, the actual hand stained red in what Feira could only guess was blood. His hair was disheveled and fell over his face. He had a touch of blood on his cheek.

But in the presence of everything, the injury that stood out the most was his normal arm. A portion of the sleeve had been completely ripped off. Beneath it, his arm was a bloody mess. It was as if someone had taken a bite out of it. Someone with a very large mouth.

Feira frowned. "You're wounded."

"Flesh wound," he said dismissively as he approached her.

Her eyes narrowed. He wasn't going to just walk past her, was he? He couldn't possibly be that rude.

She calculated his trajectory as his steps continued. "Your arm doesn't look like a flesh wound."

He didn't slow his steps as he raised his hand. "Took a chunk of flesh. Ergo, flesh wound."

The arrogant bastard was going to just walk past her. Feira saw it in the trajectory of his steps.

She moved to intercept, standing in front of him. The young lord came to a sudden stop. They stood facing each other.

She tried to stare him down, a difficult task when the person was taller. But Zen was taller, and she had a lot of practice with him.

The young lord looked over her head. She hated it when men did that. There was a question in his eyes, but it was not for her. Probably his brother.

After a while, he looked back down at her. "May I be excused?"

His brother, Ted, snorted in laughter. "It's been a while since I've seen a polite Aiden."

"Me too," the knight muttered.

Feira knew better. The young lord, Aiden, was not being polite. He was being patronizing. He was tired and exasperated and didn't want to deal with her. And, like all men, he didn't want to have to deal with his problem until he was no longer tired and exasperated.

His current problem being the terrible wound in his arm.

"Your arm needs to be fixed," she said simply. "If not, it will spoil."

The muscle in his jaw ticked. "I took a potion."

"It's not healed, though."

"It's a deep wound. It will take a while."

"I thought you said it was a flesh wound?"

His jaw ticked again. "It was a deep flesh wound."

"A deep flesh wound." She gave him a challenging look. After a while, she shook her head. This was not the conversation she was trying to have. "The others said you're in charge of what direction we're going."

Aiden kept eye contact. "That is correct."

"So which way, Lord Lacheart?"

Aiden finally took his eyes off her and panned his gaze over everyone present. When he gave his answer, he was not looking at her.

"A show of hands," he said. "Who here doesn't know how to swim?"

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