In the alley, close to Mr Smith's house, facing the unknown man who was about to attack me for no reason, I didn't stick around for the execution.

  The moment I heard his boots scrape the dirt to lunge at me, I spun on my heels and sprinted.

  Just as I took a few steps, I immediately ducked hard to my front-left, rolling toward a pile of loose, jagged rocks scattered in the dirt.

  Scrambling close, I snatched them up before turning and violently hurling them at him with every ounce of strength I had.

  Whoosh..!

  The heavy stones tore through the air one after another, forcing him to weave and dodge, buying me a precious fraction of a second.

  I vaulted back to my feet and threw myself at a nearby wooden fence, scrambling over it as if I'd been a parkour master my whole life. I dropped into some stranger's property and kept my legs pumping.

  Since I knew a seasoned swordsman like him was definitely faster and vastly stronger than me, slowing his momentum was my only play.

  If I could just stall him long enough to reach the central training field where the armed guards were stationed, I might actually live.

  Driven by that desperate hope, I kept running, only to hear the heavy thud of his boots hitting the wood as he scaled the fence behind me.

  He was just stepping up to cross it, lifting his head to track his prey, when suddenly a jagged, uneven rock materialised right in front of his face.

  Whoosh..!

  I had thrown it faster and harder than any other rocks.

  Caught straddling the fence with zero freedom to manoeuvre, he immediately jerked his head to dodge. But the projectile was far too fast and perfectly timed; it grazed his left cheek, just an inch from his eye.

  Thwack..!

  The sickening crack of stone hitting bone made him recoil in shock for a split second.

  Immediately recovering, he vaulted the rest of the fence, dropping into the backyard, his hand flying to his cheek to find warm blood.

  Pure, blinding rage eclipsed whatever restraint he had left; he instantly ripped his bone-forged sword from its sheath, making up his mind as he looked at me.

  Back when I had initially left Smith's house, injured and paranoid, I had mentally mapped out this exact route. I knew that the first murderer attack in the village was bad luck, but if I walked blindly into another slaughter again without preparing to fight back, I was just a suicidal idiot.

  So while walking to the central field, I had actively memorised every piece of debris, every corner, and every potential weapon on this path.

  The initial barrage of rocks was nothing but a frantic decoy. The real, lethal strike was the sharp stone I had palmed while throwing the others to use when the enemy is in a situation where he can't dodge.

  The moment that second rock drew blood, knowing my plan worked, I turned and bolted. I veered hard right, scrambled over the property line fence again and hit the main road, before my boots started pounding the dirt.

  But I barely took three steps when,

  Bhoom..!

  A deafening explosion of splintering wood shattered the air.

  The maniac burst straight through the solid fence, his bone sword gripped tightly in both hands.

  He had literally used a combat sword technique to obliterate the fence and was already closing the distance.

  Realising my hunter was terrifyingly stronger than I had calculated, I pushed my burning lungs to the absolute limit.

  I sprinted down the alley street, his heavy, rhythmic footsteps getting closer and closer. My plan was good, but it still couldn't match my bad luck as I soon hit a sharp crossroad.

  Knowing a hard turn would completely kill my momentum, my eyes locked onto the wooden fence dead ahead.

  'I don't have time to climb it. Can I clear it with a running jump?' A question came to my mind.

  'Yes,' my mind supplied instantly.

  Putting my entire life on that split-second calculation, I accelerated. Hitting the jump zone, I launched myself into the air.

  Swish..!

  But just when I thought I could cross it, my pathetic, untrained body couldn't match the plan my mind had made. My shins clipped the top of the wood, sending me tumbling out of control.

  But, by pure luck, my momentum carried me over the threshold, dropping me hard into another backyard as I rolled wildly through the dirt to bleed off the bone-breaking impact. It was then,

  Bhoom..!

  Another explosive shockwave erupted behind me as the swordsman blew through the fence behind me, spreading splinters all around.

  Knowing my running days were over, I immediately scrambled out of my roll, dug my boots into the dirt, and spun to face my executioner.

  But turning around, the next thing I saw was the lethal arc of a vertical sword slash descending directly toward my skull.

  Instantly using all my control, I threw my entire body to the right, rolling frantically out of the drop zone, dodging while the heavy bone blade cleaved into the solid earth, burying its tip and stalling his momentum for a crucial heartbeat.

  Immediately I sprang from the dirt and not waiting even a second I launched myself at him, throwing a desperate, straight punch aimed right at his face.

  The swordsman read the amateur strike effortlessly, not even bothering to sidestep. He simply leaned back, letting my fist cut through empty air.

  But just as a smug victory settled in his cold eyes and he thought he had dodged it, my clenched fingers snapped open. A blinding fistful of coarse dirt and sand exploded directly into his face.

  Caught completely off guard by the dirty street tactic, the grit coated his eyes before he could react.

  Blinded and panicked, he roared and swung his sword in a massive, horizontal death arc, forcing me to throw myself backwards.

  I moved fast, but his blade was faster.

  Whoosh..!

  The razor edge hissed through the wind and bit into my left chest, drawing a fresh line of fire across my skin.

  I staggered back, ignoring the burning pain, and frantically scanned the debris.

  Soon my hands found a massive, jagged splinter of wood from the fence he had just annihilated. I hoisted the makeshift spear and levelled it at him.

  Refusing to give him a second to clear his vision, I charged. I drove the jagged stake forward, aiming to impale him.

  But the bastard's instincts were monstrous; the moment I closed the gap, he parried, swatting my heavy wooden stake aside with a flick of his sword, instantly countering with a brutal thrust, the tip of his blade puncturing my shoulder as I got back again.

  Screaming through the pain, I once again went at him as I swung the wood in a wild horizontal arc.

  This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  He blocked it effortlessly and retaliated with a vicious overhead chop which I barely survived by rolling desperately to my left, scrambling up, and re-engaging.

  I thrust the stake again, and once again, he swatted it away. But this time, he realised the heavy wood that hit his blade was nothing but a decoy I had thrown directly at his weapon.

  A split second later, a barrage of smaller, jagged splinters rained down on his face.

  Whoosh..!Whoosh..!

  Realising the monster could fight perfectly fine blind just by tracking my main weapon, I completely shifted my strategy.

  I started hurling shrapnel exclusively at his face.

  He could defend against a spear with his eyes closed, but could he block a dozen projectiles flying from every chaotic angle?.

  Whoosh..!Whoosh..!

  I circled him like a rabid dog, continuously hurling sharp debris at his head.

  Terrifyingly, the blind swordsman kept dodging and deflecting with his sword, his spatial awareness sharpening with every volley. He locked into a flawless defensive rhythm.

  Continuing my assault, I grabbed three large chunks of jagged wood and threw them in rapid succession at his face faster than before.

  Whoosh..!Whoosh..!Whoosh..!

  Sensing that, he shifted into a rigid stance. The next second his blade became a blur, flawlessly cutting all three wooden projectiles out of the air.

  But right when he parried the 3rd splinter, a sickening, sharp agony exploded in his back. He realised far too late that a jagged wooden stake had been driven deep into his flesh.

  When I threw the splinters confusing his senses, I had circled entirely behind him while the three decoys kept his blade busy, plunging my makeshift spear straight into his back.

  Screaming in pain, he staggered forward, whipped around, and dropped into a murderous fighting stance once again.

  But I wasn't sticking around to finish a duel I couldn't win.

  I bolted for the massive hole in the fence, before reaching the road. I naturally assumed a deep puncture wound to the back would cripple him or at least force him to stop and recover.

  I was dead wrong.

  He exploded after me, hunting me down like a wounded predator, both of us leaving a massive trail of fresh blood in the dirt.

  I logically thought he would bleed out faster, considering his wound was vastly more critical than my simple wounds of slashed chest and shoulder.

  Instead, as if tapping into some insane, superhuman reserve, his speed doubled.

  In a blink, he was directly behind me, the cold edge of his bone sword sweeping cleanly toward my exposed neck.

  Whoosh..!

  The executioner's strike was far too fast to dodge. But then,

  Crang..!

  A deafening ring of colliding weapons shattered the air.

  The blade stopped an inch from severing my neck. I collapsed forward, spinning around to see a stranger standing over me, his own sword locked against my killer's.

  The newcomer possessed an aura of pure authority as the two warriors locked eyes.

  The enraged chaser initially looked completely ready to butcher the new guy too, but his sight having recovered, staring into those icy, unblinking eyes, he suddenly froze.

  The psycho sheathed his blade without any question and the stranger coldly asked him,

  "Fhfhd gjfj kfjf?"

  The chaser immediately gave an answer.

  "Fhfhdhs dhd jdjf. Jfjf jjgcn jjff,"

  I didn't understand a single syllable of their alien exchange. Clinging to the desperate hope that at least this new guy preferred talking over slaughter, I stared at him, my muscles coiled to run again.

  I wanted to bolt, but my wounds were weeping heavy blood. If I sprinted now, my heart would pump the rest of my life into the dirt before I made it far.

  I looked up at my saviour with a pathetic sliver of hope. He slowly turned his cold gaze to me and asked,

  "Dgdhd fhfh jfhh?".

  My hope flatlined. 'I'm fucked again! Now he's going to draw his weapon and finish the job,' I thought bitterly,

  "Before you bastards kill me, at least tell me the reason why, in a language I can fucking understand," I spat, fully exhausted.

  Hearing my frustrated English, the stranger blinked in genuine confusion before taking a deliberate step toward me.

  Knowing escape was mathematically impossible, I didn't even twitch. He loomed over me and asked again.

  "Fufjfh fjjfj hdjdj? Djdjnd jdjx jdhb?".

  But this time, the psychic translation snapped into place, my eyes widening in shock. I clearly heard the words in my skull: "Who are you? And what were you doing at Old Smith's house?"

  I answered without hesitation. "Just a stranger who got injured and almost died, only to be saved by Mr Smith yesterday." "I was just going there to ask if he had any jobs for me"

  His brow furrowed. "Then why did you fight him?"

  The pure absurdity of the question ignited a flash of hot anger in my chest. "What do you mean, fight him? That crazy psycho was the one who didn't understand a damn word I said and unsheathed his sword to kill me a second later!" I yelled. "All I did was try to run away using any trick I could find just to survive!"

  Hearing my truth, the stranger shot a genuinely pissed-off glare at the chaser before turning back to me.

  "I think there was a severe misunderstanding on his side. I will apologise on his behalf. Please, let's end this conflict here,"

  He reached into his leather coat, produced a small pill, and handed it to me.

  "Please take this. It's a low-grade healing pill, enough to heal your current injuries," he promised. "Also, it would be highly helpful if you didn't say anything to the climbers' association about this. I will compensate you fairly later. What do you say?"

  Hearing that, I snatched the pill and swallowed it dry. I was absolutely livid, but my pride was currently bleeding out on the dirt, so I swallowed my anger too.

  I didn't even care if it was poison; a warrior of his calibre didn't need to poison me when he could just take my head off.

  The second the pill hit my stomach, the agonising pain dulled. My core temperature spiked dramatically. My heart hammered like a piston, forcefully pumping blood directly toward my wounds as my biological healing process shifted into impossible overdrive.

  Feeling the flesh knit together, I glared at him and asked,

  "Can you at least tell me why he tried to kill me?"

  Hesitating for a moment, he decided it was better to answer.

  "We are the disciples of Lady Sylvia. The leader of the Eternal Sword guild, which is one of the four great guilds of the city," he revealed.

  "Our master is a very close friend of Mr Old Smith. So, before going into secluded training, she specifically asked us to watch over Mr Smith in case someone tried to mess with him"

  "Seeing an unknown stranger like you leave his house early this morning, and seeing you approach again now, he assumed there was a problem"

  "He asked you for your reason. But not understanding your language, he stupidly assumed you had no intention of explaining yourself, labelled you an enemy, and attacked". The stranger sighed, continuing

  "Actually, it's my fault for sending an amateur subordinate who can't control his anger to handle a job he isn't good at, so please forgive me"

  The stranger's explanation clicked several pieces into place. I distinctly remembered the other guild leaders mentioning a mysterious fourth great guild.

  So these armed stalkers belonged to that very guild and were running a creepy protection detail on Mr Smith?

  I felt complicated about their trigger-happy methods, but bleeding out in an alley wasn't the time to critique their protocol.

  "Well, what's done is done," I grunted, pulling myself to my feet. "So can I at least go to Mr Smith's house now?"

  The stranger nodded apologetically. "Of course. It was our mistake to stop the person Mr Smith himself saved and healed. You can definitely go now. "

  I didn't linger for a second longer, nor did I bother asking for his name. Feeling my wounds seal tight and the bleeding stop entirely, I turned my back on the psychopaths and resumed my march toward Old Smith's home.

  Eventually, I stood before the sturdy front door of Mr Smith's house. I raised my fist to knock, but before my knuckles hit the wood, a psychic voice echoed directly inside my skull.

  "That door is closed. Walk to the backyard of the house through the right side. There is a door close to a small pond, and it is open. You can enter from there".

  I immediately recognised the intentional manipulation of Mr Old Smith.

  Following the mental instructions, I navigated around the property, located the backdoor by the water, and let myself in.

  Moving through the quiet halls as directed, I entered an empty room located off the main corridor. Once in, there I saw a dark set of wooden steps leading downward into a basement.

  'Is Mr Smith a psycho killer?' I legitimately wondered, peering into the gloom. But realising he had me dead to rights yesterday and chose to save me instead, I suppressed my paranoia and descended into the basement.

  Reaching the bottom, my enhanced mind rapidly processed the hidden room.

  At the far end stood three massive, stove-like furnaces. The centre one roared with an intense fire, likely fed by the heavy gas cylinder connected to its base.

  Sitting directly atop the blazing stove was an iron cauldron filled with a boiling potion.

  To the left of the furnaces sat a heavy, scarred table loaded with an arsenal of tools, primarily consisting of various-sized blacksmithing hammers.

  To the right of the furnaces sat a huge, battered anvil, the unmistakable workbench of a master blacksmith.

  The realisation hit me perfectly: this entire basement was a fully equipped, underground smithy.

  Sitting casually in a wooden chair near the tool table, chewing on his ever-present cigar, was Old Smith.

  He glanced my way, his eyes widening in shock as he took in my torn, blood-soaked clothes.

  "What happened?" he asked, genuine concern leaking into his tone.

  "Oh, nothing much," I replied, flashing a morbid, exhausted smile. " You know, my usual, just another guy trying to kill me"

  I watched him freeze, the cigar pausing midway to his mouth, utterly stumped by the humour of my cursed reality.