The attackers closed in, their long swords glinting in the harsh sunlight. Nine of them, moving with a kind of coordination that came from experience.
They spread out in a loose semicircle, cutting off any easy escape routes. Their eyes were fixed on the animals, on the wagons, on the promise of wealth that the caravan represented.
Darion watched them. He could almost feel his undeads in his inventory, waiting to be summoned. He could end this fight in seconds. A thought, a command, and the Yuimons would tear these men apart.
But he hesitated.
Not because he was afraid. Not because he didn't want to fight either. He hesitated because he was thinking ahead. He was thinking about the wagon men, about the stories they would tell when they returned to their homes.
They traveled across kingdoms, carrying goods and animals for so many different lords. They talked.
