And with another sharp swing of his sword, he struck the man down where he stood.
The man's body crumpled to the ground, bleeding from the large gush on his side.
Watching their fallen comrade sent a ripple of fear through the remaining rebels. One by one, they began to drop their weapons, the clatter of metal against stone echoing throughout the large campsite.
As the last sword fell, Ragnar stepped back, making sure to remain vigilant in case of any surprise attacks.
He couldn't help but notice the quality of the weapons the rebels had wielded. The blades were skillfully crafted and well-balanced, and the hilts were adorned with intricate designs.
It was unusual for a ragtag group of rebels to possess such finely made weapons.
Ragnar's mind raced with questions. Where had they acquired these weapons? Had they been supplied by a hidden benefactor, or had they raided a well-guarded armory?
The craftsmanship spoke of a skilled blacksmith.
