When Clayton shouted his question, the ragged group of gaunt strangers exchanged glances—then broke into smug, victorious grins.
"Isn't it obvious? We want your valuables," one of them sneered.
They had clearly noticed how weakened Clayton was and saw the perfect opportunity to strike.
"That's right. Just hand them over, and we promise we won't kill you," another added with mock sympathy.
Clayton felt cornered. His earlier spectacle with the sword had clearly drawn attention. The fact that he had managed to pull it farther than anyone else marked him as someone special—someone carrying something valuable.
Considering that, he asked, half-curious, "Aren't you afraid I'll come back for revenge?"
They scoffed at the idea.
"Hah! How would you take revenge if you're dead?"
"Enough talk—get him!"
The group lunged from all directions, unleashing a chaotic flurry of uncoordinated attacks.
Clayton sighed and shook his head. "Seriously… why are people always this stubborn?"
