But they were already upon them.
Four rough-looking men, their faces hardened and cruel, emerged from the surrounding trees. They brandished rusty swords and wicked-looking knives.
"Alright, brats," one of them sneered, his eyes glinting in the firelight. "Give it up. Anything of value."
Leonotis knew these weren't just hungry villagers. These were real bandits, the kind who wouldn't hesitate to kill them even after they surrendered.
His mind raced. He remembered a complex, ten-strike technique Gethii used to practice alone by the clinic, a fluid dance of parries and thrusts. He hadn't been formally taught it, but he had watched, memorized, and practiced the movements in secret.
He gripped his new root-sword, took a deep breath, and charged.
He moved faster than he thought possible, his body remembering the sequence. He knocked out the first bandit with three swift blows to the head before the man even registered his approach.
The second bandit lunged with a knife, but Leonotis parried the attack with the root-sword, the impact jarring his arm. The next four strikes flowed seamlessly, a whirlwind of motion, and the second bandit crumpled to the ground with a sharp gasp, clutching his gut.
Now the other two bandits were on him, and Leonotis knew his memorized sequence only had two strikes left.
Low, meanwhile, had scrambled to gather her rocks. Just as the largest bandit moved in for the kill, Low hurled a stone. It struck the bandit in the back of the head, throwing him off balance.
Leonotis seized the opportunity, thrusting his root-sword towards the bandit's chest, the hard wood connecting solidly and sending the man sprawling with a grunt of pain. He then swung down with all his might, the heavy root connecting with the man's shoulder, further incapacitating him.
The last bandit stared at his fallen comrades, his eyes wide with disbelief.
"Unbelievable," he muttered. He drew a throwing knife and flung it at Leonotis.
Leonotis dodged the knife, but a second one was already hurtling towards him. Just as it was about to strike, a rock slammed into the knife, deflecting it, but not enough.
The knife struck Leonotis's shoulder, a searing pain shooting through him.
"Argh!" he cried out, but he still stood his ground, his root-sword held defensively.
The last bandit, realizing he was outnumbered and outmatched, decided to cut his losses.
"You haven't seen the last of me, brats!" he snarled before disappearing into the darkness.
Jacqueline rushed to Leonotis, who had fallen to his knees, clutching his bleeding shoulder. She gently pulled the knife out.
"Argh!" Leonotis yelled again, the pain sharp and immediate.
After a quick examination, Jacqueline's brow furrowed with concern, but she seemed to find some relief. She placed her hands over the wound, said a few magic words, and the water in her canteen began to glow with a soft, ethereal light. She poured the glowing water over Leonotis's shoulder.
It was strong healing magic; the bleeding immediately slowed and a small scar was all that was left.
"Thank you," Leonotis said, surprised this young girl's magic seemed stronger than Chinakah's.
Jacqueline looked at him and then at Low, her blue eyes wide with admiration. "You two… you're amazing fighters. My friends were…" She trailed off, her voice catching.
Low, ever practical, was already stripping the fallen bandits of anything useful. She gathered a few coins, some rough blankets, and a map of the area. "We've got supplies for the road now," she said, her voice matter-of-fact.
Leonotis looked at the still bodies. "Are they… dead?"
Low shook her head. "No. Just… very much out of the fight. Which is why we need to move. Now."