Before he could get a good look at the battlefield, a dull thud exploded by his ear.
Roland whipped his head around to see a rickety wooden ladder propped against the edge of the wall.
A tattered rioter was scrambling up it. Under the moonlight, his rust-spotted Hand Axe glinted with a cold, sinister light.
Seeing this, a burly Guard immediately drew his sword to engage.
Watching the rioter's clumsy swings, the Guard smirked contemptuously, his Iron Sword held steady in a defensive stance.
'In my experience,' he thought, 'a brute-force chop like this can be easily parried, creating a perfect opportunity for a counter-kill.'
"CLANG!"
The jarring sound of metal striking metal pierced the night sky.
The confidence on the Guard's face instantly froze.
The force from the axe blade was far greater than he had imagined.
The webbing of his thumb went numb and a sharp pain shot through his wrist. The force had knocked his Iron Sword aside, leaving his chest wide open.
