The skilled human traffickers weren't pushovers; Zhang Da Ye, still a beginner, couldn't knock them down with a single strike. Instead, they blocked his sword with practiced precision.
As Zhang Da Ye swung, he realized their strength wasn't overwhelming—disproportionate to their size—and the blocker even grinned without immediately counterattacking. Zhang Da Ye had prepared for a counter, planning his next move to avoid being overwhelmed.
Since the enemy didn't strike back, he kept pressing, swinging again and again. The trafficker began to struggle and grow frustrated.
Zhang Da Ye gradually found his rhythm, though he still couldn't finish him off. Luckily, he gained the upper hand in his first real sword fight. Normally, his chaotic fighting style wouldn't allow such control, and training with Artoria didn't involve throwing furniture around.
Used to defending after his first strike, he almost forgot how to attack proactively. Now, with the advantage, he felt a bit awkward.
"I thought you were a king-level, or at least diamond… but just silver?" Zhang Da Ye mused. Facing Artoria and Tom often, he assumed he could only handle small thugs. This trafficker was only slightly stronger than a common thug.
Deciding to test his magic, he shouted: "Split the Mountain!"—though it was merely a downward strike with a magical boost.
*Clang!*
"Ah!" The trafficker hastily blocked with his sword, feeling a sharp sting in his hand. His weapon slipped, and a deep slash appeared on his chest.
Zhang Da Ye stared in surprise. Without much force, his strike disarmed the enemy, even chipping the blade—a strange sensation.
Meanwhile, Artoria was busy fighting six opponents simultaneously. She always fought at full strength, and only after days of sparring with Zhang Da Ye had she learned to pace herself against novices.
Tom, restless, peeked around. Not wanting to disturb Zhang Da Ye's training or provoke the intimidating Peterman, he decided to poke an attacker harassing Artoria.
"Ow~ oh~ hoho~~~" The man yelped, clutching his backside and leaping three feet into the air.
Landing, he jumped out of the fray, glaring at Tom.
Seeing this, Tom lost his fear, raised his fencing stance, and even wore an expectant grin.
"Die, you brat!" Infuriated at being mocked by a cat, the attacker forgot Tom was alive, swinging his sword recklessly.
"Ah ha!" Tom laughed, deflecting the blade and stabbing the man's knee.
The next moment, he knelt as an arrow skimmed his head, giving him a middle-part hairstyle and taking his black hat.
The arrow didn't stop there; with the hat in tow, it struck the enemy's other knee.
Peterman had anticipated that the tavern girl's guard was strong, considered Tom negligible, and assumed the tavern owner was the weakest—so he boldly led his men in.
He didn't expect the seemingly frail girl to instantly defeat two of his men while holding her own against five or six others. Even the cat could wield a sword!
Regretting not sneaking in and attacking stealthily, he realized it was too late. His subordinates were in a frenzy, and as leader, his primary goal was still to capture the cat.
He quickly drew an arrow, aiming for Tom's shoulder. Confident, he believed his aim wouldn't miss. He released.
Tom, with abundant experience in avoiding ambushes, ducked—though not perfectly—grazing his scalp and exposing his bald patch.
The arrow, affected by their relative positions, struck the enemy's knee instead. The unlucky man, now pierced in the left knee and stabbed in the right, screamed in agony.
Peterman, dissatisfied, readied a second arrow: "Was that luck? How about now?"
Tom noticed the culprit for his bald head, glaring fiercely with steam from his nostrils. He stomped the ground and advanced.
Peterman felt an unusual guilt, shaking his head. "I'm a human trafficker, daily wrongdoer… why feel guilty now?"
Tom approached step by step, deflecting arrows nonchalantly. Peterman fired four more arrows at his limbs, believing them to be his ultimate shots.
Yet Tom's stride remained unchanged, swinging his rapier casually.
*"Ah!!!!"* five times. Each arrow struck the five men attacking Artoria, all clutching their rear ends, leaping high, and suspended midair momentarily.
(A/N : "Writing the main fight is dull; Tom is far more fun. Maybe he should be recast as the main character…")