The bandits and the caravan guards started their fighting with their swords and shields.

  The silent cold ground and the road became a pce that roars of two different sides that mixed together.

  While the first skirmish has started. Marcus noticed something interesting.

  As a modern-day individual, he has never been in a middle-age battle. The only battles and fights that he had encountered were basically battles between drunk people and street fights.

  What he had noticed was that it was heavier than he expected and saw in the movies.

  "Also..."

  "Either bandits or the caravan guards—they are weirdly masterful in their footwork and do not act like people who do not value their lives."

  "They take their time and just csh and wait until they find an opening."

  "This is something interesting and new."

  Marcus understood that these people were real and did live in the world and valued their life.

  Nobody was dumb enough to just attack fifteen people and die.

  He took a deep breath and then kept on observing the behind and the people.

  "Twenty caravan guards at the front, the people who are able to fight that in the carriages protect both sides."

  "It is like they know what to do."

  "Living in Skyrim makes people have some sort of a life experience against bandit attacks and such..."

  Marcus could not help but notice that the bandits were not trying to pass but just stall time.

  It been twenty to thirty seconds but nobody died or harmed much.

  "You are not going to attack my caravan..." said the caravan master just a few meters behind the back of the guards.

  "Why risk it!" he then added, trying to reason with the bandits to leave them.

  The caravan master did not really expect that such a small bandit group, at least twenty to twenty-five men, would attack a caravan of a hundred people.

  It does not make any sense.

  "If..."

  "They must have another pn too." Caravan Master thought.

  He then turned to look at Marcus and then asked.

  "Mister Mage..."

  "Do you have any idea what these bandits are doing? They are not taking too much offensive and just trying to stall time and block the way."

  Marcus nodded.

  "Yeah."

  "I noticed it too."

  "I suppose they have a pn."

  "We should be careful of our back and the sides."

  Marcus then nodded to Caravan and then started walking back. He passed the other people and noticed the look in their eyes.

  Anxious but not scared,

  "People of Tamriel are really different kinds of people..." he thought and then walked way behind.

  "I do not notice anything..." as he whispered, and then for a moment, he heard a flicker of sound and then turned right.

  An iron arrow was coming straight at him; his speed and reaction time were not enough to dodge it.

  The iron arrow hit him in the chest but then dropped on the ground.

  "It hurts..." He touched his chest.

  He felt like he got hit by a punch on his chest.

  "If not for the Oakflesh, I would be killed."

  He looked at where the arrow came from and then shouted.

  "Here."

  "There is another group attacking."

  The people who were at the sides of their carriage, protecting the sides and their family and assets, heard Marcus's words and then shouted to notify everyone.

  In four seconds, by shouts, Caravan Master heard it, and then he ordered his people.

  "Ten of you, go back to support the back; we will hold the front."

  "This is no small act of some bandits. Whoever these bandits are, they must be known to people..."

  At this point, Caravan Master already got that things are not looking great and the enemy is not just some bandits but more than likely a group belonging to a more sophisticated bandit organization too powerful to be just called bandits and low-lifes.

  With more caravan guards arriving at the back, one of the guards looked at the arrow on the ground and then shouted.

  "The ones who have shields, come to the front."

  "There are archers."

  "The archers and people who are able to use bows and arrows, come back and shoot at the snow-covered bushes."

  "They must be hiding, wearing white pelts." The caravan guard seemed more experienced than the others and started ordering people.

  With his orders, people moved quickly, and Marcus closed his eyes for a moment and drank a small health potion; it was the simplest potion he had and not that powerful as he finished it.

  The dull pain in his chest vanished, and he felt great.

  "My first time using the potions I made," he thought and then noticed an enemy.

  "I see you," he said, and then his hands started glowing.

  The bandit, who was seven to ten meters away from him in the left corner, hiding among the bushes, started rushing at him with a steel dagger.

  Marcus did not hesitate and then from both of his hands.

  Fires erupted and then started roaring towards the dagger-wielding bandit.

  "It burns!!"

  "It hurts."

  "Stop it..."

  Just two to three seconds ter, after two steps, the bandit started burning and screaming in pain, gathering some of the attention of the guards, but they still kept their vigince and fought back against the other bandits that kept showing up and shooting the enemy archers.

  "Please, I beg you."

  "I yield!"

  "I yield!"

  "For the love of Talos, stop burning me !"

  "Please !"

  "Pleaseeeee !!"

  The bandit kept on shouting, but Marcus did not listen; he used his fmes in both hands for more than four seconds and then stopped it.

  On the ground, the meat of the bandit melted off; he was kept on screaming and crying.

  It was a pretty wretched look.

  Marcus felt different and then ran back for a moment to vomit from the state of the man.

  It was too brutal too violent for him to experience.

  "It seems like these people are not capable of tanking fmes like in the game."

  "The smell, the screams—all of them pretty disturbing for a man like me who has never experienced such things."

  "I never thought about it; it would be this hard to take a life."

  While Marcus thought about these, the experienced caravan guard took one of the bows of his men and one of the arrows and shot the burned man who was on the ground and kept on screaming for mercy in the head.

  Killing him.

  It was more of a mercy kill than a finishing move.