Odyssey Of Survival

Nate's body tensed the moment he saw one of the men charge toward him, his feet barely making a sound against the grassy ground as he lunged forward with surprising speed. The spear in the man's hands gleamed under the sunlight, its tip sharp and deadly, aimed straight for Nate's chest. But before it could reach him, Nate twisted his body to the side, dodging the strike with ease, his instincts kicking in like second nature.

The man didn't stop there—he quickly adjusted his grip, swinging the spear horizontally in an attempt to slash at Nate's torso. Nate ducked under the attack, his body moving fluidly as he used the momentum of his dodge to close the distance between them. His opponent barely had time to react before Nate's fist shot forward, slamming into his gut with enough force to send him staggering back.

The second man wasted no time in joining the fray, leaping forward with a powerful thrust of his spear aimed directly at Nate's throat. Without thinking, Nate tilted his head to the side, feeling the sharp tip of the weapon graze his cheek as he barely avoided it. The moment his feet touched the ground again, he launched himself at the attacker, grabbing the shaft of the spear before the man could retract it. He yanked it with tremendous force, causing his opponent to stumble forward, off balance.

Nate took full advantage of this, twisting the spear out of the man's grip before flipping it around and striking him across the face with the blunt end. The impact sent the man sprawling to the ground, clutching his jaw in pain. But even as he fell, the first attacker had already recovered and was now coming at Nate again, his movements more cautious this time.

Nate's eyes flicked to his surroundings, analyzing the battlefield in an instant. The terrain was uneven, filled with patches of grass and dirt, making it a little tricky to move at full speed. The two men, though clearly experienced fighters, were slower than him, their attacks predictable. But that didn't mean they weren't dangerous.

As expected, the first man went for another thrust, this time aiming lower, trying to stab Nate in the abdomen. Nate sidestepped the attack at the last second, pivoting on his heel before driving his elbow into the man's ribcage. The force behind the strike sent his opponent skidding back, but Nate didn't stop there.

In a blur of movement, he dropped low, sweeping his leg out in a fast arc. His foot connected with the man's ankle, knocking him completely off balance. The man's body twisted awkwardly in the air before crashing to the ground with a heavy thud. He groaned, trying to push himself back up, but Nate was already on him. He grabbed the fallen spear and slammed its shaft down against the man's chest, pinning him in place.

The second man had gotten back on his feet by then, his face twisted in fury as he lunged at Nate once more, this time without a weapon. His fists swung wildly, his punches fast but undisciplined. Nate dodged the first swing, then the second, his body moving with an almost unnatural grace. When an opening presented itself, he countered with a quick, precise jab to the man's ribs, followed by an uppercut that sent him stumbling backward.

The man growled in frustration, shaking his head to clear the dizziness before rushing forward again. But Nate was faster. He met the charge head-on, sidestepping at the last moment before grabbing the man's arm and twisting it behind his back. With one fluid motion, he kicked the back of the man's knee, forcing him to drop down onto the ground with a pained grunt.

Now with both of them subdued, Nate took a step back, breathing only slightly heavier than before. He glanced down at the two men, who were groaning in pain, their bodies sprawled out on the grass. They were strong, that much was clear, but they were no match for him. Even without his powers, he was still faster, stronger, and far more skilled.

With a slow, deliberate motion, he picked up both spears and pointed them at the two men, his expression unreadable. His gaze hardened as he asked in a low, commanding voice:

"Who are you?"

Nate remained still, his grip firm around the two spears as he held them pointed at the men lying before him, his sharp gaze locking onto their bewildered expressions. Their breathing was ragged, their bodies still tensed from the beating he had just given them, but they were alive—for now. His heart was steady, his mind already calculating his next move. He needed answers.

But before he could utter another word, a sharp, piercing whistle cut through the tense silence.

Nate's muscles tensed as he instinctively turned his head toward the sound, his reflexes already warning him of danger before his mind could fully process it. His eyes widened as he caught sight of an arrow streaking through the air toward him, its tip glinting in the sunlight, fast and deadly. Without hesitation, he dropped both spears, twisting his body to the side in a rapid motion. The arrow whizzed past his face, so close that he felt the wind of its passing brush against his cheek.

And then—

A sickening thud.

Nate's gaze snapped toward the ground just in time to see one of the men he had just defeated go completely still, the arrow now buried deep in his skull. Blood seeped from the wound, staining the earth beneath him. The other man, who had barely managed to push himself up on shaking arms, froze in horror as he watched his comrade die in an instant.

Nate's eyes darkened as he turned his attention to the direction the arrow had come from.

Three figures emerged from the dense foliage ahead, their footsteps silent but their presence undeniable. They were dressed in animal hides like the ones he had just fought, but their attire was slightly different—more refined, more intricate, as if they belonged to a higher rank. Each of them carried weapons—one held a bow, his fingers already reaching for another arrow, while the other two wielded short, curved blades that gleamed under the sun.

The archer stood in the center, his expression cold and unreadable as he pulled another arrow from the quiver on his back. His sharp eyes were trained on Nate, watching his every movement.

For a moment, there was only silence, the weight of the kill settling heavily in the air. Then, surprising even himself, Nate spoke.

"You don't even know who I am," he began, his voice steady but laced with disbelief. "Yet the first thing that comes to your mind is to kill me instantly—"

He stopped.

His eyes widened slightly, his breath hitching as the words left his lips. The language—the way the sounds rolled off his tongue—it wasn't English. It wasn't anything he had ever spoken before. And yet, somehow, it was completely natural.

The realization struck him like a bolt of lightning.

He understood them.

He was speaking their language.

His mind raced as he tried to grasp the reality of it. How? How was this possible? He had never heard this language before, never studied it, never even encountered these people until now. And yet, he had spoken fluently, as if it had been ingrained in him since birth.

The three new men stiffened slightly, their expressions shifting just a fraction as they registered his words. He could tell that they understood him—but they didn't seem to care.

The archer's fingers tightened around the bowstring, his expression unchanged as he raised his weapon once more.

Nate's eyes darkened, a dangerous glint flashing in them. His voice was calm, but there was an unmistakable warning in his tone as he spoke again, his stance shifting slightly as his body prepared for whatever came next.

"I warned you."