Slavers!

  Grayson was furious with himself as he ran, searching for the trail of the people who attacked the village. His thoughts began spiraling. He should have gone after them straight away. Or he should have gotten here sooner. Or he should have come here before going to sleep. Or he should have...

  "FUCK!" he roared as he ran. Too few people. Not enough bodies. Not enough wounded. Not enough left in the communal building, as they'd called it.

  Grayson had seen slavery. Everyone learned about it in history and the terrible practices that it "justified." He'd gone back and seen it, as many time travelers did to satisfy their curiosity. He'd seen the ships, the men on the docks, the efficiency of business with people as a product. It had made him sick. His neural network had forcibly calmed him and pulled him away before he could do something stupid, dragging him back to his backup location.

  There was no time machine now.

  His neural network wasn't interfering for whatever reason.

  There was nothing to hold him back.

  Except finding the bastards.

  The villagers that were left hadn't seen the direction that they'd gone, so Grayson had to search every direction for people who had almost 5 hours of lead on him. Just catching them should have taken minutes. Instead he was sprinting in a spiral and he knew it would probably be hours. He had no choice. He couldn't risk missing them.

  The sky was just starting to brighten when he came upon the ragged convoy. He heard it first. Laughing and jeers from the slavers, the squeak of wagon wheels, and the noises of animals. Grayson dodged through the trees, slowing down to consider his plan of attack. Assuming these people were humans, he wouldn't have any trouble beating them. He just didn't know what he would do if they started trying to hurt the people from the village.

  Grayson crept forwards, then around the convoy as it continued through the predawn light. They only had two lit torches at the front of the convoy for picking their path. Aside from that, a single dully glowing stone marked the back of each wagon. Grayson counted twelve wagons and more than one hundred men around them. He let his perception expand to include infrared, making it easier to track the men around the convoy.

  Grayson had circled around to the front of the convoy and now waited for it to pass him while he watched. The men were all tall, most wearing light armor of leather and thickly woven cloth and armed with long dull clubs or short swords. The leader was wearing faintly glowing chainmail and a few other men were wearing light robes. They each had the mark of a dragon curled around something on their shoulder.

  Only half of the wagons were full of people, but that still counted to over ninety. The others seemed to be supply wagons. Whoever these people were, they were prepared for a long journey. One that Grayson would not allow them to make.

  He started from the back of the convoy, creeping up and covering the man's mouth while he punched him in the throat. It collapsed easily under Grayson's fist. He caught the man's club as he choked, letting the convoy draw ahead before pulling him to the side and hitting him over the head. He returned, doing the same to the next man, and the next. Over the course of a few minutes, he silently killed five men.

  Someone noticed the silence behind them, turning around to see where the missing men should be. Grayson stood from where he had just killed the fifth man and peered around the tree he'd dragged the man behind. The convoy had stopped and the men were starting to spread into the trees. It was light enough that they didn't need to follow the men with torches anymore, but still dark enough for Grayson to have an advantage. He spotted someone with a sword and crept forwards.

  The swordsman screamed as Grayson hit him with his stolen club. The man's leather armor was nothing to the blow empowered by Grayson's full strength. He grabbed the man's sword and started dashing through the trees. He heard chanting back at the convoy and a strong gust of wind passed just behind him, followed by the sound of cracking timber.

  Grayson's mental state in this moment was all over the place. On the one hand, this was exactly like a simulated fantasy world, right down to the slaver bandits. Hell, someone had just cast a spell at him. On the other hand, it was fucking real. He hadn't properly slept in over twenty four hours at this point, he had spent four hours sewing up real wounds caused by these people. He'd spent more than eight of the last sixteen hours at a full sprint.

  But despite all that, he was more excited than he'd ever been in his life. Real fucking magic. Real slavers. And for once in his time as a tourist, when he saw something vile happening, he could damn well do something about it. It was everything he had wished for every time he'd witnessed an assassination or a war. Every time he'd studied a historical event with the thought "If I'd been there, then..." he'd gone back and seen them all, and he was allowed to do nothing.

  Not this time.

  The bandits were shouting. People on the wagons were screaming. Magic flew through the trees around Grayson as he ran. His stolen sword was a weapon of justice, smiting the wicked. His eyes gleamed, seeing through the predawn light as if it was day, tracking villain after villain. He collected more weapons as he ran, stuffing them under one arm.

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  A bandit tried to run for one of the wagons full of captives. He threw his sword at the man and it hit his chest, slamming him into the wagon. Grayson pulled another sword from under his arm and continued his rampage. A bolt of fire struck at his chest, but he slashed through it with his blade and it dissipated harmlessly. Lightning arced from one of the robed men to his new sword and Grayson's only response was to hurl it at the man.

  The leader of the convoy came for him now, drawing his own sword. Not just his chainmail, but now his whole body was glowing. He seemed to grow slightly as he charged, a longsword in one hand and the other drawing metallic dust from a pouch at his waist. Grayson dodged behind a tree as the dust grew into large steel blades and flew at him before stepping out the other side and throwing a club from his small stolen cache. The leader slapped it out of the way with his sword and kept coming, reaching into the pouch again.

  Grayson dropped all but the last two swords from what he stole and charged forwards to meet the bandit leader. The fight was brief and one-sided. As the leader threw more powder, Grayson rolled under the attack, nicking himself with one of his swords as he did, but struck as he rose, stabbing the leader in the thigh. As the leader went to stab him back, Grayson slapped his sword away with his off-hand blade before returning to stab him in the chest.

  The chainmail broke with a flash, it's glow briefly flaring before seeming to burn out. Grayson's sword went through the man's heart. The leader tried one more strike, but Grayson let go of the swords he'd left in the man and caught the feeble attack by the wrist. He took the longsword from the leader, then turned to resume his holy task. It was mere moments before Grayson's crusade came to an end, the last of the bandits slain.

  Grayson walked over to the wagons, speaking a holy word that smote the locks on the cages. The people of the village rushed out, gathering to the side and kneeling. Many were praying, giving thanks to the Avatar of Justice. The influence on Grayson's mind faded and he wretched into the dirt.

  Well done Grayson. Thank you.

  The message seemed to come from his neural network, but instead of the feeling of self that normally marked such things it was feminine. In some indescribable way, he knew they weren't from him or his neural network. He had no time to unpack this as he witnessed the past few minutes from his own perspective. He'd never killed anyone before tonight. Now one hundred men lay dead in the forest around him.

  A feeling of calm rapidly suffused him as his network took hold of his whirling emotions. He was able to prioritize, and the most important thing was to get these people home. None of the beasts that pulled the wagons had run, so they wouldn't have to walk. He'd have to see if anyone could drive a wagon.

  Grayson's deliberate lack of self-introspection came to an end when a young woman in slightly torn robes stepped up to him. She knelt in front of him and bowed.

  "Thank you, lord of Justice, deliverer of the verdict, for saving us. We beg the lord's forgiveness, but could you see us safely to our village? We know there must be many more of the wicked for you to be here in person, and fear we may not return safely on our own."

  "This one will guide you home." The voice came from Grayson's mouth, but it wasn't his. It was as though his voice was resonating with that of a woman, smoother than silk and harder than diamonds. The young woman in front of Grayson trembled as she heard the voice. She looked into Grayson's eyes with a look of pure joy on her face.

  "Thank you, divine one. I will forever be your servant."

  Grayson blinked, realizing that he was actually in control of his brain again and shook his head to clear it. A series of queries to his neural network caught him up on the last few seconds and he swore. The woman kneeling before him blinked in surprise, then bowed her head again.

  "I am Fera, priestess of divine Perimis, the goddess of justice. Thank you, crusader, for your work tonight. I can only shudder to think what our destinies would have been should Perimis not have heard our prayers."

  "I, uh, would have come anyway. There was no way I could let something like this happen." Grayson stumbled over his words. The local language was still unfamiliar, yet somehow felt more right in his mind than his own did.

  "Then it is no wonder my Lady saw you." Fera looked up at Grayson, her eyes and smile wide. She looked a little manic.

  "Anyway... let's get back to the village. Everyone there will be anxious to see you return. Please find a few people who are able to drive a wagon. We don't need the cages, so I'll remove them."

  "Yes, Lord Crusader!" Fera replied, standing and getting ready to run off.

  "And Fera?" The woman turned. The first rays of dawn's light poked through the trees. One seemed to shine on her like a halo.

  "Yes, Lord Crusader?" She asked.

  "Just call me Grayson, ok?"

  Fera's almost manic eyes softened and her smile went from a little crazy to something genuinely beautiful. With a halo of dawn's light surrounding her face, it's light seemed dim compared to her smile. She was covered in dirt, and there were flecks of blood on her robes from the fight, but in that moment she looked almost like an angel.

  "Ok, Grayson." She turned and jogged to start shouting at everyone and get them onto the wagons. She had a good voice for shouting, Grayson mused. Every now and then, she'd turn back to him as if looking for approval. Grayson just nodded absently whenever she did, lost in his own thoughts.

  really wouldn't work to try and write a fantasy version of the original, especially not at this point.