The moment he heard the question “What are you?” Enkrid responded by smashing the man to the ground. As first greetings went, it was fairly violent.
Better than lopping off his head right away, wasn't it? Enkrid thought so. As long as no one died, it was fine.
If it turned out to be a misunderstanding? Then he'd just apologize. That was all.
So he hadn't killed him. That alone showed he'd been considerate.
But.
“Hm?”
Truthfully, he was a little surprised.
Wham!
The man he'd slammed headfirst into the ground had swung his mace even while lying crumpled on the floor. He didn't pass out? Enkrid released his grip on the opponent's face and stepped back.
As he sprang upright from his half-bent stance, the wielder of the mace he'd knocked down swung it through the spot Enkrid had occupied.
“You crazy son of a bitch!”
The man who'd been on the floor erupted in rage. He seemed thoroughly incensed. His face was flushed red, and he huffed and snorted through his nostrils.
“Do you have any idea who I am!”
He spoke again. Enkrid wiped the sweat from his forehead, calmly shifted his steps, planted himself in front of the child with the broken leg, and opened his mouth.
“Kidnappers?”
Everyone just stared blankly. It was that absurd. Alma, who had been watching Enkrid's actions in plain sight, shot to his feet.