Roronoa Zoro— there's a name you've never heard before. You think it's quite odd that you've never heard stories or word of mouth speak of the samurai before you; considering his talents, he must have made a name somewhere, even if not willingly. You watch, entranced, as each of his blades connected with an enemy in a single movement— it really is a shame that his name isn't more well known, every one of his turns is practiced and thought out. His neck twists back to look at you and the blade between his teeth stab through the shoulder of a man looming overhead him.

"You idiot—!" Zoro called out to you, sat there and oblivious to the men who were so obviously sent after you, or maybe it was that you didn't care. Zoro doesn't quite understand the whims of nobles. He's by your side in a second, the sword previously in his mouth retired as he sliced a man that was sneaking up behind you. "Why would you sit around?"

His voice is strained, annoyed and angry as his arm wrapped around your waist and he hoists you up onto his shoulder, sprinting away from the crowd. Your head raised to look at the crowd of enemies that Zoro had left, injured, dead, and still standing— you twisted your head up to look at the vagabond.

It's definitely a little suspicious that you've never heard of a man who uses three swords, especially to his capabilities. But you decide that it was good enough that you've managed to hire the man to protect you as you obliviously navigate the world that had been kept away from you since your birth.