"Very well."

This is, after all, what I wanted to do in the first place. There is no reason to hesitate when I was ready to kill Valheim's dogs from the very beginning.

I tilt my body forward, one hand sliding to the hilt of my blade---

And then I throw myself towards the patrol.

It's trivial. It's simple. There's no way that they're prepared enough for another angle of attack when they've already been ambushed. They clearly were not pursuing our patrol, and thus they are not prepared for us as opponents.

I will take full advantage of this.

But first, I need to locate the radio.

As the figures of the Valheim dogs loom closer in the darkness, my eyes rush over their forms. I have to take in their equipment as quickly as possible, to register my target before he can understand what is occurring. 

Sword. Rifle. Dagger. None of those weapons are what I am looking for.

---There. The black object gripped in one gloved hand, raising towards the soldier's mouth.

He is within reach. A few paces away.

My legs tighten as I hurl myself forward. I won't allow him to contact any reinforcements.

He opens his mouth as I reach him. His eyes shift, I can see his gaze coming to rest on my form.

He was not likely prepared to be attacked so immediately. Near the center of their formation, even in the chaos of an ambush, he likely believed he had a moment to contact his allies.

My sword descends, and in a stream of crimson his hand is parted from his wrist, carrying his communications device with it.

I do not allow him to scream.