With just a knife
Victor watched as the hunter with the club stuck a foot in the ground, his face contorted in pain as he stared in disbelief at the thorn in his foot. Blood dripped onto the dirty floor of the warehouse, mixing with the smell of rust and oil.
"You bastard!" the man growled, his voice filled with hatred and a few tears. He struggled to pull his foot out of the thorn, but the pain almost prevented him from moving.
This was one opportunity Victor had been looking for. These hired hunters were the strongest in this camp and the only ones who actually posed a little problem, so Victor had to take them out whenever he had the chance.