The answer to the question of experienced fighters was 'not many'. Not a lot of demand for fighters in a usually quiet farming village, far away from aether blooms and book-ended by two towns that garrisoned the militias drawn from the local villages.
There were two men and a woman with any fighting experience of note, both men being of middle age and retired from mandatory militia service, the woman was, interestingly enough an ex show-fighter who had retired mid-career to take care of her ailing father. Skilled enough in a less-lethal fight — no pit fights were without real risk, but little experience outside a dirt ring where she'd agreed to the opponent. At least the show fights weren't all against bipeds — beast fights were popular — she'd done a few bouts against various Brin, and a group melee against a single Taurian Ber'Dunn — they'd lost handily. Hoofdily? It was difficult to be sure what the preferred nomenclature was sometimes. He'd resolved many an argument borne out of unintentional offense with a beer and an apology — it was a lot cheaper than having to see a local healer.
As for weaponry, aside from Novek's own miscellany there was a wide selection of farming implements and some family heirlooms — scythes, axes, hoes, and picks were abundant, of course. The ex-militia had their pikes — those were owned by them and thus kept, but true armor was issued only for duty, so none was to be had. Two herdsmen had padded suits that would do in a pinch — a ton of muscle tipped with horns meant protection was mandatory, and those goats were ornery at the best of times. The pit fighter used only fists and cestus, better than nothing but honestly a sharpened stick would be better in order to avoid injury altogether. One family had a cavalry sword that hadn't been taken off the wall in a generation, and it showed.
The improvised weapons were mostly in hand already — every house in the village owned at least two, and everyone in the village was familiar with using them, though not usually in anger. Drunken disagreements in a village were typically resolved with fists and at most cutting words, not actual cutting tools. But these were hardy folk, not city dwellers, and not a season went by without snakes needing killing, wolves scaring off and of course everyone got called to help when a clutch of jirrek spawned — nobody wanted hundreds of those swarming out of a cave and taking chunks out of the livestock or pets. The rest of the tools were handed out until everyone able to wield a tool had something, even if it was a kitchen knife. Nobody took the sword.
As for defenses — the inn was large enough to hold most of the population in its six rooms, dining hall, and basement. A few declined to gather and chose to hold up in their own houses, and the miller took a small group along to fortify the mill, which was by the river on the opposite side of the village from the forest. Sharpened sticks were whittled, then stuck into quickly dug holes in the ground or nailed in place near doors and windows which couldn't be boarded shut, to provide defensible positions.
The inn and the mill already had sufficient stocks of food and water, so most of the latter half of the day was spent helping neighbors board windows and doors. While there could have been a lot more argument and wondering about the value of precautions, having almost a tenth of their friends and family slaughtered in just minutes had shaken the village out of any possibility of a retreat into complacency. And while they may not have been professional, they were resourceful and efficient. Novek paused more than once to appreciate the speed and determination with which everyone, young and old, took to their tasks.
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Which was a good thing, because dusk was rapidly approaching, and if their assailants had been active at sunset the prior day, and then successfully used the cover of dawn for the actual attack — both times when normal eyesight was disrupted by bright sunlight at oblique angles shining right in the victims' faces — it was more likely than not they'd stick to what had worked.
Novek checked over his gear — a routine drilled into him long ago and reinforced constantly over the years — his thin throwing knives were all in place, two firmly strapped to each leather backing on his forearms and thighs. His crossbow he unslung and checked over; goat's foot lever hung on his belt ready to span a bolt from his side quiver hanging to the opposite side, his chest bandolier with his heavier bolts, or the case that held multiple bolts in place for faster fire, and without regard to position or angle.
His natural size and strength allowed him to span crossbows far heavier than any Human — length of limbs mattered as much as muscle mass in that regard. Strengthened Dexterity — as his Trait was named — made his grip faster, stronger, and more sure. A fast militiaman might span a weighty bow in 10 seconds, Novek could draw, load, and fire a bow twice the draw weight in less than three seconds from a ready position.
A well-worn and meticulously cared for tool belt had his usual wrenches, drivers, nuts, bolts, springs, and levers in various pouches and loops designed for quick access. He wasn't a Talented arbalist, after all — he had no system-granted skill with a bow, he was in fact something quite different — a combat mechanic. It wasn't the most powerful direct combat ability, but it was one that spoke to Novek's soul.
Beyond that, he checked over his leather armor, which was really more just a series of straps and plates — thick fur and full coverage could be a problem in the all-too-common heat. Naturally tough skin, slick fur, and honed reflexes were Novek's primary defenses. For more static fights, he'd usually have a spiked pavise — a shield he could jam into the ground to provide cover while he shot from behind it — but as he was currently travelling, not engaging in pitched battles, he was without some of his usual kit. Besides, he'd not be stepping outside to take shots tonight if he could help it, and a small static barricade wouldn't hinder felinids which were at least as mobile as he was.
That done, it was time to find the innkeeper, arrange for something to eat and somewhere to take a quick nap. There was no way to know when anything would happen, if it even did, or how long it would take, and Novek had learned long ago to take any opportunity for rest before an engagement.
A small bowl of stew with some buttered bread, a trip to the outhouse, and a corner out of the way of the traffic from the rest of the preparations was provided. He asked the innkeeper to wake him no later than an hour hence, and then — in the manner of cats everywhere — he curled up on the corner mat and was soundly asleep within two minutes.
