The assassin was pinned against a tree, his jaw open and one glassy eye dim with death. Three arrows stuck out of him, one on the shoulder, one through the thigh, and the last straight through the man’s neck. The culprit, Kan, sat on a rock, staring at her bow.

“Nice work,” Sezha noted. He approached her slowly. “Looks like everything went well on your end.”

Sezha wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but a broad smile from the girl stopped him in his tracks.

“He thought he could be sneaky,” Kan said, jumping to her feet energetically. “Tried to bargain with me. Like the villagers. But I know better now. I don’t even have to skin him.” She looked up at Sezha, her head cocked. “Right?”

“No,” Sezha said tersely. “People aren’t for eating.”

Kan shrugged. “Figured. Don’t know why the gods gave us so much meat if it ain’t good for eating.”

Had the girl always been this unnerving? Sezha massaged his temples. She was an odd one, for sure. But still, to take down a full-grown man at her age. Could Sezha have taken the life of a person at her age? Considering his sheltered upbringing, likely not.

. . .

The guard merely nodded Sezha along when they approached the gate. There seemed to be even more people in line than the previous day. From the snippets of conversation among the peasants in line, Sezha learned a grand procession had just passed through. He recalled his sister telling him about some important family from the Highlands. But the high-society gossip could wait. He had more pressing matters to attend to do.

“We should discuss your wages,” Sezha said, as they stuck to the side of the road that didn’t have wagons coming at them. “Obviously, I can’t treat you the same as a simple maidservant.”

Kan’s dark round eyes flickered up to meet Sezha’s. For once, the wide-eyed frantic look was absent from her face. Did his acknowledgment make her happy? Or was it the promise of a reward?

“I want to. . .” Kan paused, then fished within the pockets of her trousers for a ring. The same one he had given to her all that time ago before his trials in the pocket realm. It cemented the idea that what was months for him was only a single night for Kan. “Can I keep it? It doesn’t fit, but we can put some string around it and—”

“You can keep the ring,” Sezha interrupted. The ring had been a gift from his mother. Before Yunan’s disappearance, and when their family fell apart. But it was a vestige of a time long past. Better Kan made new memories with it. “I’ll have to deduct it from your pay. I’m not that much of a miser to charge you for string, though. You can ask the innkeeper if she has any on hand.”

Kan looked down at the ring in her palm and smiled. Compared to the one she flashed out in the marshland, this one was more befitting of a child.

By the time they made it back to the inn, Nara had materialized and was dressing up in the attire of the wealthy ladies they passed on the road.

“Simple yet functional,” she concluded as they stepped through the doorway of the inn. “At the very least, fashion’s somewhat evolved. Though I can’t say the same about the Path. Perhaps a regression is apt.”

“Please, young lords,” the desperate, high-pitched voice of the innkeeper pleaded. She was at the counter, facing three figures cloaked in white. A crowd had formed around them. Sezha’s hand instinctively wandered to his sword. The aura dripping off them was thick with malice and bloodlust. “It’s simply not possible to agree to your demands!”

“It is indeed possible,” the most senior of the figures said. Their hoods were pulled up to obscure their faces, but it was clear by their curled fists they were not pleased. “We are under the banner of the Bone Breakers. Do you intend to cross us?”

With her hands on her hips, the innkeeper scoffed bravely, though her quivering lip told otherwise. “I don’t know who you Bone Breakers are, but I won’t be kicking out my patrons for the likes of you brigands!”

“That’s right!” a man from the crowd called. “Why don’t you bastards crawl back up to the mountains before we call the city guard!”

“The Saintess demands privacy!” the Bone Breaker barked belligerently. He took a step toward the innkeeper. She yelped. “If you scum insist on aggravating us, then we can’t be blamed for losing our temper.” He drew his sword just enough to bare a finger-length of steel. “Rest assured, we’ll compensate you for lost business. Not that you curs deserve such graciousness.”

Sezha moved to the back of the crowd, his eyes narrowed down on the three figures in white. Three assassins in the swamp weren’t enough. The heavens had to defecate all over him once more. He worked out a plan in his mind, but before he could step forward, a clear and distinct voice interrupted him.

“Now, now, all you Breakers just don’t get it. This behavior is why any respectable person would want a wide berth of your stench.”

The newcomer wore a simple martial artist’s robe of dark fabric, which color matched his long, bound hair. And with his rather sinister-looking eyes, the Breakers fell into instant alert. “The only curs I see in this inn are the proud divine artists bullying ordinary mortals.”

Sezha sighed inwardly. Despite being alone, the newcomer seemed sure as a rooster of his supremacy. He sincerely hoped the martial artist had the skills to back up his talk. It would be a headache if a brawl broke out in the inn he called home.

“Did I hear this fool right?” the senior Breaker asked, turning to his comrades. “To think we’d run into so many suicidal fools in this backwater.”

“You heard me right.” The martial artist grinned insolently before marching through the crowd and up to the senior Breaker. His hand shot out quick as lightning, grabbing the Breaker by the mouth. The hood fell back to reveal a heavily scarred man with graying hair. Gasps were drawn from the crowd. “So, stop flapping your gums and piss off from my sight.”

Before the rest of the Breakers could make a move, Sezha revealed himself. “Causing a scene would be unwise, Breakers.” He caressed the hilt of his sword. “Would causing problems in the city of a future ally please your masters? If you’re finished with the comedy act, why don’t you go barking back to your owners?”

The senior Breaker struggled in the martial artist’s grip, his cheeks turning red with rage.

“There’s no need for all this,” a soft woman’s voice rang throughout the inn. She stood at the door, nearly as tall as Sezha himself. And not only was she tall, but she was beautiful as well. At least that’s what he assumed. An opaque veil covered her face. Her robe was similar to the other Breakers, though her's was much more form-fitting and featured dark embroidery of a serpent wrapping around her.

He had seen his fair share of beauties, but her presence was dangerously mesmerizing.

The martial artist released the Breaker, sending him snarling back, massaging his jaw.

“I apologize for the behavior of my acolytes. They were just a little too eager to please me.” She bowed her head and clasped her hands together. “Would you do me the honor of not taking offense from this incident?” Her voice sharpened. “I will be sure to punish my disrespectful juniors.”

“You really think a simple apology can just clear things up?” the martial artist asked, his eyes blazing with an intensity so fierce it could burn the inn down. “Are you the type of master who can’t even clean up after their dog’s excrement properly? If you allow, I’ll discipline your dogs for you.”

“That’s enough out of you!” the senior Breaker screeched, drawing his blade with a metallic rasp. “How dare you disrespect the Saintess!”

Sezha drew his own blade, facing the Breaker. “Sheathe your blade before I sheathe it for you.”

Kan stepped up to his side, a short saber-like blade propped on her shoulder. A spoil of war from the assassin she had turned into a pincushion. Although he wasn’t sure just how much of a help she would be in a close quarter battle, it was still a number on their side.

“No, that’s enough out of you,” the Saintess said. Although the pitch of her voice hadn’t changed, it seemed to reverberate through the inn. “We’re leaving now.”

The senior Breaker glared daggers at the martial artist before brushing past him to his place next to the Saintess.

“We’ll be going now,” the Saintess said, clasping her hands together. “I hope we can meet under better circumstances next time.” She turned to the martial artist. “Zhelan of the Void Fist.” Then, turned to Sezha. “The prodigious son of the Kyu, Lord Sezha. Rumors detail your skill in the sword is on par with Mistress Moji.”

With that, the Saintess left the inn, trailed by her entourage of Breakers. Sezha watched them leave, sheathing his sword only once he was sure they were far gone.

“Damn, that really ruined my mood,” Zhelan said, rubbing the back of his neck. “What has this era come to? It’s not everyday you see divine artists bullying mortals like gangsters.”

“You have my gratitude,” the innkeeper said, making her way around the counter to Zhelan. She gave a perfunctory bow to Sezha, but her attention was still drawn toward the mysterious stranger. “I don’t know what I would’ve done if it wasn’t for your intervention.”

Zhelan ignored the fawning innkeeper and turned to Sezha, his nose scrunched up as if he was smelling something foul. “You reek.”