Same day - Seventh Moonsday of the Tiger, 1258 A.E.

The plains were littered with rags, blood and gore. Red, beige and a dirt-like nuance were the new colors of this place, which used to be nothing but vast and empty plains no matter how far you looked in any direction. These were the aftermaths of a bandit attack.

Not even an hour earlier the slavers were calmly stringing along about the caravan harassing whomever they wanted to harass, doing whatever they saw fit. The minds of the slaves were focused on captivity as usual, and the feeling of hopelessness that was overshadowing the whole caravan was so thick that you could almost grasp it.

On the horizon, Lazarus had spotted several shadows on top of a nearby hill. A large, slightly narrow shadow raised into the air, above what seemed to be shadow riders. As if missing a beat, because of the missing battle cry, the riders charged towards the caravan.

Being outside the cages made the slavers the first victims to fall prey to the swords of the attackers. While the slavers were equipped with armors and weapons that would not bring shame to a proper army regiment, they were cut and dismembered, as if they were scarecrows made of straw.

The attackers numbering more than twenty slowly made their way towards the wagon that was located at the end of the chain. The very wagon that carried both Cain and Lazarus as well as the old man.

They were an unstoppable force. Just as swiftly as they had appeared, just as quickly did they engage and kill off any living soul in the nearest proximity.

None could grasp their goal. Their eyes were dead, as if the mass killings were but a minor hassle that had to be done. It was clinical, dreadful and finally yet importantly horrifying.

The dismembered limbs were scattered on the ground, while dying bodies were spraying their blood everywhere, as if they had to paint the whole caravan red before dying.

There is no way I am going to die again! Resurrecting just once requires the luck of several lifespans, so there is no way I am going to give this life up!

While Lazarus' stream of consciousness inclined towards this tenacity to survive, many of the other slaves had completely given up. Rattling the cages, as if they were the last obstacle standing between them and salvation, the madness took over.

- ”Kill me already! Just kill me!”

- ”SAVE ME FROM THIS HELL!!”

- ”Please just end it… I can’t endure it anymore.”

- ”…”

Countless screams echoed throughout the place, and the madness had caught on to everyone, as if it was more contagious than the Black Death itself.

However, Lazarus refused to resign his life to these crude attackers. It was pointless to die without accomplishing anything. His ambitions were not as small as to die, on some unknown plains near some backwater hamlet.

Suddenly they were there and a single man stepped forward. The black, oily hair that was tightened into a ponytail revealed a menacing albeit lackluster face. Dull grey eyes embedded deep within the eye sockets, glared towards Cain as if looking at prey.

A thin mask of black dyed linen, hiding any kind of emotion whatsoever, covered the lower half of his face. However Lazarus knew. He knew that a smile, as maleficent as the devil himself, was behind that mask. He could not explain why exactly.

Perhaps it was the eerie feeling that was creeping over his skin, as if hundreds of corkroaches paved the way for their kin, or perhaps it was the dominating presence, which almost penetrated his mind with an invisible hand, only to twist his pain-receivers, resulting in his knees buckling under.

It had never occured to Lazarus that it was possible to inflict pain on others by merely gazing. It did not make sense. The pain was possibly an illusionary pain, created by the fright induced by the stare. Not entirely explainable scientifically, but nonetheless more plausible than other alternaties.

One thing was made clear. This man was mountains and mountains above any of the people here in terms of, well everything. Lazarus had no idea as to how he could escape this predicament.

- ”Boy, are you Cain Hector Samuel Rothlow, the former heir apparent of the duchy of Meldrino?”