A Soldier passed through the countryside, and there were no barriers before his justice. He carried the torch of a fallen Sun, spreading the old King’s mission by deed if not by principle. In his wake, a trail of blood and ash spread across the land.

By winter, the Soldier came to a small trade town in the northern forests. Here, merchants from the Rainlands and the Empire intermingled, exchanging goods and currency from far afield.

In the market square, the Soldier witnessed a white-haired paper peddler making sales. A line of five or six customers extended from the stall, each one patiently waiting while the peddler negotiated with a difficult customer.

“My paper is worth more than one coin apiece,” said the old paper peddler. “At least three coins minimum, or no sale.”

“Three coins apiece?” The difficult customer threw up his hands and stormed off. As he passed the Soldier, he grumbled, “Didn’t want your overpriced scraps anyway, you greedy gold-grubber.”

Upon hearing these words, the Soldier recalled a conversation from the distant past. His King had once disapproved of merchants for their greed and manipulation of customers. What would the Sun King think if he saw this transaction today? The Soldier thought for a moment, and then he understood what had to be done.

To the surprise of all save one, the paper peddler burned as easily as his merchandise. Everyone in the square watched the burning man and cart with horror. Most shocked of all was the next customer in line, an old bookbinder who habitually dealt with that particular peddler.

“He ran the fairest business in town,” wept this customer, falling to her knees before the burning peddler’s cart. She frantically patted at the flames to extinguish them, but the peddler’s screams had already ceased. The sobbing customer only managed to burn her own hands as well. Another brave customer rushed forth and dragged her away from the pyre before the Soldier found a new target.

As the two retreated, the mayor arrived with the town militia.

“Repent for your crimes, Sorcerer!” cried the mayor.

Flames glittered in the Soldier’s gaze, and he did not retreat.

“I am a servant of justice. If you challenge me, then the only crime here is yours—the hindrance of justice.” Flames spread from the Soldier’s gaze to his hands. Militiamen attacked in the dozens, but none could defeat him. Their spears and sticks proved little match for his fire and sorcery.

In times to come, it would be rumored that no life existed in the town for decades thereafter.

In early springtime, the Soldier’s travels led him to a roadside inn among the central plains. Inside, a junior officer from a nearby garrison demanded that the innkeeper serve him and his friends the most expensive dinner course for free, “as payment for keeping your quaint little business safe from bandits.”

“No. Enough is enough. What have I to fear from bandits?” said the innkeeper. Despite being half the size and three times the age of his opposition, the innkeeper bravely stood up to the junior officer and company. “They have not robbed me once in twenty years, yet you extort me of food and livelihood every week. You are the only real bandit here.”

Such conflict demanded rectification, and the Soldier stepped forth to settle the matter.

“The Sun King once said, ‘A national servant who abuses his station for personal gain shall be fired.’”

The junior officer thereby found himself transformed into a human torch.

Screams erupted all around the inn, along with the clatter of furniture and running feet. Almost everyone in sight fled—everyone except the horrified innkeeper who dropped to his knees before the Soldier.

“Good sir, I cannot thank you enough for ridding my humble establishment of that bully.” The innkeeper took a small handful of coins from his sleeve. “Please accept my gratitude.”

Coins twinkled with reflected daylight from the inn windows, but a colder and more distant light shone within the Soldier’s gaze. He said, “The Sun King once executed a civilian officer who refused to comply with military command during times of emergency.”

Following this example, the Soldier promptly executed the innkeeper, for under the Soldier’s watch, all that the Sun King had once willed should come to pass.

Come summertime, the Soldier arrived at a hamlet amid the southern scrublands. As he walked from dirt paths onto paved roads, a refugee from one of the many past burnt villages recognized him.

“A Sorcerer, a Madman,” cried the refugee, “He brings doom upon us all!”

The southerners were not superstitious folks, for they had never tasted the magicks that so awed and inspired the northern denizens of the Empire, but even these remote villagers had heard of the Madman who left only embers in his wake. Heeding the refugee’s warning, they approached the Soldier.

“Good sir, for the safety of this peaceful village, all armed travelers must undergo temporary confinement to ensure that they bring no danger. Please come with us.”

To the eternal surprise of the refugee, the Soldier nodded.

“Caution in times of turmoil. Very wise.” The Soldier calmly followed the villagers to a small prison. Inside, he handed over his armor and weapons with grace. The prison guards were so unsettled by his cooperation that they piled the confiscated items in a corner outside the cell. Though the Soldier could not quite reach the weapons from inside the cell, the guards hoped that seeing the items might reassure him, thereby preventing any further trouble.

The Soldier was content to stay within his cell for over a month. He ate, slept, meditated, paced about the cell, and chatted idly with the guards on such topics as moral virtue and the necessity of honor. The guards soon learned to avoid the Soldier when conversations spun off on a tangent related to governance, for the Soldier could spout praises of the late Sun King for hours without pause.

Trouble arrived when the prison gained a new inhabitant. In the early days of the autumn harvest, a hungry thief had stolen two sacks of grain from the tax caravan to feed his family. The caravan escorts promptly caught the thief and turned him over to the local militia for sentencing. As punishment, the thief was sentenced to six months of imprisonment.

Unfortunately for the thief, his cell was adjacent to that of the Soldier. Upon hearing the thief’s story, offense flashed across the Soldier’s face.

“You would steal from your own nation? Misuse of public tax money for personal gain is the mark of corruption.”

A fire bloomed between the Soldier’s hands, and the thief was purged of his crime. The Soldier then turned to the prison guards who had come running at the commotion.

“You imprison one who deserves death, hiding his crimes from the law?” the Soldier said to the prison guards. “Traitors, one and all!”

Flames enveloped the prison—then, the entire village.

Later, standing in the ashes of the prison, the Soldier sighed sadly.

“Why has the land grown lawless in my King’s absence?”

He retrieved his weapons and armor from the ashes, slinging the bow across his shoulder and attaching the sword to his belt. As the armor plates emerged from the ashes piece by piece, the Soldier fastened each buckle and knot with familiar motions. The Soldier’s belongings were fireproof, unlike most of the village; as such, they remained among the few unburnt items.