Part 1

There was a gentle breeze, soft and almost nonexistent. It blew over the little clearing short of a kilometer away from the main road. Sundown was approaching when we came across that clearing after slowly traveling from the site of the landslide through the main road. A creek, slow and limpid, ran through the clearing from beyond the wall of stone at the far back, only to dive deep underground and disappear from our sight. A handful of trees, all taller than three meters at least, provided cover, shade and a calming touch of nature and color. It was a type of tree I had never seen before. Its trunk was thick enough that at least three grown men were needed to hug it, its bark was of an ashy-grey color, softer than stone but not as light as white. Veins the color of red wine ran through the thick roots, the trunk, and all the way up to the branches and the brick-colored leaves. It did not seem to bear fruit.

Julie and I took the knocked-out dwarf down from Julie’s horse and began to set camp. Something simple really. Julie was tasked with gathering up some branches and dried leaves and grass while I set up the tent. A simple thing made of ox hide capable of housing two people at best. It helped that Julie was much shorter than me. I used a handful of thick nails, some rope, and two foldable metal poles to support the hide and set it up nicely in front of the bonfire Julie was setting up. We did not talk much once the fire was burning fine, we both wordlessly began our tasks. I picked some sticks, sharpened them, and skewered some of the meat and vegetables I brought with us before placing them over the fire. Julie, careful not to wake him up, fixed the bandages and applied oils on the dwarf.

After extracting him from under the rock, all we could do was basic medication with the few things we had. Using healing magic was also an option, though one I categorically refused and was harshly reprimanded for it. The man had a twisted ankle, strained joints and muscles on a leg and a shoulder, and an arm broken in various different segments. I had no idea what kind of gods gifted him luck, but it appeared that no bone punctured meaningful veins. Miraculously, he had no internal bleeding. The only reason he was currently knocked out was because, in order to prevent further damage, we had to fix his arm in place. Meaning moving the bones to a more…humane shape. Definitely not a pleasant process since the man’s screams echoed through the entire mountain. Straight pieces of wood and bandages became a makeshift cast and an oil, bought at the port city’s market, that was supposed to alleviate both pain and swelling was applied on arm, shoulder, and ankle. Tied to a horse with ropes and off we went, not even knowing that man’s name, and now there he was, peacefully sleeping like a toddler whilst my sister behaved like a proper nurse. She reminded me of mother and I noticed too late how my hand had reached down at the small bag on my waist.

It took a while for the girl to finish and even longer for her to set him down onto a bedroll and come sit down at the fire. The meat was almost cooked and our waterskins refilled with the creek’s cold water. I was swooshing my hat in an attempt to get rid of the few remaining bits of dust. The air created from that movement carried the smell of the meat all the way to the tree where the dwarf was currently sleeping. He sniffed a bit, just like a curious old dog, twisted his nose a couple of times, and then jumped up to his feet with eyes as wide as a deer caught in fleshlight. The very next moment he was on the ground writhing in pain and biting his lip to suppress the scream.

“Careful how much you move-” I said in between chews “- Your arm’s broken and your leg’s basically mush until you get that ankle fixed. Try not to move too much”

“W-Who are ye?” Replied the dwarf, startled and confused.

“Name’s Raphael, hers is Julie. You were stuck under a rock, remember?-” I answered turning around and looking him in the eyes for the first time “- We saved you, fixed your arm…tried to at least, tied you to a horse and brought you here. A little thanks would be appreciated”

He looked at me, baffled, with a blank expression of pure confusion as if he was struggling to catch up with his own memories of the event. I took the chance to finally have a good look at the man we had rescued. He was a dwarf, telltale sign of that was his 1,20 meters height and his barrel-like build. He had a large square-like face with a long reddish beard with streaks of white hair adorned with braids and black rings. His face, or what was visible of it between the bushy eyebrows and the beard, was full of wrinkles and tanned. Or rather scorched. His sprightly brown eyes were in great contrast with his old visage. His clothes, though torn in places, were thin, light and fairly refined, both shirt and pants, and it all was covered by a heavy-looking chainmail. From the red marks of rubbing on his ears, I understood he used to wear a helmet too. His clothes were thin enough for the outline of his muscles to appear. Other than a german belly, the dwarf possessed quite the muscle mass, especially when it came to arms and neck.

“Are ye bandits?” The dwarf finally asked after a handful of long minutes of thinking, causing Julie to gasp in disdain.

“Do we look like bandits?!” She asked scornfully with the hint of a pout marking her cheeks.

“The lad does!” The dwarf answered pointing at me while being careful of his distance.

I looked down at my clothes. Not much of armor, a hat that could hide my face, sword and knives, trinkets and pouches, and light clothes apt for dextrous movements. Not to mention the scar on my eye, not a trustworthy sign to be sure. I chuckled at the thought that, if I added a rugged leather armor, I would look exactly like the most common of bandits.

“He saved your life and that’s how you repay him?!-” Julie shouted as she stood up and balled her fists “- Not only you are mistrustful but you also call him a criminal! You are a scoundrel!”

“Calm down Julie-” I said while telling her to stop with the motion of a hand. I couldn’t help but stifle a whispered laugh as I saw my sister jump in the defense of my honor “- I don’t blame him for being mistrustful. Plus, I do look like a bandit”

“And what would you know about bandits?!” She then shouted at my face, clearly pissed off about the fact that I took the dwarf’s defense rather than hers.

“In the letters I wrote home I sometimes spoke of my work as an adventurer, yes?-” I began explaining, completely ignoring the dwarf “- Well, half a day north of Alamara there’s this cave complex apparently very useful to set up a base with traps and all sorts of tricks. Once every six to eight months, a group of bandits, different every time, would set up base in those caves and a quest would be issued by the guild. Easy work, really, there were twenty of them at best so all I had to do was really just flood the cave, collapse a tunnel, or smoke them out. Me and Lu-...We joined in a couple of those quests…Satisfied?”

Julie went all meek, pouting as she darted her eyes from the dwarf to me, then the dwarf again and to me once more. I had no clue what she was looking for, perhaps she just didn’t like to be on the losing end of the argument…the very one that she herself started. Grumbling to herself in her defeat, she slumped down in front of the fire with her eyes fixed on the meat. A pitiful, yet somehow cute, attempt to avert my gaze.

“*Sigh* Now then,-” I said turning to the dwarf who seemed to have lowered his guard slightly “- Once again, my name is Raphael and her name is Julie. We are both adventurers. We saved you, fixed you as best as we could and now we are here. Care to tell us your name, dwarf?”

“Ballarak. Ballarak Moltenblood Drughmin, human” The man replied with great emphasis on his second name and a sense of pride in his tone.

“Mhh, a second name. You must be a master of your craft, or your profession, Lord Ballarak. A blacksmith, perhaps?” I answered with a slight bow of the head, just enough for the gesture to be noticed.

“A human who knows of the dwarven name tradition? Color me surprised lad!” The dwarf said with a wide, almost satisfied, grin across his face.

“Am I to take it as a yes?” I pressed on slightly bothered by the fact that my question was ignored.

“Yes, yes, ye were spot on that, lad. I’m a blacksmith. Happy now?” Scoffed Ballarak.

“Not quite…-” I said standing to my feet and approaching the dwarf threateningly as I made full use of our difference in height. Ballarak crossed his arms and scoffed, clearly bothered by my questioning and the fact that, before he could speak further, I interrupted him “- I’m not blind. I know the landslide wasn’t natural, rather something caused it. So then, who were the people that died in the landslide? What did they want with you and how did you kill them?”

“... Awfully curious, are ye?-” The dwarf replied as he slowly backed away. Silence fell between us as Ballarak did not answer, I did not give in to his taunt, and Julie did not dare to intervene. Soon that silence became almost unbearable, pregnant with expectations and unspoken threats. Ballarak could do nothing but open his mouth once more “- What’s it to ye anyway? I’m thankful for your rescue, really. If need be, I’ll pay ye the cost of bandages and ointments, but why the fuck ye wanna know my shit?”

“First of all language” I answered sternly as I gestured with a motion of the head to my sister.

“Forgive me for the blunder-” Promptly answered the dwarf apologetically and quite sincerely “- I ain’t used to have young ladies ‘round. My speech’s that of a blacksmith, not really suited for a lass’ ears”

“Second, you are in no condition to travel-” I continued as I pointed to the dwarf’s leg. He was barely standing still, wobbling with each shift of his weight. He was careful not to put too much weight onto his injured ankle but it clearly still hurt by the grimaces he made every so often “- You can barely stand on your feet, let alone walk and I’m not as heartless as to leave someone I took the effort to save in distress. Especially around these parts…That is if you are not some sort of criminal or scumbag of the kind”

“Heh-” Mused the dwarf with a grin behind his thick beard “- What’d ye do if I were one?”

“I’d make it easy for those searching for you” I said as I moved my hands to my belt and stuck my fingers in between it and my waist.

“...Aight, aight, I get it, no need to look at me like I’d knife ye guts ‘soon as ye turn around…*Sigh* Issa long story, least ye could do was let me have something to eat. I’m bloody hungry!” Replied Ballarak not even waiting for my answer and already sitting by the fire with a skewer in both hands.

Between the loud crackling of the fire, the dwarf’s chewing and the fizzling of the oily meat, Ballarak began recounting his story. He spoke at length of his work as a blacksmith, especially so when it came to explaining why, how, and for how long he was the “King’s blacksmith”. He was proud of it, more than the title of King’s blacksmith he was proud of his ability as one. He told us, between big chews, that every ten years, the king calls upon all blacksmiths of his kingdom. They each have to show their skill, whether it's in forging swords, shields, or armor and he who forges the best piece gains fame, an incredible number of commissions and requests, and of course, gold in lavish measures.

He went on bragging about how, for fifty years, he had been the King’s blacksmith, until he was no more. Against all odds, Ballarak willingly chose to step down from the position. He had grown bored and tired of the court’s machinations and schemes along with the oh-so-repetitive nature of the requests he was given. As such, for the past twenty years, the position of King’s blacksmith was occupied by his self-appointed rival who, allegedly, basked and boasted of his triumphant victory over Ballarak. Now, under explicit request of the king sent in secret, Ballarak was asked to accept the title once more in the upcoming appointment.

“...-Thing is-” Sighed the dwarf over the dwindling flames “- That son of a bi-*ehm* I mean that…damned scoundrel Velez has, most likely, caught wind of this. I recognized one of them adventurers, some Jacklar, Jappar, or some dumb name like that. Worked for Velez at the time, s’pose he still does”

“But you’re not certain of it?” I said as I moved my passed-out sister to our tent and tucked her into the bedroll.

“‘course not. Bastards didn’t really come shouting their intentions, did they?-” The dwarf mused as he slapped loudly his belly “- Not like they had the time, though”

“Now that my sister’s sleeping you start cussing again? Did it bother you that much?” I asked jokingly.

“S’pose it did-” Ballarack answered in all seriousness “- Reminds me of those snakes at court. Not the lass, not her. She’s sweet like cherry ale, listened to my stories and all. No, I meant minding my speech. It’s…”

“Constrictive” I replied in his stead as he struggled to finish his sentence.

“Yes…Yes, that sounds right-” The dwarf replied with a half smile as if he knew something about me even I did not. He looked up, towards the dark sky. It was long past midnight and the moon was sending streaks of its mellow light on the tops of the nearing mountains “- Say, should we not sleep too?”

“Sleep if you wish-” I replied as I threw the piece of wood I was mindlessly carving into the fire “- I do not trust you enough to lower my guard. A sleepless night does not bother me and someone has to keep watch”

“Then let me keep ye company-” Replied the dwarf as he threw another piece of wood into the fire “- My injuries are burning too much right now for me to sleep, might as well stay awake. Though, don’t suppose ye have something…stronger than water, do ye?”

And so, Ballarak and I spent the entire night on opposite sides of the campfire. Surprisingly, we spoke at length, as I found it easy to speak to him. The way he spoke to me as if I was his oldest friend, he did not expect anything out of me or our conversation. He conversed simply for the pleasure of conversing. Whether it was a stupid or worthless topic, like this sword he forged with a strange shape resembling a phallus to spite a noble he didn’t like, or a more serious one such as the way he caused the landslide, which was with the use of mana stones inserted into a concoction of oils, the conversation was able to flow like water. Soon, the first lights of the morning sun came to greet us.

Part 2

One night passed since the conversation around the campfire. Ever since then, we traveled the main road by horse as I rode on mine and Ballarak rode together with Julie. It was a funny sight seeing this barrel-like bearded man riding on the back of this little girl’s horse, a picture straight out of a comedy film, but it was necessary. If he and I were to ride the same horse, the poor beast would have a cracked spine by the time we reached halfway to our destination. Thus, instead, I tied all our luggage to my horse, to balance the weight between the two. With one more person with us, especially someone as injured as Ballarak, our speed decreased exponentially, even though we had horses. Needless to say, that required us to take more and longer breaks to ensure the beasts well being.

Unsurprisingly, my two companions did nothing but chat the whole time. Ballarak would speak of his time at court, the mines he bought, and all sorts of little topics or ancient myths from his land while Julie would listen attentively. He got pissed off every once in a while since the poor girl couldn’t understand even half of the man’s jokes. I was no different, but it seemed to me like he had already thrown in the towel when it came to making me laugh. Julie, oftentimes, would also tell her own stories to the dwarf. Mundane stories of her life in the city or her adventurous exploring of the nearing woods. Ballarak would always listen attentively, though I could see hints of boredom in his expression.

It was just a couple of hours short of lunch on the second day of travel, Ballarak was busy guiding Julie through one of his lessons on horse riding while I took the opportunity to enjoy the few rays of sun breaking through the curtain of clouds. The wind was a bit stronger than the previous days, just enough to sway my hair and raise small clouds of dust.

“See that over there?-” Said Ballarak out of nowhere, clearly calling out to my attention alongside Julie’s “- Those five high peaks? They are called “The first King’s fingers”. Yesterday we couldn’t see ‘em ‘cause we were too low but now…look at how beautiful they are!”

“Why are they called like that?” Julie asked with a tone full of expectation for another one of Ballarak’s stories.

“Ah, little lass, legends say that the first dwarf king, glory to his forgotten name, established his first city there. See, those mountains are huge, big enough to build a city in ‘em. Our first king dug its tunnels all by himself until our people recognized him as king and carved him a throne out of diamonds and gold” Ballarak explained with the tone of a grandpa and a puffed chest full of pride.

“Are those the biggest mountains?” Pressed Julie.

“In the world?-” Replied questioningly the dwarf with a slight grin “- Nah, them be third, if memory serves me right. Before ye ask, lass, there’s one tall peak at the center of the “Dragon’s spine” up in the land of demons and then there are the tallest mountains in all lands. No mountain could ever match ‘em!”

“Really? Where are they? What’s their name?” Hungrily asked Julie with a glint in her eyes that clearly pictured her thirst for knowledge.

“The three peaks of the “Crown of Gods”-” I replied before Ballarak could “- The tallest mountains in the world with its center peak so tall that it can pierce the clouds. Am I right?”

“Aye-” Scoffed the dwarf “- rising up from the middle of that damned desert continent. The one line that separates the desert from the “Titan’s forest”. None was ever able to reach its summit…Many tried, hundreds throughout history, but none came back. Rumor has it that no mortal can set foot on ‘em. The closest place to the heavens belongs to the gods. Us mortals ought to stay far”

“The gods live there?” Asked Julie surprised.

“It’s a legend Julie” I replied sighing internally as I worried about the girl’s naivety.

“Aye, a legend it is. But remember this, lass, no legend or rumor is only made up of lies or truths. It’s always a bit of both” Reaffirmed Ballarak putting emphasis on his points by swinging his index finger.

In the meantime, the wind had changed. It became tired, feeble, almost stale. The only dust that moved was the one raised by our horses’ hoofs. I picked up a faint smell of something sweet, citrus perhaps but somehow familiar. It was a smell that nauseated me, even before my nightly trips around bars and taverns in Blackwall. It was the smell of ale. Ale, filth, and blood. I stopped my horse promptly.

“Hey!-” Shouted Ballarak as soon as Julie’s horse was forced to stop behind mine unbeknownst to its rider “- What’s the meaning of thi-” He tried to ask before a threatening glance from me shut him up, helping him realize that the situation we were in wasn’t normal.

“Pass me one of your exploding bottles-” I said to Ballarak as I ordered my horse to slowly move backward “- And for fuck’s sake keep your damn voice down!”

He obliged and passed me one of the only two remaining reddish bottles in the satchel we were able to find near the landslide. I held it in my hand for several seconds, testing how much strength I could apply to the bottle, then, once I felt confident, I threw it to my right, over a tall cluster of stones. It was a funny-shaped bottle filled with all sorts of oils I didn’t even know existed. In the very middle of the bottle, separating the top mixture of oils from the bottom one, was a terracotta compartment holding a mana stone. The moment the bottle hit the ground caused the terracotta to shatter and release the stone into the new-forming mixture of oils. Then came the loud bang, the light of the fire and two different screams.

I signaled with a hand my two companions to back off as the screams intensified and a chorus of shouts, some angered some worried, joined the fray. It all stopped as suddenly as it began. Silence filled the road turning the mood sour and tense.

“There’s more where that came from-” I shouted at the top of my lungs “- It’s pointless to hide anymore, just come out!”

My words were followed by a concoction of hushed sounds. Secretive and scheming whispers them all, discussing how to best approach the situation. It was only a minute later that five figures, two hooded and one with a helmet, came forward. They all put a semi-peaceful front, naught but a mask, it was clear as day that the two men in the back were holding on to their weapons. Seeing as none of them took the initiative to speak, I did.

“Why were you waiting in ambush?” I asked as I acted my best stern face.

“Ambush?-” Asked in a surprised tone the man in front of the group, the leader most likely “- You must be mistaken, my friend. It is you who rudely and brutally murdered two of our people. We were simply resting”

“Let’s not waste each other’s time-” I replied even more sternly with a heavy tone of scorn in my voice “- The mass of rocks you hid behind was clearly man-made, and recently I gather from all the traces on the road. Plus, I can clearly smell excrement. Yours or the horses doesn’t matter, it means you’ve been here a while…Cut it short, are we your targets or not?”

“Seems we got unluckily-” The man in front replied as we extracted a short sword from the scabbard on his waist “- Are you our targets? Depends. What’s your relationship with that dwarf?”

“...A protegee of sorts” I replied after giving a quick glance back at Ballarak.

“Then, unfortunately, yes, you are our targets-” Said the thug as he gave the order to his men with a flick of the wrist to extract their weapons “- But, I’m a reasonable man. I don’t particularly enjoy spilling blood but we all have our circumstances, don’t we? Leave the dwarf here and turn back then I never saw you and you’ve never seen me. What do you say?”

“I say we have no need for words anymore-” I replied as I jumped down my horse and unsheathed the sword at my waist in quick motion “- My sister would never let me live it down if I did!”

“...A shame then…men!” The thug said with a grin halfway through madness and sadness as he pointed his sword towards me and his men followed through with the order.

“Ballarak” I said as I fell into stance a few meters away from the horses.

“Yes?” Replied the dwarf with a tone I found curious. A half measure of curiosity and worry, yet perfectly calm and still as if the odds of the incoming fight were already in his favor.

“Cover my sister’s eyes, will ya?” I answered hastily, feeling my blood boiling from within.

“...Understood”

- BALLARAK MOLTENBLOOD DRUGHMIN’ POV -

“Forgive me, lass-” I said in a half whisper, perhaps out of respect for the fight about to happen or because I was about to touch a woman, as I moved one arm around her head and covered Julie’s eyes between my bicep and my forearm “- Your brother’s orders”

“...I know-” Replied the girl in a saddened tone “-...he doesn’t want me to see that again” She finished in a whisper so that only I could listen.

[Again?-] I thought to myself as my eyes darted between Julie’s worried and saddened expression to Raphael’s fighting posture [- Does he not want his sister to see blood? To see him fight?]

I saw with clear perfection the moment the fight truly started. I knew little of swordsman and swordsmanship and what I knew I learned only to better understand my craft and its purpose but I recognized it instantly. Raphael shifted his weight down and toward his enemies, legs wider than his hips, knees slightly bent, one forward one halfway. He held his sword in front of him with both hands, the tip leaning heavily towards his incoming opponents but never reaching the horizontal position. It was one of the basic stances of the Noer sword style, slightly modified to suit him, that’s for sure, but I could recognize it instantly. A style I’ve seen being used plenty by humans and elves, a bit rarer with dwarves since the South style is more suited.

The distance between the five opponents running at him and Raphael was roughly twenty meters, yet he remained still. Unmoving as his eyes darted from side to side, taking in the entirety of the road and the people on it. I heard a whisper, something muttered under his breath, something along the lines of “let’s get this party started” before he rolled his sword in his hands and dashed forward. I blinked and that was all it took Raphael to close the distance with the first of his opponents. Fifteen meters in the blink of an eye. I couldn’t believe my eyes…and neither could his opponent.

Whether it was good judgment or instinct, Raphael chose not to go for the killing blow at what seemed the thug’s exposed neck. Instead, he aimed for his sword arm. The thug’s neck was covered by a long scarf and he wore a thick-looking metal helmet on his head. It was impossible to judge whether the neck was protected or not…the arm wasn’t. Blood gushed like a fountain from the newly-formed stump of the thug’s arm while the limb carrying the weapon spiraled away from the body. The scream that followed was bloodcurdling. I got goosebumps and thus, my skin became more sensitive to the wetness that was now covering the back of my elbow.

[Tear] I thought as a deep sense of sadness crushed down my throat, settling down on the deep ends of my stomach.

Raphael did not stop there. His other four opponents were still running toward him and yet, they were somehow slower. Their expressions were unreadable, not for the lack of emotions, but for their abundance. Confusion, surprise, anger, fear, dread, all of them mixed together to form a strange grimace. The mask of a soldier.

Raphael was fast, I clearly saw it as he closed the fifteen-meter distance at the start of the fight, yet I did not understand why he wasn’t doing the same now. I felt my blood freeze in my veins as I saw, too late, what his intentions were. In a quick and fluid motion, he extracted the knife he had strapped to his thigh and, even quicker, he half-kneeled and plunged it deep into the man’s chest. The thug coughed blood through the holes in his helmet and chortled an animalistic scream before his movements grew still and the noise stopped.

The four remaining opponents stopped and now, only one emotion shined clear on their faces. It was fear. Their eyes wide, their mouths agape, the trails of cold sweat marking their filth-riddled faces. I had seen it, times and times during my long life, the very image of fear reflected onto the men’s faces and it always gave me chills. I saw it in humans, elves, dwarfs, demons, and all races, all the time, all the same. It reminded me, every time I saw it, that no matter how high one status is, how long they live, how high and mighty they feel…we are all mortal in the end.

In the brief time I lost focus of the fight, the confusion spreading through the four assailants had dissolved. It was their war cry that brought me back to the present. It was furious, personal. Raphael had just killed one of them- actually more than one- it was not a job anymore, they were out for revenge. Their anger pushed them forward into a mad dash toward their companion’s killer. I saw the faintest smirk disappear from Raphael’s face as he donned a mask of cold concentration.

I couldn’t help but gasp as the knowledge that this was all part of a plan hit me. He had the disadvantage in numbers, and Raphael knew. He had the disadvantage of surprise, and he knew. He had a disadvantage in terrain, and he knew. Yet, he was now leading the fight, consciously so. He took down the first to break off the group, brutally murdering him, making a show of it. It spread fear, confusion, shock, and anger for the loss. That led the opponents to lose focus and give in to their emotions. Raphael had already won by then…his smirk was proof of it.

The four ran at full speed but at different paces. The leader was first, sword in hand ready to strike. Behind him was a man with a hood while the remaining two trailed behind. Raphael took a second to look at the approaching people, then, dashed forward once again showing that same incredible speed as before. He met the leader face to face who, unlike the one before him, was ready for Raphael’s subsequent strike. Yet the strike never came

Instead of slashing or striking the enemy, Raphael moved his sword to mimic the action of slashing but stopped several motions before coming in contact with the opponent’s sword. The blade of the leader slashed the air as it came close to Raphael’s torso but didn’t hit. The leader’s surprise and loss of balance from the failed slash slowed his reaction time considerably, preventing him from defending from Raphael’s next move. Unlike what I had expected, Raphael did not start the motion of his sword nor did he reset it, instead, he kicked the leader in the shin hard enough for him to jolt and fall on one knee.

Raphael dashed again, stopping right in front of the first hooded man. A downward strike was about to hit him in the shoulder but he had seen it. Raphael lowered his stance and parried the opponent's blade with the flat of his, holding it still with both hands. That stillness lasted even less than a breath, and soon, Raphael shifted his sword toward the ground causing the opponent’s weight and sword to follow. Then, both his hands lost contact with the weapon, letting it run its course and dive to the ground. Swiftly, he moved his fist under the hooded man’s arm and landed a solid hit on his sternum. I could clearly see the moment his breath left the hooded man’s lungs. With his other hand, Raphael grabbed the opponent’s hood and pulled it down past his chin only to then kick the now blinded and breathless man straight into his two companions.

His eyes moved faster than I could blink, almost out of instinct, as he crouched just enough to dodge the horizontal slash coming from the recovered leader. By kicking one man onto the two others, Raphael had gained some precious time, time to concentrate on the opponent I’m sure he valued the most dangerous.

He rolled to the side, dodging the follow-up oblique slash and grabbing his sword along with it. Yet, unlike I would have done, he did not stand up, instead, he swept the ground with one leg, hitting the leader on the ankle below the shin he had previously injured. The leader shouted in pain and lost his balance…just slightly. Just enough for Raphael to jump up and strike the opponent's sword as he attempted to parry. The weight of the strike and the loss of balance were too much, he fell to the ground while managing to keep hold of the parrying position and grabbing Raphale’s wrist as he fell, basically preventing him from escaping his grasp and dragging him down with him.

Raphael fell to one knee yet his expression didn’t seem to change. He was unfazed and the leader saw this. He saw it and panicked. His focus shifted from Raphael to his companions in the process of standing up with no little difficulty thanks to the man laying on top of them as he still tried to regain breath. Grave mistake. Raphael’s hammer-like fist fell on the flat of his own sword. The leader had forgotten he still had one free hand unlike himself. The impact was great. Too great for the leader to hold and his blade shifted downward, towards his neck. He tried to move but found it impossible as Raphael had placed his leg over his.

The next mistake was his last. The thug’s leader let go of Raphael’s wrist, most likely hoping to use his newfound free hand to help keep the sword away from his neck. He was panicking and that panic was eating away at his judgment. The moment his wrist was free, Raphael pushed the sword down with even more strength. It was too sudden. The leader’s blade sunk into his own neck.

It was only a bit at first, just enough to trace a thin red line across it. If only Raphael did not push with his other hand along with it. The leader's strength wavered, his pleading eyes searched his men. It was too late to help. The blade sunk fully and blood filled his mouth falling in two thin rivers on either side of it.

“C…curse…you*cough*” The leader uttered his last words, spitting hot blood mixed with saliva in Raphael’s face.

He coughed a few more times, suffocating his words in his own blood as his gaze met Raphael’s unblinking eyes. It was as if Raphael was savoring the very last moments of that man’s life, watching as the breath of life left his lungs. By the time he stood up, of the man’s face all that remained was the now-unchaning expression of deathly fear.

When Raphael pointed his sword at the three remaining men and said: “Come at me!” I knew it was over.

“That’s…incredible” I thought out loud as I watched Raphael make short work of the three remaining opponents.

“How so?” Asked Julie with unlinking eyes glued to her brother’s back.

I did not even realize that my arm had left her face and was now limping pathetically by my side. Did it fall off on its own? Was it pushed by the girl? I had been so focused on the fight that I didn’t even feel it. I didn’t even feel my body, exception made for the goosebumps that still riddled my skin.

“How so?” The girl asked again, this time with a hint of impatience in her tone.

“...He is…His sword…His sword was born to kill. I had never once seen it before” I replied managing barely to find the right words in the mush of awe, surprise, stupor, and shock that was my brain.

“Aren’t all swords like that?” The girl asked without blinking. Without taking her eyes off Raphael’s back.

“No…I’m not talking about the weapon. A weapon is just that, just a tool. Whether it be finely crafted, rugged and old, or stolen, it is still just a tool…No, I’m talking about his style. His sword style” I answered as I was finally able to make sense of the thoughts in my head and give them voice.

“Is it…North sword style?” She pressed on.

“Technically yes-” I replied struggling to find the right words to express the concept I had in mind “- but that’s not what I’m talking about either. Ye see, it doesn’t matter what kind of sword style one learns, in the end, there’s always something they add. A bit of personal taste, so to say, and every swordsman got his own style. Similar to many others, of course, but never the same…Ye brother’s style’s aim is just…death. Plain and simple”

“I don’t follow-” Replied the girl with an absent tone “- Swordsmen learn to kill so aren’t all “swords” born to kill, as you say?”

“See, lass, that’s where ye’re wrong!-” I said almost chirpily as I was finally able to understand why the two of us couldn’t really see eye to eye “- Not all swords are born to kill and not all swordsmen pick up the sword to do the same…A sword’s a tool. It’s the man holding it that chooses its purpose. Some swords are for dueling, besting your enemy without the need to kill. Some are for show, fancy nobles them all. Some are focused on defense and aim to substitute a shield. Some to threaten, some to support, some to beat and survive, and some…are born with the sole purpose of killing”

“Yet you said it’s incredible. Why?”

“‘Cause it's rare to see a sword so focused solely on one purpose…There was nothing beautiful in yer brother’s swordsmanship. It's crude, raw, undefined, and without a single shred of honor and dignity. Any swordsman that carries its name with respect would spat on yer brother’s swordsmanship. But they’d all be wrong! There’s not a wasted movement, not a shred of pity, not a single thought of sparing them. That sword takes away its opponent's life, no matter how, no matter the method. It just takes the shortest route. It’s just…a very simple and effective sword from the outside, but it’d be the least I wanna meet in battle” I answered as I imagined that very sword pointed at my throat.

“Why?” She asked, her tone finally cracking and showing the first signs of emotion.

“Why? ‘Cause there are only two things that happen after that sword is unsheathed…Either those that oppose it die…or its carrier dies. No other choice. No other ending” I said, regretting my words the moment they left my mouth as I saw the girl’s eyes puff red and shed tears.

[Fuck me and me big mouth!-” I cursed in my head as I struggled to find words to comfort the silently crying girl [- I just told this lass that every time her brother takes his sword out, he’ll fight ‘till he dies or wins. Fucking idiot, that’s what I am!]

“A sword born to kill-” The girl said in a hushed tone as little pearly tears fell down her cheeks and neck “-...A sword of death”

And with those words, the last of Raphael’s opponents fell to the ground and exhaled his last, choked breath as Raphael’s blade was plunged all the way through the man’s throat. He stood there, tall, as he slowly gazed around the road. Searching for another opponent? Making sure there was no other ambush? It may have been that, but something told me it really wasn’t. Those azure eyes had a strange light shining in them.