Throughout the search to find help for Patriono, only a few people pointed the way while most ignored Kian carrying Patriono. Eventually they came to an apothecary, a building marked by a half-white, half-red flag. Making it easier to recognize the doctor/dentist building. Mid riding kian dismounted and threw the rein around a pole to hold his horse in place. As his horse stopped, stepped Kian at the side picking Patriono off it directly as the horse stopped.

  With Patriono on his shoulders. He went into the building. With a speed that seemed almost inhuman. As he stepped in a man in a white garb turned from facing multiple bottles to looking at kian. On his face where a multitude of multiple glasses that could rotate. A wonder in the technical work.

  As soon as he saw Kian step into his shop, he didn’t hesitate to help heave the body onto a special chair that could be folded into a bed. It was specially made for his dentistry and operational work. Patriono groaned a little as he was placed into the chair. Good, that means he is still alive. The man gathered his tools. ’Boy, you can leave if you want. I can promise you he’s going to make it.’ The man said having prepared everything on his desk, rotating some of the glasses. Kian could only hope what he said was true. As he walked back outside, Hartmar was seated atop a horse. Even in his beggar’s clothes on that horse he looked more like an honorable knight. ’Boy, you are too late,’ he said. Kian walked up to his horse as Hartmar rode in closer. Looming over Kian like an angel of death, a sensemartyr. ’’Listen, boy. This is what will happen: you will get on your horse and follow me. Do you understand?’ Kian nodded slowly and mounted his horse. He slowly reached for his hidden dagger with one hand and his bow with the other as Hartmar turned to lead them out of the village. Before Kian could throw the dagger, two cloaked figures came into sight, one with orange eyes, the other massive. Hartmar signaled Kian to wait. ‘Why aren’t you two at the waiting spot?’ Hartmar said with a forced smile.

  Tyrilda gave a massive grin as she removed her cloak and dismounted. Ranzolf got off his horse, pulled out his short sword, and began cutting pieces of his own skin. ‘It was all so disappointing up there. The silence, the boredom, the never-ending question of where the next conflict would be.’ Tyrilda kept giggling while Ranzolf talked and cut into himself.

  With each slice, a bit of white blood oozed out before the wound burned itself closed.

  Hartmar gave a few subtle finger signals while holding his cane, making sure the two couldn’t see them. Only Kian would understand. He was telling him: Move. But why help? Still, Kian took the chance and rode away. Hartmar dismounted and gave a soft, lullaby-like whistle. With that, his horse ran off.

  The people around them began to scatter. Hartmar fastened his cane to his side like a scabbard at his belt, then twisted the knob and pulled a sword from inside it, a long silver needle-blade an epe. ′Sure, you want to do this?’ Hartmar said, his voice like death itself. The two across from him only smiled, each twisted in their own way.

  Tyrilda pulled a sword from her horse, one almost as large as she was, with a grip nearly the size of her forearm. Altogether, it was nearly as tall as three men stacked on top of each other. Its handguard looked like three overlapping leaves, an old symbol known only in a few villages. Ranzolf’s eyes seemed to glow brighter and brighter.

  Hartmar watched them close in as his blade turned red-hot, heated by something only he understood. His secret weapon, not used in ages. As it grew hotter, the blade began to bend. Hartmar swung the blade in circles, as if preparing a whip. The blade extended with each rotation. ′ How long has it been since I used this?’ He mused.

  Before any of the two could close in while initiating the attack was Hartmar himself that gave the first attack. He whipped his sword from nearly ten meters away, striking a few wooden boards, making them hiss and leaving burn marks. Ranzolf and Tyrilda both stepped back as the blade cracked past them. Then they rushed in. Thinking they would get there before Hartmar could but another twist back into his sword-whip. Tyrilda took her sword ready to swing it. Ranzolf took way more to the side for if Tyrilda failed her swing that he could attack into his rear.

  Both smiled like children, while Hartmar looked as if he were seeing the end of worlds. It felt like his last day to live. He would not fail to live it to the fullest, and as his sword swung to the side, he gave it a few twists. The blade stopped and retracted slightly into the hilt, flailing as the stored power pulled back into it. As it shortened, Hartmar swung it back into another motion, using the pull-back momentum to empower the strike and add unpredictability to the slashes it made through the air. Ranzolf groaned as a white, glass-like substance spread across his skin. When the sword hit, smoke rose from Ranzolf as it burned through the glass-like substance into his skin, yet it didn’t have time to reach the flesh fully as the swipe continued, the blade whipping past him toward Tyrilda, who abandoned her strike and tried to entangle the whip-blade with her sword. As the first coils wrapped around the blade, Hartmar used a few more motions with the whip, making it change direction but lose power. Then it began wrapping from the blade onto her arm. The hot metal burned into Tyrilda’s skin. Who needs strength when the heat cuts just as well?

  Tyrilda lost her smile. She bit her lip to keep from screaming, forcing herself through the pain as she pulled her weight backward, hoping to break Hartmar’s grip so the handle would fly toward her. But as she prepared to yank the hot iron, Hartmar pulled his arm back first, repeating the motion from before, and the sword began retracting into the hilt. Tyrilda couldn’t protect herself as the burning blade, lodged in her flesh, ripped free again, tearing her entire arm open and rendering it nearly useless. She screamed in pain. Hartmar’s whip snapped back into its blade form just in time for him to swing it at Ranzolf. Ranzolf raised his glass-coated arm, the one holding his sword. The blade shattered the glass-like substance around his arm, but not deep enough to cut the flesh. Ranzolf tried to place an open hand on Hartmar’s chest, but before he could reach him, Hartmar put distance between them. Ranzolf shifted his open hand into a pointing finger. A moment later, a white projectile shot toward Hartmar, who sliced it in midair before snapping the blade back into place.

  Ranzolf didn’t engage; he simply waved at Hartmar. Hartmar immediately turned, knowing what was coming. Tyrilda, gripping her sword in her other hand, began swinging at Hartmar in a wild berserk frenzy. Hartmar dodged every strike easily, they were fueled by anger, not calculation. As she swung at him, he struck back with his now-shortened whip, each hit making her more frantic.

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  Tyrilda retreated, her once eager smile completely gone. ′ See, little whelp. You loved killing people, but you were never ready to be hurt yourself.’ Ranzolf said as he walked toward Hartmar. ’How disappointing. I thought you might be a worthy opponent one day.’ Ranzolf pointed his finger at Tyrilda and fired, hitting her in the shoulder. After the white substance struck her shoulder. Began the wound burning up. Tyrilda backed away, out of reach of the others. ’Now it’s just you and me, Hartmar. Are you ready?’ Ranzolf said with such a glee.

  Hartmar readied himself. Ranzolf was about to charge, but something approached. Hartmar slid his sword back into the cane at his side and lifted it, immediately looking like a beggar again as he backed against a building. Ranzolf looked around. ‘They have finally arrived.’ He said. He raised his arms as if in prayer. The source of the noise came into view: militia, lined up with spears and shields. They said nothing, they knew what they had to do: kill that man. Ranzolf turned to them. ‘Who wants to go first?’ He asked as he approached the militia.

  Hartmar took this chance into slither away in the shadows. As Tyrilda cut off the rotting flesh from her shoulder so it couldn’t burn further. Her arm ruined Now she saw easy prey coming around the corner. She got back up. Heaving heavily. Letting her sword scrape over the ground with her one good arm. The hate on her face was immense. Some of the guards had already started to back up in response to these two men. They didn’t even look at the wounds either of them had.

  Ranzolf was the first to act, firing a few of his white, glassy substances, one hitting a guard’s shield, the other striking a guard in the face. The paint on the shield disappeared in fumes as it bit into the wood. The one that hit the face went partially into the flesh before turning into liquid, beginning to melt his cheek as it spread to his mouth, ear, eye, and neck. Slowly, as it crept further, his teeth began to fall out as there was no flesh left to hold them. It touched his eye, eating away his vision. Screaming in pain, he dropped his spear and shield. He screamed until death finally took him. He fell to the ground in under a minute. He tried to run toward the apothecary in a blind panic.

  Ranzolf dodged between the blades like a snake. Some of the blades should have hit him but instead passed by without cutting as they glided off his body. The blades hissed as fumes rose from them and they began to rust. For reasons unknown. Ranzolf stabbed some of the guards; others he only touched on the legs or stomach, where their armor was nonexistent. Wherever he touched, they suffered the same fate as the guard whose face had melted. It began eating through cloth and into flesh, making its way toward the nervous system and then the bones. Before the guards could organize themselves to deal with Ranzolf, Tyrilda came bursting through, her sword swinging while she was still nearly three meters away, as her blade crashed into the first guard who tried to block it with his shield. Instead, it tore straight through him, breaking nearly every bone in his body as the sheer weight crushed him into the ground.

  The guards broke by the force of these two people that just came crashing into their line as if it was just another normal day. They looked in horror seeing some of their fallen companions melting. They started to run away. As they ran only a few brave men still stood their place. Slowing the two down for a few seconds is enough time to save the others.

  As the fleeing guards retreated, they run past two other men. Two clad in armor. One had purple cloth around him while the other armor was covered in white and red ribbon. Normally it would look hidden on the armor but because of the dirt and the blood it was clearly visible.

  The two looked at them running and rode towards the place where they were running away from. They went around the corner seeing how a massive woman and a man with orange eyes massacred the few remaining guards. Both dismounted and hit their horses so they could not be targeted by an archer. ‘Look who we have here.’ Albaras said. Both draw their sword and shield.

  Ranzolf looked over. ’If this day couldn’t get any better. A warmup, A fight and a hunt, all in one day. All that disappointment has finally led to something.’ He spoke. With his eyes burning as if they were on fire. Tyrilda tried to move but there wasn’t anything happening with her strength gone by her wounds and forcing all her power on the sword swing. Then there was a thought maybe this is for the better let them kill off Ranzolf. She moved back. Ranzolf looked over here and just smiled at something that he would not pass normally. She shoke off the notion off it and ran away.

  Albaras and Rederick took their way. Albaras took it chalantly leaving himself exposed while Rederick had his shield up ready to react to whatever Ranzolf could do. Ranzolf took his way to Albaras, pointing his sword to him. ‘How wonderful you survived it all. What can you survive more.’

  Rederick slowed down to try encircling him. To hit in the back. Ranzolf began running towards Albaras. Albaras took this chance to slash him. Ranzolf dodged the blade then locked it with his own so that he could but his hand on Albaras armor. As his first step succeeded, he felt the pressure of the second one. With Albaras putting more strength into his arm, pushing Ranzolf’s locked blade to his side. Ranzolf wanted to step back, but before he had any time to react to Albaras, Rederick came in with a stab.Ranzolf could react slightly as it pierced his side.Ranzolf twisted himself out of their hold like a snake as fumes of burned metal filled the air.

  Albaras only turned to Ranzolf as Rederick tried to position himself in his blind spot. ‘The day death is taken by two. How great.’ Ranzolf said, pointing at the two of them with his sword while keeping a smile. ’Great, another insane one.’ Rederick muttered, twirling his sword, getting ready for whoever the orange-eyed man was going to target.Albaras looked at him. Ranzolf noticed that underneath the helmet, Albaras was looking straight into his eyes. The smile Ranzolf had slowly disappeared. It turned serious, a face almost no one would recognize.

  A voice was heard from somewhere above.’Look at that, Ranzolf being serious. What kind of fire is that purple thing made of.’ Now even Ranzolf looked a bit shocked by that voice. Albaras didn’t pay any attention. It was Rederick who looked up. There, it was in the shadows a red smile covered in darkness. ’What have we here? A member of House Gurrund. What a twist of fate, to have the White Sun fight against a Red Smile.’ It said as he jumped down from the building.As he fell to the ground, it looked like the earth took him in for a second before spitting him out.It looked like even death didn’t want to deal with him. Unwelcome to hell, refused by the heavens. He stood back up. ’Dear… my apologies, not my line in this case. Gentlemen, are you ready for the ending that none of us have been waiting for? ′ No one responded. No one wanted to. Ranzolf walked away from the man who was supposed to be his comrade. ’Red Smile, why don’t you go somewhere else instead of spoiling my fun?’ Ranzolf said. If the Red Smile wanted to answer, he didn’t get the chance. Rederick, ignoring Ranzolf, attacked the Red Smile. Calling him out, ‘DEMON!’ he aimed for the head, slicing straight through as if it were a shadow.The Red Smile looked to the side where the sword now was, as it had just sliced through him. ‘Was that supposed to do something?’ He looked at Rederick, and even with a mask, you could see the sincerity in that question. Before Rederick had time to think it over, the Red Smile made his move. He twirled a small kitchen knife into his hand, aiming for the eye slit of Rederick’s helmet. Rederick saw the dagger, and out of a memory he shifted his helmet just enough that the knife scraped past it. Rederick moved back, looking at the weapon. He couldn’t help but give a small laugh at the ridiculousness of it. Using a kitchen tool as a main weapon Still, he felt something crawling up his spine at this shade of a man, carrying that mask with a red smile. What made him seem so unnatural, so inhuman.