Night had draped the village in a silent shroud, broken only by the occasional murmur of the wind and the steady sound of the man's footsteps as he moved along the cobblestone streets. He carried two bags. One was filled with weapons, still damp with the blood of the beggars who had tried to betray him. The other contained the remains of food and the money he had gathered after looting the burned carriage.
His destination was clear.
The building rose in the darkness like a soulless giant, with thick stone walls and closed windows that looked like watchful eyes. It was no simple merchant stall. It was an office, a commercial headquarters, the throne from which that despicable merchant pulled his strings.
He pushed the door open without hesitation and stepped inside.
The lighting was dim. Golden candelabras cast elongated shadows across the stone walls. A strong smell of wine and cheap perfume filled the air.
And there he was.
The merchant sat comfortably in a red leather armchair, a glass of liquor in hand, staring at the newcomer with a smile that wavered between surprise and mockery.
At his side, two gigantic figures stood motionless like statues.
The bodyguards.
They were enormous. Broad, with muscles that looked as if they had been carved from stone. Massive swords were strapped to their backs, each one larger than the torso of an average man.
And on the other side…
The girl.
Her small body sat still on a cushion on the floor, showing no emotion whatsoever. Her dull eyes reflected neither fear nor relief.
The merchant let out a hoarse laugh.
—"Ha! I can't believe it…"—
He leaned back in his chair, drumming his fingers on the solid wooden desk.
—"I thought I'd see you torn apart, devoured by those bastards, but… here you are."—
The man did not respond. He walked slowly to the center of the room. Then, without a word, he lifted the bag full of weapons and threw it onto the floor.
The metallic clash of knives, razors, and daggers echoed through the room.
The bodyguards frowned. The merchant raised an eyebrow.
—"What does this mean?"—
The man spoke, his voice as cold as a blade.
—"The beggars tried to kill me. You sold me as cannon fodder."—
The merchant shrugged indifferently.
—"Business, my friend. An extra incentive to see if you were worth it. And what do you know? You were. You survived. From the moment I saw you, I could tell you weren't like the others. There was something different about you—defiant, nonconformist."—
The man did not take his eyes off him.
—"But what does it matter?" —the merchant continued—. "Look on the bright side… if you're alive, it means you got what you wanted."—
He laughed.
The man remained silent.
The merchant leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk, his eyes gleaming with a dangerous spark.
—"Although, to be honest… I'm not very happy with this outcome."—
He gestured toward the girl with his head.
—"After all, she's the most valuable thing I have. Do you know how many men would pay fortunes just to touch her? How many degenerates would kill just to possess her?"—
Rage boiled inside the man.
The merchant clicked his tongue in annoyance.
—"The idea of losing her to a vagabond disgusts me."—
He waved his hand.
The bodyguards moved instantly, drawing their massive swords with a threatening metallic sound.
The merchant smiled maliciously.
—"Kill him."—
The two men advanced like beasts of war, their heavy steps making the wooden floor creak.
The man didn't wait.
With a swift motion, he drew a knife coated with his own blood, the weapon gleaming with a faint dark sheen under the candlelight.
The first bodyguard swung his sword downward, aiming to split him in two with a single blow. The man dodged quickly, spinning to the side and plunging his knife into the giant's forearm.
Just a cut.
The mercenary laughed.
—"Is that all?" —he mocked, but his laughter cut off abruptly when an unbearable burning sensation surged through his arm.
His skin turned red instantly. Then bubbles began to form on his flesh, as if something corrosive were devouring it from within.
The burning became pain.
The pain became agony.
The man dropped his sword and fell to his knees, staring in horror as his skin slowly melted.
—"What the hell…?!"—
His companion, seeing this, looked down at his own arm.
He, too, had been cut.
And the skin around the wound was already being consumed, as if liquid fire were running through his veins.
The pain was unbearable.
One of the mercenaries began to scream.
—"Shit! It feels like my body is burning from the inside!"—
The other tried to tear his skin off with his fingernails, but that only made it worse. Flesh came away in sticky strips.
The merchant, who until now had been smiling, jumped to his feet, his face pale.
—"What kind of monster are you?"—
The man did not respond.
One of the mercenaries, in a final attempt to attack, charged at him with a roar of pain and desperation. But the man was faster.
He ducked, evading the clumsy strike, and slid his knife across the giant's abdomen.
Another cut.
Another tearing scream.
The skin of the bodyguard's stomach began to bubble and melt like wax, revealing muscle and organs beneath. He fell onto his back, convulsing, until he finally stopped moving.
The second mercenary fared no better. He tried to flee, but his legs no longer responded. His muscles had dissolved into a mass of blackened, charred flesh.
He collapsed with a gurgle of agony before his life faded away.
The man straightened, wiping his knife on his own shirt.
The merchant backed away, his face drenched in cold sweat, fear clearly visible in his eyes.
The man advanced slowly, each step echoing in the silent room.
—"Time to pay your debt."—
The merchant trembled. His eyes darted between the corpses of his two bodyguards and the man approaching him, his dark figure standing out beneath the dim light.
—"W-wait…" —his voice broke—. "We can talk!"—
The man did not respond.
His footsteps echoed, slow and heavy, as if death itself were walking through the office.
The merchant dropped to his knees, raising his hands in supplication.
—"I'll give you the money! More than we agreed! Take it all!"—
The man kept advancing.
—"The girl! She's yours, take her! Just let me live!"—
The fear in his eyes was real.
But so was his desperation.
Beneath the desk, his fingers searched for a small bronze button embedded in the wood.
He pressed it hard.
Click.
A metallic echo vibrated through the silence.
The man stopped.
In less than a second, the door burst open, and the room flooded with men.
Dozens of mercenaries in dark outfits, armed with daggers, swords, and war hammers, poured into the office like a lethal tide.
The merchant, still on his knees, began to laugh.
First, a shaky laugh.
Then, unrestrained. Hysterical.
—"Did you really think you could kill me here? This is my domain! My empire!"—
He stood up, wiping sweat from his face with his sleeve.
—"You're strong, I admit it. But no one can stand against all of them—men I've gathered from many places to serve me."—
The merchant snapped his fingers.
The mercenaries took their positions, ready to attack.
The merchant sighed in relief.
—"Wash your hands with his blood."—
He grabbed the girl's hand tightly.
—"And when you're done… clean up this mess."—
He turned around and left the office, dragging the girl with him.
"It's my turn to have some fun."
Those words made something inside the man snap.
The fire within him overflowed.
The mercenaries attacked all at once.