"Ser Patrick?" Rofus prodded, when he'd been quiet a while.
There was his own road too, though. There were people that Oliver owed more than complete strangers, people who had recently saved his life. They expected things from him, a certain level of strength and justice. The country collectively decided that these bandits needed to be dealt with and it was the country that Oliver now served, even if many of the nobility seemed to view him with the same revilement as the criminals that he executed.
It was not his role here to think.
He drove his sword through the man's chest with as little of his intention forecasted as he could. He would kill, but it wasn't his intention to make the man suffer. The man didn't even seem to notice the sword in his chest, not until he was already strongly within the throes of death.
