It took Boro a few hours, and he lost his way once, but when he finally got back to where he had left his horse he noticed that the bodies of the men he had slain earlier were still lying abandoned on the forest floor.
With a sigh he began gathering stones to make a large cairn for the fall bandits. He muttered angrily to himself about his stupid honor not allowing him to leave more bodies behind for the forest creatures to eat, but he did not stop gathering the stones. It was nearly night time again by the time he had finished laying the last stone on the pile of bodies and he was completely exhausted.
Still, he did not lay down to sleep. It was not out of fear for himself that he lit a lantern and walked his horse back to the road and began his long trek again. He was worried that stupidity would bring the rest of those men back here. He was afraid he'd have to kill again... He had never taken a life before today. He had won many duels and even injured people during some of the matches, but he had never killed before. His mind raced with mixed emotions, guilt wracked his heart and head. He knew it was useless to worry about taking a life in pursuit of saving his own and yet he could not stop thinking of the people he killed here today.
On Kerone, a person's skill with a blade played a large role in determining their value in society. A peasant born from nothing can attain great fame and even greater honor by mastering the blade. Wars and fighting was fairly common among the lords, ladies and rulers scattered across Kerone and as such, those with great skill with a blade were highly sought after and well paid for their various uses; The abundance of high quality metals made the access, and use, of swords available to pretty much anyone, and advancements in metallurgy had made these swords strong and durable while maintaining maximum lightness so that the swords did not need constant maintenance. Those who excelled with the sword could reach untold heights on Kerone.
Boro knew that becoming a blade master would eventually lead him to a battlefield or to a duel to the death, but he had never given much thought to how he would feel taking a life, and now here he was with six dead souls on his mind. He would come to think much about those poor fools. They were criminals but they were still people. More than likely they had turned to banditry to feed their families. When he thought more on the matter, that made the most sense. Hardened criminals would have better covered their tracks, would have operated together with more fluidity, and would most certainly not have given up in the face of just one young master swordsman in training.
Hours of traveling the road in the dark passed till the sun began rising over the horizon. Boro had walked leagues alongside Dingir, with her trying to take his fingers several times, thinking him unaware. Then more again on her back, patting her large neck whenever she followed his lead without a fuss. He planned on stopping briefly once the sun was fully up to feed her, and himself, and rest his sore feet. All he needed to do was find a nice spot to break his fast. The road was rocky and thick with gnarled roots sprouting from under the soil in the forest beyond it. That did not make the best spot for sitting and resting so Boro pushed onward, weary and on edge.
After some time of walking, when the light from Kerone's first sun finally began piercing the lush forest canopy, Boro spotted a figure sitting in a particularly bright sunbeam. He loosened his sword from its scabbard but did not draw it. The figure was an elderly man, most of his head was covered by a dirty linen hood but what he could see of his face, was scarred and burned, his eyes staring ahead. Boro walked up to the elder slowly. Calling out so as not to frighten him.
"Ho there elder!" He waved when the elder looked in his direction, stopping short a few feet before continuing.
"Hello son, what brings you here to these lonely woods?" The elderly man did not look at him, but past him instead. He sat on the ground, with a long wooden staff laid on his crossed legs. Though he looked completely relaxed, Boro knew the old man could wield that quarterstaff with deadly skill.
The old man had wrinkled and worn hands, but they looked strong gripped around the staff. His worn shirt revealed lean arms, covered in scars. An old soldier then, most likely dishonored if he was living like this.
What in the thirteen hell's was this old man doing on this road, in the middle of the woods, alone?
"Sir, do you need any help?" Boro asked, ignoring the old man's question. A bit of contempt leaked into his voice. He had no love for people who were dishonored.
The man smiled, "No son, but you sound like you do, why don't you join me in the sun. You can rest up here, it's my favorite basking spot in this whole forest."
The elder laid the staff aside and smiled warmly. His arms opened to welcome Boro to sit.
Boro's hand left his sword hilt and he walked cautiously over to the old man to sit.
"What are you doing out here by yourself old man, there are bandits wandering the roads here." Boro asked impatiently.
The man turned his head but again didn't look directly at Boro. That was when Boro noticed the man's eyes had gone completely white, he was blind!
"Elder, please let me sit with you, these are dangerous woods. Not even a day ago I dispatched a group of waylayers" Boro said to the man, voice filled with concern.
The elderly man's eyebrows rose. He could not see, but his hearing was as good as any and the voice he heard belonged to a young man.
"Well sit my boy, please." the old man said, his hand waving to the empty space around him. "Pray tell me son, how a young one such as yourself, finds himself walking in the forest dispatching bandits, alone at that."
The old man's voice was calm and steady but Boro could not help but notice his hands tighten back on the staff laid beside him.
"Well elder, I just graduated from The Academy" Boro said this with pride in his voice. " I am on my way to find and train with a master."
"I stopped to sleep the other night and woke with some would be robbers standing over me" Boro said simply "I ended their robbing days but there were others, and they may be desperate enough to pick up robbing again"
"Hmm such a young age to take your first lives" the elder rubbed his chin, voice sounding sad. "Well good on you lad for protecting our lands, I think you have a bright future ahead of you."
The elder reached his hand out, gently placing it on Boro's shoulder. He was trying to comfort Boro. "Worry not for their souls son, all are reborn eventually. Hopefully their next lives will be easier."
Boro said nothing, not quite sure how the blind man knew the deaths weighed on his mind.
Boro sat with the Elder and shared his food and water and engaged in small talk. They did not share their names with each other, or where they hailed from. Before too long, Boro began drifting off to sleep, thinking only to take a short nap to regain some lost energy.
When Boro woke, several hours had passed and the Elder was gone. By Boro's side lay a small satchel of dried fish and hard bread. Boro smiled, that old man was kinder than Boro had expected. Something about the man made Boro smile.
He was young when his father died, and his memories of him were basically nonexistent. That elder man however made Boro remember his father, a brief memory flashed of his father holding him in his arms, smiling up at him as he spun baby Boro in the air.
Boro grew frustrated upon remembering that moment, he hadn't thought about his father in so long. The man was a disgrace and Boro hated thinking about how his fathers failure threw his family into poverty and hardship.
With a angry grunt Boro rose to his feet, pulling his map from his pack, planning the next leg of his long journey. His next stop would be Helfa, a large bustling city a few days' ride from where he believed himself to be.
He carefully fed Dingir, avoiding the temperamental horse's attempts at taking off his fingers and then hopped up into the saddle and began a steady trot to Helfa.