The bandits froze and then burst out laughing. The shield-bearer flushed red with anger and swung at the outstretched hand. The gauntlet should've broken the young man's wrist, but nothing happened. The flower-seller divided the bouquet and started packing the flowers.
The shield-bearer looked from his fist to the empty space in front of him in surprise.
"You can keep your grass, you freak," Eric said, still laughing. "But be sure to donate your coin!"
The young man scratched the top of his head as if he was thinking and then smiled.
"I'm afraid that I can't do that, I won't have anything to eat then."
"Are you an idiot?" Dvach said, "Gobi, take his coin purse."
Gobi nodded, creaking with his leather cowl, and held out his hand, beckoning with his fingers to be given the purse. The young man, contrary to logic and common sense, continued packing.
Having waited for a little, Gobi became furious. He stepped forward with the intention to grab the fool, but the said fool wasn't there anymore. What was strange was that the distance between the two, despite the young man's disappearing act, remained the same. Gobi stared at his hand in confusion.
"Oho!" the necromancer exclaimed. The bandits immediately drew their weapons and looked around. "One of the traders is a Ternite!"
The bandits exchanged glances and smirked. The young man was still packing his flowers and stall. Gobi raised his heavy sword, which suddenly shone with a golden glow, and brought it down, aiming at the Ternite's neck.
But the neck wasn't there, only the bag, which took the hit for its owner. The wind blew and picked up the petals that danced and swirled as they got scattered across the village. A sight so beautiful would be welcomed any other day except today.
"The flowers," the young man said, distressed. He was sitting on a fence a couple of feet from where they had tried to decapitate him. Shaking his head and muttering under his breath, he started counting something on his fingers. When he finished, he nodded and smiled again. "You owe me a whole piece of silver."
Gobi, red in the face from rage, spread his arms to the sides and screamed so loudly that he'd make an ordinary man's ears bleed, striking fear into the hearts of anyone who heard him and paralyzing them. The Ernites were at the mercy of forces that they could not comprehend.
Silver lightning colored the sky. The young man, waving his arms comically, fell off the fence. Rubbing his bruised forehead, he got up and spat. With a clang, a steel needle fell to the cobblestone. No one could believe their eyes ― the young man had caught it with his teeth.
"You're evil," he said.
Two shots were fired. Smoke rose from the musket.
The young man fell on his back, arms sprawled to the sides.
"What a fool," the necromancer muttered. He reached for his belt, intent on making another zombie but was suddenly interrupted.
With a grunt, the young man flew into the air and landed onto his feet. Untied, the black scarf fell from his head; a waterfall of silver, tainted crimson at the temples, fell over his shoulders. Ruby drops trickled down his face, dying the emerald grass and soaking the ground.
"Firearms," the young man said thoughtfully. "Gentlemen, you're heretics..."
"Who are you?!" Eric exclaimed.
"Me?" the young man asked in wonder. "I'm just a simple flower merchant. Nice to meet you!"
At that moment, a blue glimmer fell from the young man's face, revealing that one of his eyes was truly blue, and the other, brown.
"I'll kill you!" Gobi shouted.
Leaving a cloud of dust behind him, he ran over to the young man and lunged at him. But his opponent didn't move. What's more, he looked at them all with pity.
An arch of blood was drawn in the sky. A moan broke the silence, and a body fell to the ground with a loud thud. No one could believe their eyes ― under the young man's feet lay the shield-bearer. A long cut adorned his neck, made but his own sword. The young man hadn't so much as blinked.
"Gobi!" Dvach shouted, but he was too late. His friend was no longer with them.
In this world, there was one thing everyone knew to be true no matter how much they wished it wasn't ― Death took, but it never gave back.
"Ashen hair," the other mage mumbled, taking a step back.
"Different colored eyes," Dvach grunted. His musket fell with a rattle.
The bandits suddenly froze. The young man, still smiling, waved his hand.
"The A-Ashen One!" Erich shouted in panic.
"Oh, I do not like being called that," the young man said.
Panic and fear gave way to apathy and silence. When the angel of death descends before you, you know that there's nowhere to run. All you can do is accept your fate. There was no one under the light of Irmaril who didn't know about the "Ashen One."
"Demon in human form," "cannibal who feeds on the flesh of children and blood of the elderly," "destroyer of cities," "fire spirit," "the shadow behind you," these were how children's horror stories called this harbinger of horror and death, the most wanted criminal in all the kingdoms of the continent, the murderer of thousands, the destroyer of four cities, the man who wiped almost a hundred villages from the face of the earth.
This was the man who occupied the first place on all the bounty list. The man for whom, dead or alive (preferably dead), the bounty hunter would be given a reward of forty-seven thousand gold, which was enough to buy a duchy with a castle, five thousand servants, almost fifty villages and have enough to live comfortably for the rest of your life.