A new day will begin in Cermina. Unlike other mornings, this one seemed happy. Happiness is not the best word to define a place like this, but illusion is part of life.
An unconventional scene was taking place on the shores of the City-State. Sitting on the rocks, Von was watching the turbulent sea. Not even the sea had a minute's peace in that place. He had walked all night to get to that beach. Watching the sunrise made a lot of sense, there was a lot of value in that landscape. Each sunrise was one day closer to his humble dream, or to death. Regardless of the outcome, it would be better than his current life. The cigarette in his mouth came to an end, and with it, the brief moment of contemplation.
He wondered where he was going to feed himself since Walter Coel was dead. For a brief moment he felt sorry for the man's daughter, but this feeling turned to indifference as he remembered the pathetic scene he had witnessed. A betrayal? No. He had not been betrayed by the merchant, he had never expected anything from him other than discounts on food and drink, but this only reminded him that to stay alive in this world, trusting others was not an alternative. He closed his eyes in an attempt to get rid of the thoughts, the wind whipped his face, swaying his brown hair and giving him a caress that no human was ever able to give. The moment was filled with a sick serenity, everything beautiful in that place seemed exaggeratedly fake. Von knew that this moment of peace would not last long, he had provoked the High Command. However, every failed attempt by the High Command to send soldiers ends up making the assassin richer. Expensive clothing, valuable swords and spears, coins and jewelry were taken from the deceased soldiers. Not everything is a curse.
The sun's rays illuminated the assassin's brown strands, then his ajar eyes, and finally his straight nose. Von was a handsome man, brunet, with straight brown hair that had once grown wavy, tall, and quite muscular. Sometimes he thought about his origin, about who had pulled the appearance, about who his parents were, and if they were still alive. And if they were, he would surely kill them without hesitation.
He looked again at the sea waves breaking on the rocks. He quite liked that place, it was an abandoned, forgotten place. Just like him. Maybe someday he could build his longed-for house there. Von liked his arrogance, his selfishness. He was a dominator, a winner, nothing was able to stop him. Possessed of a great intellect, Von placed himself as superior to anyone, only his life mattered. Few can feel the welcome of blades, enjoy the real taste of steel. The assassin had several scars all over his body, each one with a name, date, time and memory.
He returned to reality, laughed at his own misfortune, and began the long walk back to the underworld of Cermina.
Arriving at his home, Von analyzed his arsenal. After what had happened the day before, it would be important not to let his guard down. He looked in the direction of a closed drawer. He walked to the drawer and opened it, revealing a glove. At first glance, a lonely black glove to warm his right hand, but this glove was forged by a former weapons engineer hired by the High Command, and given to Von as payment for a "personal revenge" service. This glove has mechanisms that reveal blades on each fingertip, blades of approximately 15 centimeters, capable of issuing deep cuts through all angles of its extremity, and easily punctured. Despite the fragile appearance of the blades, its material is composed of a rare mineral Cerminian, able to withstand temperatures and powerful hits with absurd ease. Von admired this weapon like a father admires his son after he takes his first steps.
The assassin polished the glove's blades as if it were his favorite hobby. He tried to use it only on important missions, to preserve it, but his happiness at seeing his favorite weapon was evidenced by his smile, he always smiled when he put it in his hands. Besides the glove, a silver dagger in his left pocket, and a revolver in the back of his pants. Von thought how lucky he would be if he got another 4000 rubles from another ambush of soldiers. This amount was all he needed to buy the land for his longed-for house.
He lay down on the bed for a while to rest. He wanted to make up for the hours of walking he had done with a short nap. He had only seen the sunrise, a long walk for only a few minutes of contemplation. His eyes closed.
An old memory took over his mind. Memories of when he was a child, desperately running through the streets of Cermina with a diamond necklace in his hand. He stole because he was hungry, stole because he was thirsty. He ran because he was afraid. The boy, about five years old, had bones sticking out from the hunger he felt, long, matted hair covering his back, and thin skin as a result of abandonment. His life depended on it.
The child would stop beside a garbage can, exhausted. His vision blurred and he fainted from the weakness. He felt the water entering his lips, held the glass in both hands, and took it all in one gulp. There was a large pair of green eyes watching him, the man held out a large piece of bread, left a few more bottles of water beside young Von and then left.
Von woke up in a cold sweat, he didn't understand why he remembered this now, when he had huge gaps in his past. He stood up quickly and grabbed a bottle of water, drinking it all in one gulp. He would go out into the streets, he couldn't bear to stay in that house falling to pieces, especially now that he was so close to conquering his longed-for land on the beach. Some would call him a dreaming fool. For Von, dreams are just dreams hidden in his pillows. He called them goals, it seemed more realistic to call them that. Since when could assassins dream?
He wandered the streets aimlessly. The assassin was bored, he had not found any potential victim who might possess the remaining value he sought. He took a cigarette from his pack, put it in his mouth and lit it. He didn't know exactly when his addiction to cigarettes began, he only knew that the sensation of the smoke filling his lungs relaxed his soul. The drug comforted his existence from the inside out. But during this brief appreciation someone bumped into his arm knocking over his cigarette. His blood boiled as he saw the cigarette fall to the floor, then he saw long straight red strands.
- Hey! girl!- Von grumbled, as he turned around, his muscles tensing, his mouth dry.
Her face not so white, her lips pink and plump, her green eyes looked like two emeralds ready to be stolen. But her gaze was shallow and intimidating, overbearing. A beautiful woman, really beautiful. The way she appeared, she was gone. Not for the first time Von felt out of place, not belonging. But when he saw those eyes, he saw competition, power, without masks or disguises. It was just a soul thirsty for blood, thirsty for reason.
Von kept walking until all the men walking on the street formed a circle around him, cornering him. Twenty soldiers this time would be more fun. And after that, he would be able to buy his house.