The two stood face-to-face, each holding their ground on the bridge, eyes locked. Amukelo's expression was one of calm readiness, while the man facing him wore an intense, exaggerated grin that only seemed to widen as he declared, "Are you ready?"
Amukelo, in contrast, felt almost bored. "I'm waiting for you," he said flatly, rolling his eyes as if this whole encounter was just a minor inconvenience. The man took a deep breath, trying to amp himself up for the fight, and then, with an overly dramatic shout, he rushed forward. But as soon as the man began to charge, Amukelo noticed that his form completely fell apart—his arms flailed, his stance widened too much, and his balance wavered with each thudding step. Amukelo's face twisted into an expression of pure disappointment.
'Is he serious?' Amukelo thought, barely moving. The man was so painfully slow and uncoordinated that Amukelo didn't even need to think. When the man finally closed the distance, swinging his sword wildly, Amukelo easily sidestepped out of harm's way. In one smooth motion, Amukelo let his own blade skim across the man's thigh, leaving a shallow cut. The man stumbled, almost dropping to one knee, and took a few uneven steps to regain his balance. His face was flushed red, more from embarrassment than pain.
As the man straightened back up, he was breathing heavily, looking at Amukelo with a mix of forced determination and shock. "Ahh, you are good," he muttered, trying to sound confident through gritted teeth. "But don't think that can stop me!"
Amukelo just watched him, shaking his head internally. 'No, you're just very bad,' he thought with a sigh. It was clear that this guy had no real experience and was relying on some misguided sense of bravado to carry him through.
The man readied himself for a second attack, crouching slightly before charging again. He roared as he rushed at Amukelo, but this time Amukelo didn't even bother with his sword. He stepped to the side once more, but rather than using his blade, he simply extended a hand and gave the man a firm shove. It was almost comical—Amukelo didn't even have to put much force into it.
The man stumbled sideways and slammed into the wooden guardrail on the edge of the bridge. For a brief, tense moment, he tried to regain his footing, his arms flailing wildly as he teetered on the edge, but his momentum was too great. With a yelp, the man toppled over the side and plunged headfirst into the icy water below.
Amukelo looked over the edge of the bridge and sighed in disbelief. He thought to himself, 'Maybe this will be a good lesson for him...' But then he saw the man thrashing in the water, and it became quickly apparent that something was very wrong. The guy wasn't just splashing; he was panicking, spluttering, and sinking with every desperate stroke. "Ahh! Help! I can't swim!" the man screamed, his head bobbing in and out of the water as the river's current tugged at him.
Amukelo groaned and slapped a hand to his forehead in pure frustration. "You've got to be kidding me," he muttered. With no other choice, Amukelo took a deep breath, sheathed his sword, and dived into the water after him. The shock of the cold was immediate, like a thousand needles stabbing his skin all at once. But there was no time to think about that—Amukelo forced himself through the freezing current, swimming as quickly as he could towards the flailing figure.
The river was deceptively strong, the current pulling both of them downstream. Each stroke felt like swimming through thick mud, but Amukelo was strong, and within a few moments, he reached the drowning man. Wrapping an arm around the guy's chest, Amukelo pulled him back towards the shore. The man continued to panic, clutching at Amukelo with desperate hands, making it difficult for either of them to move efficiently. "Stop struggling!" Amukelo barked through clenched teeth. "You're making this harder!"
Finally, after a relentless struggle, Amukelo dragged the man up onto the riverbank, both of them panting heavily. They lay there for a moment, soaked and shivering, the cold air biting through their wet clothes. Amukelo stood up, and without missing a beat, scolded the man harshly. "Are you dumb?! How can you stand there challenging strangers, picking fights, when you can't even fight? And for what? What were you thinking?"
The man coughed up water, his confidence completely shattered, and tried to respond. "I... I didn't think I'd..."
Amukelo cut him off, his anger rising as he felt the chill seep into his bones. "That's right. You didn't think! And now we're both soaked, freezing, and stuck out here with no cover!"
As if on cue, a cold wind swept through the area, causing both of them to shiver violently. Amukelo's teeth chattered, and he wrapped his arms around himself for warmth. The temperature had dropped significantly since the morning, and now, with winter fully in the air, the icy wind felt like knives against their wet skin. Their clothes, drenched and heavy, clung to them uncomfortably. Amukelo scanned the area, trying to find shelter—a cave, a cabin, anything—but the bridge was isolated, surrounded only by open fields and sparse trees. There was no quick escape from the cold.
As the cold winds whipped around them, Amukelo's frustration with the situation was only growing. He turned to the shivering man beside him and said with urgency, "Hey, do you know where the nearest place is that we can find shelter? Anywhere people are living?"
The man's teeth were chattering violently as he struggled to respond. "There... there's... my village... about a day's travel... from here..." His words came out brokenly, interrupted by the spasms from the cold. Amukelo's face tensed in response. A full day of travel meant crossing the river and then braving the freezing winds until the sun went down and into the bitter night. He could already feel the frost nipping at his fingers and toes, and he knew that by nightfall, their wet clothes would become icy prisons against their skin.
Amukelo took a deep breath, trying to clear his mind despite the cold. "That's too far. We need somewhere closer. Are you sure there's nowhere else? Nothing closer?"
The man's shivering seemed to lessen for a moment as his face changed—there was hesitation, even fear. "Th-there... there is a place..." he said, his voice quiet and uneasy, as if even mentioning it was somehow dangerous.
Amukelo's eyebrows furrowed. "There?" he repeated, pressing for more details. "What do you mean? Where is it? If there's a place, we need to get there."
The man paused, his face paling even more than it already had in the cold. "There... there are rumors about that settlement. They say... they say it's... cursed. Or haunted. I don't know. But... people say not to go there."
Amukelo's eyes narrowed with a mix of impatience and skepticism. "Rumors? Really? We could die out here, and you're worried about some stories?" He shook his head, frustrated by the man's reluctance. "Look, we have no choice. We need shelter now. Where is it?"
The man, still trembling, pointed with a weak, shaking hand toward a direction further west. His arm barely held steady, but Amukelo caught the hint and gave a firm nod. "Get up," Amukelo ordered. "We're heading that way. And I'm not dragging you, so you better keep up." The man, too cold and tired to argue, nodded and forced himself to his feet.
Amukelo walked over to his horse, gathering the few dry items he had left in his bags. He strapped them to himself securely, then nodded to the man. "Come on. We don't have much time."
The two of them began their journey westward, trudging through the brittle grasses and scattered patches of ice that dotted the land. Their wet clothes clung to their bodies, the frigid wind biting through the layers mercilessly.
Amukelo kept his head low as he marched forward, but he kept glancing at the sky, tracking the sun as it dipped lower and lower. Only a couple of hours of light left—maybe less. Each breath left a cloud of mist in the air, and their numb hands and feet made every step a painful effort. The man's clumsy gait only slowed them down, and more than once, Amukelo had to steady him to keep him from stumbling and falling over.
After about an hour, their destination came into view. Through the trees and along the horizon, Amukelo saw what looked like a settlement: a modest wooden wall encircling several buildings. But something was off. The settlement seemed far too quiet for the time of day—there were no distant voices, no sounds of work or play, and no smoke rising from chimneys to indicate cooking or fires for warmth. It was just... eerily silent.
As they drew closer, the most peculiar feature of the settlement came into view—a church, a massive one. It towered over the surrounding buildings, its stone structure appearing far more elaborate and grand than anything else in the settlement. For a village of this size, having such a large church seemed odd. The spire pierced the sky, standing like a watchtower over the entire area, and its large stained-glass windows glinted dully in the fading light of the day. The fact that it dominated the skyline so completely only added to the unsettling atmosphere of the place.
Amukelo glanced at the man, whose eyes were fixed nervously on the church. "Is this it?" Amukelo asked, receiving a shaky nod in response. "All right," Amukelo muttered under his breath, more to himself than to the man. "Let's go."
As they approached the gate, Amukelo noticed that there were no guards posted outside. In fact, there was no sign of anyone at all. The wooden gate, which looked old but sturdy, was left partially ajar. Amukelo's instincts warned him that this wasn't normal—most settlements had at least some form of guard to control who came in or out, especially as the sun was going down. But here, there was no one.