What is the difference between a good swordsman and a bad one? Is it there soul, there will for justice. Is it talent, how about years of training. After decades of practice, you could probably call Boss a good swordsman. Some might go as far as to call him a swordmaster. But he never liked the sword, he preferred the feeling of bone hitting flesh. Why then does he carry the blue encased longsword? Nobody knows, not even his closest advisers.
Boss took a step out of the cave tasting the crisp mountain air. Cane walked up standing beside him.
Cane was someone Boss took in when he was young, he was a street urchin with no family. They have been through hell together, and Boss saw him as an annoying son.
"The men are ready." Cane said with excitement.
Cane couldn't remember the last time he went on a mission with Boss.
Boss nodded, he felt like he should be excited as well, or at least nervous, but he felt nothing. Maybe at most a tinge that this might be a mistake. He didn't believe that he could fail, the plan was too perfect. The problem is he's going to succeed, and what comes after that.
Cane rested his arm on Boss's shoulder, a crude show of love which can not be exceeded.
"Are you ready?" Boss asked.
"What do you mean?" Cain replied.
"This isn't going to be easy, here let me give you something."
Boss took a bland silver ring off his finger and gave it to Cane.
"A Ring?" Cane asked.
"It's a treasure, never take it off."
"I see." Cane slid the ring onto his middle finger. It became precious almost immediately, Boss never gave gifts. "Boss?"
"Yes?"
"Why don't you clean that suit of yours, it'll make you more presentable."
Boss shrugged, he didn't really care how he looked. Cane stared at him perplexed, and then he had an idea. Taking out a pack of cigars he offered one to Boss. Boss shook his head.
"I've given them up, I don't think I need them anymore." Boss denied.
"More for me." Cane took one and put it in his mouth. "Ogień spali nas wszystkich."
A small flame appeared in his hand; it moved as though it had life, drifting into the air catching the cigar alight.