The town lay hidden in a desert expanse, a small, rusting relic of civilization with a population barely reaching a hundred. Its streets, barely inhabited, were marked by creaking houses of corrugated iron. The wind howled, and a solitary figure strode down the center of the street. He was tall, clad in dark armor, his entire form concealed by a heavy cloak, with a massive sword slung across his back.
Each of his measured steps echoed through the deserted streets, drawing the curious gazes of the few townsfolk. His presence was an anomaly in the quiet town.
Inside a dim, damp bar illuminated only by flickering candles, patrons were scattered, engaged in low murmurs and the haze of smoke. The barmaid, a young woman named Leane with unremarkable features, was tending to the customers when the door swung open abruptly. The room fell silent, all eyes on the newcomer—the same man who had been walking outside.
"Well, you're new here," Leane observed as the man approached the counter.
"I'd like a jar of water, please," he requested, and then, as he removed his cloak, revealed a rugged face with black hair, a beard, and weary eyes. His minimal armor covered only his chest and shoulders, leaving his scarred arms exposed. He set his sword beside him and handed two silver coins to Leane.
"Anything else?" she asked.
"Just something to eat, the cheapest you have," he replied.
Leane nodded and retreated to prepare his meal. Meanwhile, two patrons rose and approached him.
"Hey, demon hunter, your kind isn't welcome here," one of them warned, grabbing him by the collar. The other added, "You better leave before things get worse."
Irritated, the man responded, "I came here to eat, not to fight." He tried to ignore them, but the aggressors persisted. One continued to taunt him while the other grabbed him roughly.
"Listen up, demon hunter. We don't want your kind around here!"
The bar's atmosphere grew tense as the crowd watched. The man, frustrated, grabbed the hand of his aggressor and drove it onto the table with a knife, pinning it there. The aggressor screamed in pain. The other tried to flee but was swiftly subdued by the man, who then knocked him out.
The bar fell silent, shocked by the display. Returning to his seat, the man took his food from Leane, who had witnessed the entire confrontation.
"Thanks," he said, starting his meal. Leane, intrigued and awestruck, finally asked, "Who are you?"
The man took a drink and continued eating before responding, "I am a man who has lost everything." He resumed his meal, seemingly uninterested in further conversation. Yet, Leane's curiosity only grew.
"Can you tell me your story?"
The man looked up, his expression shifting slightly. He took another sip of water and smiled faintly. "My story is one of tragedy."
Leane's interest deepened. "I like tragic stories."
A brief, dissonant chuckle escaped the man's lips. "Hahaha! My story is of a foolish man who lost everything he held dear. Are you sure you want to hear it?"
Leane nodded vigorously. "Yes, I want to know."
The man quickly finished his food and water. Leane, eager to listen, brought more refreshments and a chair to sit beside him. The other patrons, drawn by the unfolding drama, began to pay closer attention.
"It seems everyone wants to hear the fool's story," the man said, downing the extra water.
"Then listen closely. This is my tale," he began, preparing to share his story with the captivated audience.