Pitt slept the night away in the branches of a tree. He had used that instead of sleeping on the ground. He didn't want anyone coming across him thinking he was an easy mark.

He wanted to avoid any more trouble on his way home. He looked at the house from his perch. It radiated trouble to him.

He wondered what they would do if he asked for some water before he started across the property. How many would he have to punch? Would he need to kill any of them just to keep moving toward his home?

He wouldn't know what problem he might face by laying down in a tree. He needed to start moving.

Pitt climbed down from his perch. He pulled on his coat. He had used it as a blanket during the night. He wanted some tea and scones. He supposed that would have to wait until he was at the next town.

He decided that he should walk across the lawn until he reached a road leading off the estate. Then he could follow that until he reached wilderness, or another road heading in his direction. Then he could go back to walking in a straight line until he reached a town that would offer him food and drink.

He hoped the locals were friendly.

The fact they wouldn't want him trespassing crossed his mind. Some of the local lords he had dealt with in the past thought it was right to do something to a peasant for being out of place.

He made them regret their choices when he ran into them.

While he wasn't a ruler, he had been given an ability that he had earned backed by a higher authority. While he obeyed the local laws as much as he wanted, he didn't bow to any living force that might oppose him.

Sometimes he listened to what was requested and did what he could to carry that out. Sometimes he walked away when he thought the local king was unreasonable. Mostly he kept to himself and he wanted that respected.

Sometimes he had to demonstrate the power he had earned as the Cutter. That never went well for whomever was on the other end of the demonstration.

Pitt rolled the first cigarette of the day and thought he was running low on fixings. He wondered where he could find a tobacco dealer on the way home. He couldn't think of any place he knew that was close by.

He wondered if he could get some off the manor's inhabitants if he was polite enough in the request. Surely they wouldn't deny a man his smokes.

He kept walking. He was better off asking some random farmer down the road than waking up people who might throw up a fuss.

Pitt saw the road leading to the main road after a few minutes walking. Once he was on that, and moving away from the house, he would feel better. The house reeked of needing to be burned down.

And he was the man for that kind of job even if he wasn't happy about doing it.

Exclamations sounded behind him. He looked over his shoulder. Men in livery were yelling at him. He supposed they weren't happy that he was leaving without saying hello to them.

He decided to see what they wanted. Maybe one of them had some tobacco he could beg. And he didn't want them to think he was running away. That would put notions in their heads that they shouldn't try to think was doable.

“What do you think you're doing?,” demanded one of the men. The livery was green with gold swords on the front.

“Walking,” said Pitt. He looked down at his half-smoked cigarette. “You have any tobacco?”

“No, I don't have any tobacco,” said the spokesman. Pitt thought he was the top man on the scene and the boss of the others. That made him the first guy to go down since it might cripple how the others did things. “This is Roland the Cutter's estate. You can't just walk across it like you own it.”

“Roland the Cutter's estate?,” said Pitt. He held the cigarette in his fingers while scratching his head with the other. “I've never heard of anything like that. That's great for him. Since you don't have any tobacco, I'm heading out. Have a nice life.”

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

“You don't get to leave,” said the spokesman. He went to grab Pitt's arm. He found his air being cut off by a hand of iron. He started choking and beating at the arm holding him in place.

“If I were you, I would think about what will happen if I close my hand all the way,” said Pitt. “I think you should feel that is more important than any demand you might think about trying to enforce on me. When I let go, I want you to think about what will happen to you if I get angry about you not having any tobacco and decide to do something to you because of it.”

“Let Sir Kelven go,” said one of the other retainers. He seemed younger than the rest and more eager to fight. “I'll draw steel on you if you don't.”

Pitt opened his hand with a smile. He took one last puff of his cigarette and dropped it on the lawn. He stamped it out before the grass started burning.

“If any of you shovelheads so much as look at me funny, you won't like what happens to you,” said Pitt. He put his hands in his pockets. “Now, I'm going. The smart ones can go back in the house, or barracks, and live to bully someone else. The dumb ones can find out what their friends are made up of at least once.”

“The master will stop your mouth,” said Sir Kelven's rescuer. “He's the mightiest monster hunter in the land.”

“The mightiest monster hunter in the land is Montague Hand,” said Pitt. “He killed monsters with his mind. Even poisoned and half dead, he is still killing monsters from beyond his crypt. There are others still around that are mightier than Roland the Cutter. Think about that.”

The door to the manor opened. A figure in gilded armor strode out. He frowned at the confrontation on the lawn. He came forward with light enough steps that Pitt wondered if the armor was real, or if the wearer was just that strong.

Pitt could sense the satisfaction in the air. This must be Roland the Cutter come to tell him he was a peasant and should bend the knee. The liveried men stepped back to let him come forward to address this interloper.

“Do you know who I am?,” asked the man in the golden armor. His hand casually draped over the large sword at his hip.

“Nope,” said Pitt. “Do you have any tobacco? It'll save me having to look for someone to sell me some.”

“I'm Roland the Cutter,” said the stranger. “So you want tobacco?”

“I was good to just walking to the main road, but now that you're here and seem much friendlier than the stories, I thought why not,” said Pitt. He smiled.

“Friendlier than the stories, eh?,” said Roland.

“Sure,” said Pitt. “Everyone knows Roland the Cutter is in this part of the world. He was up at White Plains, and why wouldn't he come this way, or have an estate here?”

“I assure you that I wasn't at White Plains,” said Roland.

“Too bad,” said Pitt. You could tell everyone how you stopped a demon invasion by yourself if you had been there.”

“Thank you for that,” said Roland. “I don't think my reputation needs any more enhancement.”

“I know,” said Pitt. “It's almost bigger than a man can carry. I guess I'll be leaving you. Have a nice day.”

“Do you want that tobacco?,” said Roland. “I have a job for you. If you can do that, I will gladly give you a pouch of tobacco to see you on your way.”

“What happens if I can't do the job?,” said Pitt.

“Then you have to stay here and be one of my servants for the rest of your life,” said Roland. “Is it a bargain?”

“I don't see why not,” said Pitt. “What's the job?”

He wondered if all the men around him had been taken by whatever trick this job actually happened to be. He knew it couldn't be anything like a real job. That would make things too simple.

And it seemed right up this impostor's line to offer a con that enslaved people under his control without actually putting any effort in on his own.

“Come with me,” said Roland. “What's your name?”

“William Pitt,” said Pitt. He felt something try to grab on at the utterance of his name. He wondered if that was the key of the spell to make him unable to do whatever task was supposed to be done.

Roland seemed disturbed. He didn't give it up as a bad job. Maybe he thought the rest of the con would work without the actual spell in place.

“If you can clean this stable before the day is over, I will be glad to give you the pouch of tobacco,” said Roland. He waved a hand at the structure.

“It seems easy enough. You might want to get any horses out of there,” said Pitt. He looked around. He walked back to the trees. He climbed up to the top of the tallest one he found. He dropped back down to the ground. He walked back to the stable. He walked around with his hand up. When he was satisfied, he stopped where he thought he should be standing for what he wanted to do.

“I don't see you working,” said Roland. He grinned at his new slave. “There are only so many hours in the day.”

“I know the stable has a spell to keep it from being cleaned by normal methods,” said Pitt. “As soon as I try, any dirt and muck will just double to keep me from succeeding. It's an effective stop on anyone trying to win with normal methods.”

“So you think you can win with your magical methods?,” asked Roland. The grin was even wider.

“I wouldn't say magical,” said Pitt. “But I know two things you don't know that will make this cleaning easy.”

“Really,” said Roland, “And what's that?”

“First, the river is that way,” said Pitt. He pointed in the direction he was facing. “The second is I'm the real Roland the Cutter.”

The fake Roland's grin faltered at the revelation.

Pitt punched the stable and it vanished in a blast of air.