CHAPTER 20

DUEL AT THE INN

Mark rode forward, his horse trotting through an endless stretch of grassland. He was near the border between the lands of Archon Anthemios and Archon Innokentios. Bodies lay scattered across the field, ravens already picking at the dead. It was the grim aftermath of a skirmish. Most of the fallen soldiers wore the green armor of Anthemios’ forces, with a few in the red of Innokentios’ troops. Mark guessed that Anthemios’ men had been ambushed. Despite all the bloodshed, with torn banners and bodies strewn everywhere, this was just a small clash in a much bigger, brutal war.

Leaving the grim scene behind, Mark rode on, finally reaching a quiet village about an hour later. The place was nearly empty—a few thatched-roof houses lined dirt streets that felt abandoned. He headed to the small inn, dismounted, and stepped inside. Only the innkeeper and two elderly customers were there.

“Got any wine?” he asked at the counter.

“You’re in luck,” the innkeeper replied. “We’re just about out.” He poured Mark a cup, and Mark tossed him a coin before downing it in one go.

“This place feels like a ghost town,” Mark said, glancing around. “Where is everyone?”

“Most of the men were conscripted to fight against Innokentios,” the innkeeper explained. “All that’s left are kids, women, and us old folks.”

Mark leaned forward. “Any work around here for a wandering swordsman?”

The innkeeper’s eyes lit up. “Actually, yes. There’s a troublemaker who’s been causing havoc. He’s been harassing women. He’s young and good with a blade. None of us are in any shape to take him on, with all the young men gone and only us old folk remaining here, but maybe you could put an end to it?”

“Thirty gold coins,” Mark replied.

“Ten is the best we can do,” the innkeeper said, shaking his head. “We’re barely scraping by with this war going on.”

“Fifteen,” Mark said flatly. “Or I’m on my way, and you’re on your own.”

The innkeeper hesitated, muttering, “Fine, you greedy bastard. Fifteen it is.”

"So, where can I find this troublemaker?" Mark asked.

"He usually shows up around now to drink," the innkeeper replied. "That's why I said we're almost out of wine. We didn't have much to start with, thanks to the war cutting off supplies, and he’s been guzzling cup after cup every night since he arrived a week ago."

Mark nodded. "Got any food while I wait for him?"

The innkeeper nodded and soon returned with a plate of olives, bread, and cheese.

"No meat?" Mark asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Can’t afford it."

Mark dug in anyway, savoring the salty taste of the local cheese. As he finished, a rough-looking man barged in, holding a young woman by the arm. He was tall and brawny, with a mess of short hair and a scruffy beard. His shirt and pants didn’t match, and a sword hung at his hip. He looked to be in his mid-twenties, and the woman in his grasp was clearly uncomfortable, her face tense.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

"Aw, come on, don’t be so uptight,” the man sneered as he fondled her. “With your husband off fighting, it’s time to have some fun.”

The woman didn’t resist, but Mark could see the fear in her eyes – she didn’t think anyone would step in to help.

"Let her go," Mark said calmly.

The man shoved her aside, and she stumbled, hitting the wooden floor with a thud. He turned, sneering. "And who the hell are you, pal? Thought all the men your age around here got drafted."

"Just a wanderer," Mark replied. "But I've been hired to take you down."

The man chuckled darkly and drew his sword. "You’re welcome to try."

Mark unsheathed his own sword, steady and ready. It was time to settle this.

The innkeeper ducked behind the counter, and the woman and two elderly customers rushed out of the inn.

Mark and the thug locked eyes, each sizing up the other, waiting for the right moment. For a second, neither moved. Then, in a flash, the man swung his sword down in a fierce vertical slash. Mark raised his blade just in time, deflecting the strike with a loud clang. The man didn’t let up, following with three more slashes, but each time, Mark’s sword met his with a solid block.

The man stepped back, eyeing Mark, who readied himself defensively. Suddenly, the thug leapt high and swung his blade down. Mark shifted to the left, but not before the sword nicked his shoulder, drawing blood. The man landed and immediately lunged, pressing his attack. Mark held him off with quick parries, but the man’s strikes came faster and fiercer with every blow. This wasn’t just some common thug – he was skilled, strong, and fast. One strike hit so hard that Mark’s grip slipped, and his sword flew from his hands.

Seeing his chance, the man swung at the now-unarmed Mark, but Mark dodged back, weaving out of reach. In a flash, Mark grabbed a nearby wooden chair and hurled it at him. The man sliced it clean in half, but that was all Mark needed. He charged forward like a bull, slamming into the man and knocking him to the ground, sending his sword clattering across the floor.

The two men tumbled across the floor in a fierce brawl. The thug clamped down on Mark’s neck with a brutal bite, making him cry out, then drove a knee into his gut, shoving him back. Both scrambled to their feet, Mark’s neck trickling with blood from the bite. The man swung a kick at Mark, but Mark dodged and countered with a hard punch, landing square on the thug’s cheek and spraying spit and blood. Mark followed up with another punch, smashing the man’s nose, but the thug retaliated with a swift kick to Mark’s groin. Mark groaned, staggering back a few steps.

Not missing a beat, the thug grabbed a wooden table and hurled it at Mark. Mark ducked just in time, letting it sail over him. He grabbed a chair and smashed it over the man’s head, bruising his face. Grabbing quickly the man by the hair, Mark kneed him repeatedly, sending blood flying. But the thug struck Mark’s sides with both fists, forcing him to let go. The thug took advantage, kicking Mark square in the chest and knocking him backward. Mark hit the floor but quickly jumped up, bracing himself in a defensive stance.

“You’re one tough motherfucker,” the thug sneered, wiping a bit of blood from his mouth. “But I’m still gonna kick your ass.”

Mark stayed silent.

The thug charged at him, but Mark smoothly stepped to the side. As the man stumbled past, his back turned, Mark swung his fist into the thug’s spine with full force. The thug cried out in pain, dropping to the floor. He tried to push himself up, but Mark delivered a powerful kick to his face, sending blood and a few teeth flying. The thug collapsed, knocked out cold.

Mark picked up his sword from the floor and sheathed it, then walked over to the counter where the innkeeper had been hiding. The innkeeper slowly rose, wide-eyed. “Is... is it over?”

“Yeah,” Mark nodded. “Now, about my payment.”

“Minus the damage you caused, I assume-” Before the innkeeper could finish, Mark had his sword out, its tip pressing against the man’s throat.

“I don’t get stiffed on a contract,” Mark said, eyes cold.

“B-but-”

“I’ll take twelve coins instead of fifteen. That’s as low as I go. I’m being generous here, seeing as times are tough and I left a bit of a mess. But I did handle your problem, and that thug was no lightweight. So count yourself lucky.”

The innkeeper quickly handed over twelve coins. Mark pocketed them, strode out of the inn, mounted his horse, and rode off, leaving the village behind him. For that’s the life of a wanderer – always moving on.