The morning air in Vördrheim was crisp, the snow glistening under the pale sunlight that barely peeked through the overcast sky. Outside the wooden cabin, Xyenn stood, arms crossed, glaring at Mertha with a mix of frustration and embarrassment. His body still ached from the grueling training session the day before, and now he had a new problem: the armor Mertha was insisting he wear.

“Hold still, brat!” Mertha growled, yanking Xyenn back by the shoulder as he tried to wriggle away for the fourth time.

“I’m not wearing this!” Xyenn protested, his voice a mixture of a whine and a growl. “I look ridiculous!”

Mertha ignored him completely, tightening the straps on the bracers. “You’ll wear it, and you’ll like it,” she grunted. “Stop acting like a damn child.”

Xyenn groaned loudly, throwing his head back in exasperation. “This armor looks like it was made for a—what is this even made of?” He yanked at the bright red-and-gold chestplate, which gleamed obnoxiously in the sunlight. The armor was a patchwork of **vibrant blues, greens, and reds**, with mismatched plates that didn’t seem to follow any kind of sensible design. The shoulder guards were huge, almost comically large, and a strange silver chain crisscrossed his chest.

“I look like a jester.” Xyenn groaned. “And I can put it own myself.” Xyenn crossed his arms.

Mertha, thoroughly amused by his complaints, grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and turned him back toward her, continuing to adjust the armor. “Quit your griping. This armor was crafted by the dwarves of the Iron Hills. It’s not about how it looks, it’s about what it does.”

Xyenn raised an eyebrow, still pouting. “What it does?” He tugged at the gauntlets, which were oversized and covered in oddly shaped runes that glowed faintly. “Does it make me look like a clown on purpose? Sick joke, woman. I’m becoming a hardcore dragon warrior, imagine someone like me walking around looking like this.”

Mertha chuckled, yanking the straps tighter around his waist. “It’s crafted from materials forged in the Forge of Kaldor itself, brat. Draconic fire was used to shape this armor. The dwarves who made it left the Iron Hills ages ago, but they kept some of the material they used to craft weapons and armor for Yuuna and her vessels—vessels like you.”

Xyenn blinked, his frustration momentarily forgotten. “Wait, Yuuna? That’s where she is, isn’t she? Haha! I knew it! She’s not dead!”

Mertha’s hands froze for a split second, her usually stoic expression flickering with something like… nervousness? She quickly recovered, letting out a short, awkward laugh. “Hah! Yuuna? Nah, no idea where she is! Probably off slaughtering something or other.” She slapped Xyenn on the back with a little too much enthusiasm, nearly sending him face-first into the snow. “Now, stop asking questions and get out there! You’ve got a world to explore!”

Xyenn narrowed his eyes, clearly unconvinced. “You’re lying.”

Mertha ignored him, grabbing his arm and hauling him toward the horse that was tied up by the side of the cabin. A massive brown stallion snorted in the cold, its breath forming clouds in the frosty air. “Take the horse,” she said, her voice almost gruff. “He’ll get you where you need to go.”

Xyenn, still grumbling, allowed himself to be pushed toward the horse. “I can’t believe you’re sending me out looking like this. People are going to laugh at me…”

Mertha snorted. “Better they laugh than get suspicious when they sense your draconic blood. This armor will hide it. It’s the only thing keeping you from being a walking target. So shut up and be grateful.”

“There’s nothing entirely wrong with being a draconic vessel, right?”

“Aren’t you forgetting something? When you and Yuuna fought Death, did something tug at you that maybe Yuuna is known by every single draconic deity in Kyrrin? Them and their vessels would know the feeling of her essence. This armor would block that, you’d be ten times safer.”

“Yeah, guess that makes sense. Fine, fine. What am I supposed to do out there anyway? Make friends?”

“Like I have been doing for this while, just go and study the land, get involved with things. My clan were known for espionage and also warfare, scouting the lands of your enemies is the first step to conquering the land. And since we are now assassins of the gods, we will be doing the same thing. Got it?”

“Yeah..”

‘She’s definitely useful. But I still have to ask..’

“How do you know Yuuna?”

“I’m one of her Tyrants.”

“What’s that?”

“Me and 5 other warriors like me are basically her subordinates. And she infused a small hint of her dragon blood within us, that’s why I grew a halo. She sought out those like me, those who were willing to go beyond and complete our goals, and she promised to make that happen. Me and the other Tyrants have a vendetta with the gods, we’re willing to do whatever it takes to make sure we get what’s ours. Yeah, we know it’s dangerous, we know the risks.”

“Mertha..”

“So that’s also where she went, she went to collect them. And bring them here to meet you. So be prepared because they’re uh..rough.”

“If they’re as rough as you I’m running away.”

Mertha laughed, “HAHA! They’re worse. Now scram.”

Xyenn muttered something under his breath but swung himself up onto the horse’s back, his body still sore from the previous day’s training. As he settled into the saddle, Mertha handed him a small ram’s horn, its surface smooth and polished.

“If you get into trouble,” she said, her voice gruff but strangely caring, “blow this. I’ll hear it. Don’t be stupid and try to handle everything on your own.”

Xyenn looked at the horn, then at Mertha, a small smirk playing at the corners of his lips. “You’re acting like my mom now.”

Mertha scowled, though there was a hint of amusement in her eyes. “Yeah, well, somebody’s gotta knock some sense into that thick skull of yours before you get yourself killed. Now get going. Don’t make me regret not beating you down again.”

Xyenn chuckled, shaking his head. “You’re a brute, you know that?”

“And you’re a brat,” Mertha shot back, slapping the horse’s flank. The stallion neighed and began to trot forward, snow crunching under its hooves as it carried Xyenn away from the cabin.

As he rode off, the ridiculous armor clinking with every step, Xyenn glanced back over his shoulder. Mertha stood there, arms crossed, watching him go. She was as stoic as ever, but there was a certain warmth in her gaze, a protective fierceness that Xyenn hadn’t noticed before.

“Stay alive, brat!” she called after him, her voice booming across the snow. “And don’t blow that horn unless you’re really in trouble! I don’t wanna come save your ass for no reason!”

Xyenn laughed, shaking his head as the horse carried him further into the snowy wilderness. He could still hear Mertha’s voice echoing in the distance.

"And don't dent that armor! It's expensive!”

‘The last mistake I made with my clan was being too overprotective, keeping them within our borders and not stepping foot outside of our camps. Maybe that was my mistake. My son always wanted to go out; he hated being stuck in the camp. Xyenn will be fine out there, he’s strong and he has the armor. The only issue is, can he not start trouble? If trouble comes to him, that look in his eyes, I know how he’ll handle it. The only way for him to gain true experience. Is to experience the enemies landscape himself.’

The snow crunched under the hooves of Mertha’s horse as Xyenn rode through the vast, frozen wilderness of Vördrheim, the cold air biting at his exposed skin. The horse, a massive beast with a thick, shaggy coat of dark brown fur, was built for these harsh lands, its breath forming clouds in the frigid air. Xyenn’s armor, a patchwork of vibrant reds, blues, and greens, glinted awkwardly in the pale light, drawing attention to him like a beacon—if there’d been anyone around to see it.

The landscape was beautiful in its starkness: rolling hills buried in snow, jagged ice-covered peaks looming in the distance, and frozen rivers snaking through the land like glass veins. The sky was a dull gray, heavy with the promise of more snow to come. The world felt vast, ancient, and alive, as if the land itself was watching him, waiting.

As Xyenn traveled deeper into the countryside, he began to spot signs of life—though not the kind he was used to. Strange beings wandered through the snow, both familiar and alien in their forms.

‘This is actually amazing..’

He passed by a group of Völnir, a mythical race of tall, ice-blue humanoids native to these lands. Their skin shimmered like frost in the sunlight, and they moved with a grace that seemed impossible on the uneven snow. Their eyes glowed with a soft white light, and their hair, long and flowing, seemed to swirl like mist around their heads. They were known for their ice-weaving abilities, crafting structures and tools from the very essence of the cold. Xyenn spotted a few of them working on an ice bridge, their hands moving fluidly as they shaped the ice with nothing but their will. Others were gathered around what looked like an ice forge, hammering away at glistening ice weapons that sparkled like diamonds.

Further along, Xyenn came upon a small village of humans, their homes built from stone and wood, roofs covered in thick layers of snow. Smoke spiraled lazily from chimneys, and villagers moved about, bundled in furs, going about their daily business. A couple of children were playing near the edge of the village, throwing snowballs at each other, their laughter carrying on the wind. A group of men were busy chopping wood, their axes biting into logs with rhythmic thunks, while women gathered around a fire, stirring large pots of stew. It was a peaceful scene, but the ever-present cold gave it an edge of harshness.

Among the villagers, Xyenn spotted a Trölldyr, a lumbering, fur-covered creature that stood at least eight feet tall. Its body was a mass of muscle and thick white fur, and it had long, curved horns that jutted from its head. Despite its fearsome appearance, the villagers seemed to treat it like a giant pet—it was busy dragging a sled full of logs toward the center of the village, its breath coming out in great plumes. One of the children ran up to it and patted its side, laughing as the creature rumbled in response.

If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

‘Vördrheim is big, full of life. If war was to break out here, these people would die. The children, the pets, everything. Will it be because of us? A fight between gods can be catastrophic, people will die. If we play our cards right, we can avoid it. I’m glad I’m out here today, I can scout and maybe look out for things that could give us an advantage or ways we can avoid less casualties. Or if there’s ways we can keep the fight somewhere contained. Man, if only my parents could see what I’m doing now. They’d be all like “oh Xyenn, you weak ass, you’re out killing gods now? Think you’re some anti-hero? Some vigilante?” And I’d say, “hell yeah I am, I’m technically a god now.” Man…I’d give anything to have that conversation with them.’

As Xyenn rode past the village, he heard a voice shouting up ahead. It was loud, frantic, and filled with a kind of manic energy. Curious, Xyenn urged the horse forward, coming around a bend to see a man standing on a large rock, waving his arms wildly as he preached to an unimpressed crowd of travelers and villagers.

“The end of the world is coming!” the man screamed, his voice cracking with intensity. He was dressed in rags, his beard wild and his eyes wide with fervor. “The draconian age is upon us! The dragons will rise, the skies will burn, and they will wipe us all out! The gods have turned their backs on us! Skyrrin will be consumed in fire and blood!”

The crowd around him was small, mostly travelers passing through, a few villagers who had stopped to listen out of morbid curiosity. Most of them shook their heads and continued on their way, but a few lingered, listening to the madman’s ravings with uneasy expressions.

“The dragons will come from the east! Where the ancient ones sleep! They will tear down our cities, burn our forests, and melt the very snow beneath our feet! The age of man is over!” The man’s eyes darted around, wild and frantic, as if he could already see the skies darkening with wings. “Only those who repent will be spared! Only those who turn to the old ways will survive! Kragvyr the draconic snow god will freeze us all to hell! Where that demonic dragon Yuuna’s home once was!”

Xyenn stopped to listen, something was tugging at him, this was a crazy man who called himself the prophet of all dragons, the one who knows all, it’s what he claimed. That made Xyenn stop the horse and listen.

‘This man..I’ve seen him before. I’ve heard of him. Back at my homeland in the The Isles of Nörstrund, The Western Isles, people would talk about how he’s a crazy bastard who was constantly on the run from every single continent and kingdom, he’s constantly being hunted. Everyone thinks he is crazy, but no one knows his name..’

The crazy old man continued, “When Kragvyr weeps, the world is buried! His sorrow is the blizzard, his tears are the frost, and in his grief, the weak are no more! He is not a draconic god of mercy, but one of natural balance, where only the strongest or most cunning survive his harsh winters. His "weeping" refers to his storms, which are both beautiful and deadly. Hah! Fools seek shelter from Kragvyr’s breath! No roof, no stone can stop him—his winds will crawl into your bones and crack them open like brittle ice!" He cackles, breath steaming in the cold, as if daring the wind to take him.

“He is omnipresent in winter, a force that can never fully be avoided. Mortals can only endure him, but never truly fight against him. His cold winds are a reminder of the futility of resisting nature’s most powerful forces! The snow, the snow! It sings his name! Each flake a whisper from Kragvyr’s maw, each drift a promise that all shall sleep beneath his blanket!"

The “prophet” shouts, spinning in the falling snow, arms outstretched, as if welcoming it.

“The snow itself is a manifestation of Kragvyr’s will! It is not just a weather phenomenon, but a part of his essence. The "blanket" of snow that covers the land is a symbol of both peace and death—a promise that all things will eventually succumb to his cold embrace! Kragvyr does not rage like some gods of destruction; instead, he covers the world in silence and stillness. His snow is both peaceful and deadly, a slow, inevitable force that lulls the world into a frozen slumber.”

In his gaze, there are no kings, no beggars—only frostbitten corpses! Kragvyr sees no crown, no gold, no flesh—only the ice that comes for all!"

The old man points a gnarled finger at a passerby, eyes wild with the certainty of doom.*

“Kragvyr does not care for mortal hierarchies or wealth. In the eyes of the cold, all are equal. Kings and beggars alike fall to the same frost, and their wealth or status means nothing when winter comes! But his vessel, King Haldrek, is the apple of his eye! His unique embryo of snow! He represents the ultimate equality of nature! Death by winter is indiscriminate, and the cold is a great equalizer. Those who try to hide behind their power or riches will find them worthless in the face of his eternal winter. The ice never forgets! Kragvyr remembers the blood spilled beneath his snows! He waits, he watches! And when the time is ripe, he will thaw the bones and raise the frozen dead!"

While some in Vördrheim revere him as the embodiment of winter’s beauty, most fear him as an uncaring, distant deity, whose presence brings death and hardship. His worshipers tend to be hermits, mountain-dwellers, or those who live on the edge of survival, believing that only by honoring Kragvyr can they endure his harsh domain. Snowflakes, glaciers, and howling winds are all seen as manifestations of Kragvyr’s will. His followers often wear amulets carved from ice or bone, believing these will grant them some small protection from his wrath.

Xyenn felt a strange twist in his gut as he listened to the man’s words. The mention of dragons, the burning skies, it all felt… familiar. Too familiar. His mind began to wander, the memories from his dreams flooding back in vivid detail. He could see the fiery red sky, the winged forms of draconic deities descending upon him, their eyes gleaming with malice. He could hear the screams of dragons tearing each other apart, the clash of their claws and teeth, and the blood… the endless rivers of blood.

His fists clenched around the reins, his teeth grinding together as a wave of anger surged through him. For a moment, he thought he might lose control, that the darkness that had crept into his mind during his fight with Mertha might return. But he took a deep breath, forcing the images away, pushing the rage back down where it belonged. Not now. Not here.

‘Damn it’s like a fuse. I gotta be careful. But that old man, best not to get involved with him. Maybe he could give good detail? Nah, Mertha would probably keep me away from him. Besides, like Yuuna, he has a big target on his back.’

The man on the rock continued his rant, oblivious to Xyenn’s inner turmoil. “Repent, or be consumed!” he shouted, his voice echoing through the snowy landscape. “The dragons will show no mercy!”

The further Xyenn traveled, the more the landscape changed. The rolling hills gave way to rocky outcrops and dense pine forests, their branches heavy with snow. The wind picked up, biting at his face, but the cold didn’t bother him. His dragon blood kept him warm, even in the harshest conditions.

As he rode through a narrow path between two cliffs, the sound of clinking metal and muffled laughter reached his ears. He pulled the horse to a stop, narrowing his eyes as a group of knights came into view.

There were at least fifty of them, all clad in mythic snow armor, their steeds snorting and stamping their hooves in the snow. The knights’ armor was a work of art, made from pale silver-white metal that seemed to shimmer with an inner light. The plates were engraved with intricate patterns of snowflakes and icy winds, and their cloaks were made of thick, white fur that billowed in the wind. Their helmets were open-faced, revealing the cold, stern expressions of the men and women beneath. Their horses—or rather, their Froststeeds—were massive, muscular beasts with icy blue fur and gleaming white eyes. Their hooves left trails of frost as they moved, and their breath came out in cold, misty clouds.

The knights were part of the Kingdom of Vördrheim’s patrol, serving under king Haldrek, a force known for keeping the snowy lands safe from bandits, beasts, and worse. But as Xyenn came closer, it was clear they had no intention of treating him with respect.

One of the knights, a tall man with a scar running down the side of his face, spotted Xyenn’s brightly colored, mismatched armor and burst into laughter. “Look at this one!” he called out, his voice booming across the snow. “What’s this circus act doing out here?”

The other knights laughed, their voices carrying on the wind. “Did you get lost on your way to a festival?” one of them jeered.

Another knight, a woman with a wicked grin, chimed in. “That’s the ugliest armor I’ve ever seen! Who dressed you, boy? A blind blacksmith?”

Xyenn clenched his jaw, his hands tightening on the reins, but he said nothing.

Xyenn’s eye twitched with a smile, saying, “Hehe..yeah, I-I made it myself.”

‘Crazy! Why are there 50 of them around me?! Did the armor not work? Can they sense I have Yuuna’s

Blood?! If so, I’m done! Mertha’s horn is with me, I should keep my hand on it. No, what if they attack?! Might think I’m reaching for some magic stuff! What do I do? Stay calm, don’t show that you’re nervous. These are the soldiers of the god we are gonna kill.’

Xyenn waved, “Hey!”

The tall knight who had spoken first nudged his Froststeed forward, circling around Xyenn slowly. “Where ya headed?” he asked, his voice dripping with condescension.

Xyenn met his gaze, his eyes hard. He could feel the tension in the air, the weight of the knights’ eyes on him. They were expecting a reaction, waiting for him to snap. But he wasn’t about to give them the satisfaction.

“Just passing through,” Xyenn said, his voice cold and calm. “Just..passing through.”

‘I’m completely selling it! I’m done for! I really can’t help being nervous! I’ve always been nervous around soldiers, they give me a weird feeling. Like they’re just gonna cut me down any moment. I’m so used to being kicked around by them, it’s natural for me. Just stay calm.’

The knight raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “Passing through, huh? In that ridiculous getup? You’re not from around here, are you?”

Xyenn didn’t respond, his gaze never leaving the knight’s face.

“Haha, yeah.”

‘I told you, Mertha! I would easily get bullied for this outfit!’

The tall knight smirked, clearly enjoying himself. “Well, you’d better watch yourself out here, boy. These lands aren’t kind to strangers. And that armor of yours—well, let’s just say it won’t do you much good if you run into trouble.”

The rest of the knights chuckled, their laughter echoing through the snowy landscape.

Xyenn remained silent, his expression unreadable. He had no interest in engaging with these fools. He’d dealt with worse.

‘Can they leave me alone now?’

The tall knight shrugged, clearly bored with the lack of response.

The cold wind howled through the narrow pass, carrying with it the faint echoes of the departing knights’ laughter. Xyenn had barely started moving forward again when the sound of horses approaching made him tighten his grip on the reins. He didn’t turn around, but he didn’t have to—he already knew they weren’t done with him.

The sound of crunching snow grew louder as one of the knights circled back and rode up beside him. This one was younger, his face hidden behind a thin layer of stubble, and his eyes gleamed with a mix of arrogance and amusement as he dismounted from his Froststeed.

“Hold up there, boy,” the knight said, his voice low but commanding. “We ain’t finished with you yet.”

Xyenn kept his eyes forward, refusing to look at the man. His pulse quickened, but he remained still, his breath steady as the knight stepped closer.

“That armor of yours,” the knight said, his tone casual but laced with menace, “it’s a bit… too nice for someone like you. We’re gonna need you to hop out of it, leave it here, and never come back. Understand?”

“Someone like me?” Xyenn said with an irritated tone.

One of the knights chuckled, “Ooooh, he’s getting tense with his tone, haha!”

Xyenn’s mind was already racing, piecing together the situation—there was something off about these knights. Their behavior was too casual, too loose for a disciplined patrol. And the way they were eyeing his armor wasn’t just curiosity. It was greed.

Fucking greed.

The knight’s eyes flickered with impatience as Xyenn remained silent. He glanced back at his comrades, who were watching the exchange with interest, some of them whispering to each other and chuckling. “Hey, did you hear me?” the knight said, stepping closer. “I said—”

One of the other knights, a burly man with a scar running down the side of his face, interrupted. “Wait a second,” he said, his voice carrying over the snow. “Look at that armor. The material… it’s some kind of mythic stuff, isn’t it?”

The others started murmuring amongst themselves, their eyes narrowing as they examined Xyenn’s patchwork armor more closely. The burly knight continued, a grin spreading across his face. “That’s Iron Hills craftsmanship, no doubt about it. The dwarves must’ve made that. Ain’t no regular smith putting together something like that.”

Another knight, a woman with cold, calculating eyes, nodded in agreement. “Only dwarves from the Iron Hills would have used that kind of draconic fire to forge armor like that. You don’t see that kind of work outside of the Forge of Kaldor. Maybe some rare pieces from the Ashkel Mountains with all those volcanos and baby dragons there, but nothing like this. That could easily sell for a couple hundred gold coins! We’d have some good loot in our possession boys!”

The younger knight in front of Xyenn crossed his arms, smirking. “So, kid, where’d you get it, huh? You steal it off someone? Or maybe you’re just some errand boy running it across the countryside for someone important?”

Xyenn’s gaze dropped to the snow, his lips pressing into a thin line. He understood now. These weren’t knights. They were bandits, wearing the stolen armor of the very patrols they were supposed to be. They’d probably killed the real knights, taken their armor to fool travelers, and now they were trying to take whatever they wanted from him.

If that’s the case, they had to been strong. But Xyenn knew he was stronger.

Without looking up, Xyenn muttered under his breath, “Where did you get that armor?”

The knight sneered, leaning in closer to hear him. “Huh? What was that?”

Xyenn spoke again, his voice barely above a whisper. “You killed the real kingdom’s knight patrol. Took their armor to fool travelers and force people to give you what they have in the most subtle way possible.”

The group went silent for a moment, the air heavy with tension. Then, the knights burst into laughter, the sound echoing off the cliffs around them.

“Listen to this smart-ass!” one of them shouted, doubled over with laughter. “Thinks he’s figured us out!”

“You got a big mouth for such a little brat,” another knight said, shaking his head in disbelief. “Maybe we oughta cut out that tongue of yours and see if you’re still so clever!”

Another knight in front of Xyenn grinned, clearly enjoying the mockery. “You’re real sharp, huh? But it doesn’t matter how smart you are. We gave you a choice, kid. Now, get out of that armor before we rip it off you.”

Xyenn didn’t move.

The knight’s grin faded into a scowl. He took a step forward, unsheathing his sword. The blade was covered in snow and ice runes, glowing faintly with a cold, ethereal light. Frost seemed to cling to the edge, and the air around it grew noticeably colder as he pointed it at Xyenn’s chest.

“I’m not gonna say it again,” the knight said, his voice low and dangerous. “Get—”

But before he could finish, Xyenn moved.

In the blink of an eye, Xyenn’s fist shot forward, slamming into the knight’s chest with a dull thud. The knight staggered backward, blinking in confusion. He looked down at his chest, expecting to see a dent, maybe some pain—but there was nothing. He glanced back up at Xyenn with a sneer.

“That’s it?” one of the other bandits called out, laughing. “That’s all you’ve got? Barely even felt it!”

The group erupted into laughter again, mocking Xyenn’s apparent lack of strength. “He’s a weak little thing, isn’t he?” another bandit jeered. “Maybe we should just—”

Suddenly, the laughter stopped.

The knight in front of Xyenn opened his mouth to speak, but all that came out was a strangled gasp. His eyes bulged as his body began to tremble, and then, without warning, his chest exploded in a spray of blood and gore. Flesh, bone, and shattered ribs flew in every direction as a gaping hole appeared where his torso had been, his insides exposed in a grotesque display. Blood splattered across the snow, staining the pristine white with crimson. The knight’s body hung for a moment, suspended in shock, before slumping to the ground, his legs buckling beneath him.

The bandits froze, their faces pale with horror. They hadn’t even seen it coming.

“W-What the hell just happened?” one of them stammered, his eyes wide with disbelief.

“He… he just…,” another whispered, unable to finish the sentence as he stared at the mangled corpse of their comrade.

The burly knight with the scar took a step back, his hand instinctively reaching for his sword. “What the fuck is this kid?”

The other knights began to unsheathe their weapons, their faces twisted with a mixture of fear and confusion.

Xyenn stood still, his expression unchanged, not even sparing a glance at the mutilated body in front of him. His hand, still clenched into a fist, dripped with the knight’s blood. Slowly, his gaze lifted to the rest of the bandits, his eyes cold and unfeeling. His pupils were into thin slits now, his sharp teeth hungry for greedy bandit blood.

He reached down, picking up the dead knight’s sword from the blood-soaked snow. The runes along the blade flickered faintly, casting a pale blue light across the ground. Xyenn’s grip tightened around the hilt, his voice low and calm as he spoke.

“Based on your reactions,” he said, his tone as cold as the air around them, “I can tell you’ve killed countless travelers. You’re shocked because you’ve never faced someone who could fight back.”

The bandits shifted uneasily, exchanging nervous glances. Some of them began to inch backward, their bravado fading in the face of the sudden carnage.

Xyenn raised the sword, the light of the runes reflecting in his eyes. “If I’m going to be an assassin of the gods,” he said, his voice carrying a deadly finality, “I might as well start somewhere.”

The bandits collectively gasped, their hands tightening around their weapons as they prepared to attack. But Xyenn didn’t flinch. His resolve was set.

Xyenn said with a serious face, “I’ve been pushed around by stupid knights and bandits for the longest…I’m about to flip this shit around. Let me have a turn..”