Leaving the town of Bredkrum behind, One Swing had taken one of the still-intact roads leading out of the town and continued on his journey. Though he had spent a little more time there than he had intended to, it was never a bad thing to happen to stay a little longer, One Swing thought. Even if most of that time was spent in a jail cell.

One Swing had requested the service of a carriage to take him to his next destination, but the coachman in charge had only become increasingly irate at his request for reasons One Swing couldn’t discern. And so, with a shrug, One Swing decided to walk, the weighty blade slung over his shoulder trailing one-hundred-and-sixty-four feet in the air, fifty meters above his head.

The next destination in question was the town of Zwieback. Because One Swing was used to making long treks while going without sleep or rest for great lengths of time, he figured it would only take him no more than two or three days to arrive.

With the early light of day guiding his path, One Swing’s boots continued to crunch down the wide dirt road, the gentle morning breeze swaying his long brown hair alongside the lengthy red scarf that trailed far along the ground at his back.

The journey wasn’t without incident, however, as very quickly—

“Skrrreeee!” A single scraggy kobold leapt out from a patch of greenery by the road. Lunging towards him—

“Overdrive From Justice’s Incarnation—!”

—It instantly disappeared beneath a devastating fissure stretching out across the landscape from a single swing of One Swing’s blade.

As One Swing continued onward in his journey—

“Awoooo~!” The sharp howl of a direwolf rang out at One Swing’s ear. Charging down at him from above the ridge of the hill that ran alongside the road—

“Incarnation of Abyssal Crimson—!”

—The furry beast immediately disappeared beneath One Swing’s blade, what little that remained of it scattered by the winds blowing across the newly-formed valley between the parted hill.

Continuing on his journey—

“Kiikiii—!” A savage, green goblin lunged at him from behind a felled log and—

“Crimson Light That Paves the Depths—!”

Continuing onward—

“Heh-heh-heh! Hand over all your coin or we’ll gut you like a—!”

“Depths of Divine Fury—!”

Continuing—

“Oh, thank goodness! I’ve been lost in these woods for days! Can you show me the direction to the nearest—!?”

“Fury That Rends Through Time—!”

Pulling his sword from the dirt, One Swing heaved his hefty blade back atop his shoulder in a shower of dirt and dusted rocks.

He had heard that these roads were relatively safe and free from trouble, but he had already managed to run into many a dangerous encounter in such a short time. It’s almost as if they had been drawn right to him for some reason. A reason One Swing could not discern.

Wiping the sweat from his brow, One Swing looked up into the sky. It had only been half a day since he left Bredkrum, evident by the position of the afternoon sun. A sun that gleamed across the sharpened edge of his colossal blade, casting a gleaming violet glow across the entire landscape around him. A beacon that could be seen for miles in all directions.

Shrugging in puzzlement once more, One Swing continued his journey along the dirt road. He didn’t know why, but he felt for sure his path forward would be rife with even more encounters until his arrival in Zwieback...

It was.

After three days and nights of nonstop encounters, One Swing eventually found himself at his destination. In his tired and sleep-deprived state, he had almost swung his blade down at an approaching wagon bumping its way along the road toward him, until he noticed the signs of civilization in the distance. Zwieback.

Along the outskirts of the town, many wagons and carriages were parked alongside the road, with people of different types milling around them. Rich-looking merchants rifling through their inventory. Collared slaves hauling crates from one cart to another. Armoured adventurers tending to their weapons and gear. All of them shot One Swing a glance of varying levels of shock, confusion, or amusement as he passed them by.

Perhaps entrance into Zwieback was a strict and tiresome process, One Swing thought, and this was a rest stop of sorts for those to arrive at or depart from the town without having to pass through the main gates.

Finally reaching the gate in question, it didn’t appear to be as restrictive as One Swing thought, with people seemingly passing in and out without even a single glance from the guards manning the large entrance.

As One Swing went to pass through himself—

“H-hey! You with the… the sword! Stop right there!”

He was stopped by a guard. A lightly armoured woman with a metal-tipped spear—similar to the guards back in Bredkrum—had stepped in front of him, her hands shifting nervously across the shaft of her long weapon.

In return, One Swing gave the woman a friendly smile. He had a deep respect for guardsmen, after all. Both the length of the weapons most chose to carry, as well as the long arm of the law that they represented made for a very respectable profession, One Swing thought.

“My apologies,” he said with a light bow. “I had seen others passing through without issue and foolishly assumed I could as well. My name is One Swing, the F-Rank adventurer. I’m here on an urgent quest from the Capital, but I imagine entrance into the town is strict and the process to be allowed in is an especially long one. It’s a long process I am more than willing to comply with. I shall bear with it, as long as it takes.”

“O-oh…? An urgent quest from the Capital, you said…?” Caught off-guard by One Swing’s unexpectedly polite demeanor, the woman scratched at her head beneath her helmet. “W-well, entrance isn’t strict, not since a week ago anyway. And there isn’t any long process involve—”

“Tch.”

“D-did you just click your tongue?!”

“Ah, forgive me. Please continue.”

“R-right… Anyways,” the woman continued. “Entrance hasn’t been strict since that big-shot serial killer hiding out nearby finally got busted and sent off to the Spire. It’s just that…” With a puzzled frown, the woman trailed off as she squinted up into the sky. “I—I don’t think you’re allowed to bring that into town…”

Following the woman’s gaze to his sword, One Swing tilted his head to the side. “Are weapons not allowed in this town?”

“W-well, they are. But yours is… Why’s it so long? Is that really necessary?”

“Most definitely,” One Swing replied with a stern nod. “Are long weapons not allowed in the town?”

“Well, that’s not… There’s no laws against it or nothing, but…” The woman scratched at her head again, her face still scrunched up in confused discomfort. Eventually, she turned back to One Swing with a resigned shrug. “I guess if you’ve got important business from the Capital, it can’t really be helped…”

This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

Hesitantly stepping to the side, she allowed the man to pass through the gates. One Swing gave another short bow, and continued his way into the town, following the main path through.

“Big-shot serial killer, huh…?” One Swing pondered to himself. It seemed this town had a real streak of bad luck.

As One Swing wandered through the town, his boots clomping across the paved stone, he unravelled a sheet of crumpled paper tucked beneath his belt and scanned his eyes across it.

‘Notorious killer—Ban Gnarner—has been reported near the town of Zwieback. Wanted for murder, sexual assault, mutilation…’

“Despicable,” One Swing spat, looking down at the illustration of the man he had come all the way from the Capital to hunt down. A large, hulking man with a nasty scar running across his bald head.

“The Peeler…”

One Swing didn’t know anything about the other serial killer that had apparently shown up in Zwieback and was captured a few weeks prior according to the guardswoman at the gate. But One Swing knew this killer was the worst of the worst. The Peeler, as he was known. A truly despicable man who had to be eliminated at all costs.

One Swing crumpled the paper up in anger and stuffed it back into his belt.

To One Swing, a man like that did not deserve to live. And if that man was hiding out in this town, One Swing would find him. Because, to One Swing, despite all of the Peeler’s wicked crimes, there was one in particular that One Swing could not forgive. He was an abomination in the eyes of One Swing for one reason, and one reason alone.

He was bald.

And One Swing hated bald people.

The complete absence of length atop their natural form was an affront to One Swing’s core values. It was an affront to everything he believed in. Because, unlike the hairless goblins, trolls, and other despicable monsters that naturally exist without the lengthy strands atop their heads, the Peeler was human. Humans naturally exist with hair. So what did the Peeler do with his hair? A question so morbid only made One Swing feel ill, and so he waved it from his mind.

Walking past the colourful shops and stalls lining the busy street One Swing had found himself wandering down, he decided to make his way to the Adventurers Guild of this town in order to gather information on his target. However, as he turned to continue down a different road, his eyes were drawn to something glinting in the distance. Something round.

“Hm…?”

Stopping in place, he squinted across the busy street, waiting for the crowds to disperse enough to get a better look at the shining object. Was it some kind of porcelain pottery? A plate, or a vase perhaps? Maybe it was just a ball, held aloft by some child? One Swing didn’t know why he was so drawn to the object in the distance but, for reasons he didn’t understand, it filled him with a great sense of unease.

As the crowds dispersed, he finally understood why.

“Wha—?!”

In broad daylight, right in the middle of a crowded street, was the naked glint of a bare, hairless scalp. The afternoon light had struck the pale dome, reflecting a soft sheen from the sweat trickling down their head. Their bald head.

“Time Immemorial’s Edge—!”

—And so One Swing swung his blade down in front of him.

Twisting the handle between his hands, he turned the blade so that the flat edge was facing the ground instead. As the gigantic blade arced down into the crowded street, he tensed his disciplined muscles to stop the blade in mid-air, moments before impacting with the townspeople below.

Although there was no direct impact, the downward pressure created by the hefty swing coming to a sudden stop tore through the center of the street, blowing everything and everybody across it to either side of the paved road and opening up a clear path between.

In the distance, the target of One Swing’s focus had been blown into a side alley and out of sight. And so One Swing gave chase.

"Out of my way!" he shouted, running past toppled stalls, shattered windows, and crowds of shocked townspeople pinned against storefronts or sprawled across the side alleys. "I won’t let you get away, Peeler!”

With his blade slung back across his shoulder, One Swing came to a sliding stop as he reached the side passage the bald man had been blown down. On the other end, he could see the blue-robed man crawl to his feet, and quickly stumble away between the winding back alleys.

“Dammit!” One Swing rushed in after him, carefully balancing his towering blade so that it stood straight in the air as he awkwardly squeezed himself around the many corners and short passageways.

Catching a glimpse of the man’s bald head ducking into the back door of a building and shutting it behind him, One Swing didn’t slow down, instead driving his heavy boot through the wooden door. It instantly snapped from its frame in a shower of splinters, and One Swing stepped into the room.

Inside, the bald man was already lying on the floor, trembling in fear at the long-haired man who had just kicked the door in.

One Swing's boots crunched across the splintered wood as he stepped further into the room, his gigantic blade cutting through the top of the doorway and carving a thick trail across the white ceiling above as it followed him in.

Grabbing the trembling man by the collar of his blue robes, One Swing lifted him up above the ground and pulled him in close.

“Why did you do it, Peeler?!” he shouted angrily in the man’s face. “Why are you bald?!”

“I—I—I don’t know what you’re talking about!” the man stuttered back. “I’m not—!”

“What’s going on in here?!” Cutting him off, somebody else from inside the building had walked in on the two of them, staring at the scene in front of her in disbelief.

“Wha—!?” One Swing returned her look of disbelief with one of his own.

She was bald too.

Throwing the man to the floor, One Swing stomped over to the bald woman and gripped her by the robes—identical to the ones of the man on the floor.

“Which one of you is the Peeler?!” he screamed at her. “Why are you both—?!”

One Swing’s eyes went wide as he looked across the room he was now in. Many beds lined the white walls of the large room, and from atop those beds, many trembling people in blue robes were looking back at him in shock. And like the man and woman before them— They were all bald.

“What kind of sick place is this?!” One Swing yelled, throwing the woman to the floor and clasping both hands tightly across the handle of his weapon, still carving a splintered trail in the ceiling above.

There was a soft tug at One Swing’s side, drawing his attention below.

“W-what’s the matter, mister?” A young boy in blue robes was looking up at One Swing with trembling eyes. “D-did we do something wrong?”

He too was bald.

"Unhand me, foul creature!" One Swing spat, punting the small child across the room. "What manner of hell have I fallen into?!"

Recoiling at the sight of all the fleshy, hairless heads—completely absent of any kind of length whatsoever—One Swing raised his blade up into the air.

“Edge—!”

“Stop right there! You’re under arrest!”

Before One Swing could swing his blade down, a woman had burst through into the room, metal shackles at the ready. It was a guard. The same one that One Swing had met at the gate.

“Ah, officer! Thank goodness you’ve arrived!” One Swing said, lowering his weapon in relief. “As you can see, I’ve uncovered some kind of sick operation transpiring in this very town. No doubt one of these abominations is the serial killer known as the Peeler as well. Please arrest these— Hm?”

For reasons One Swing couldn’t understand, the woman had placed the metal shackles across his own wrists instead.

“The Peeler?!” The woman scoffed. “We caught that guy weeks ago! He’s probably sitting on the ninety-ninth floor of the Spire by now!”

“… What?”

“You said you had an urgent quest from the Capital? We sent that out a month ago! You’re too late! Why did it take you this long to get here?! What the hell were you doing all this time?!”

“… I was… walking.”

“Take a carriage next time, dumbass!”

“…”

It seemed One Swing had arrived in the town too late and the Peeler was most likely already serving time in the Surstrom Spire prison.

“Well…” One Swing gestured around the large white-walled room with a nod of his head. “What about this place? Why are all these people bald? Surely something most despicable has happened here. Just look at them all!”

“What are you talking about?!” the woman snapped back. “This is a home for the deathly ill! The treatment used to cure their life-threatening illness just happens to make their hair fall out! It’ll grow back after they’re better!”

“…” One Swing pondered to himself in silence for a moment. “They temporarily shortened the length of their hair so that they could permanently extend the length of their lives?”

“What?! Sure, if that’s how you want to look at it, fine!”

…

“It seems I’ve made a mistake.”

“Yeah, no shit!”

Bound in metal shackles, One Swing was promptly arrested, and taken straight to jail.

Again.