In the desolate aftermath of the conflict, Zeral trudged through the ruins with an air of indifference. The war between humans and the self-proclaimed "Holy Beings" meant nothing to him. His sole purpose was to extinguish anything obstructing his path until he finds a way to die.

Behind him, a wounded and abandoned boy staggered, desperately trying to catch up. "Please, let me come with you!"

Ignoring the boy's pleas, Zeral pressed on until the desperate child proposed a deal.

"Sir, please help me or at least go help my father... You mentioned you had a son, right? Imagine if he were in this situation. Please, master," the boy implored, his words laced with a desperate prayer.

Turning his head downward, Zeral responded coldly, "Yes, I had a son, but he is gone. Even if he were unhappy, it wouldn't matter to me. I'm an immortal being with no life, no heart, and no purpose. I'm only carrying out the whims of a negligent God, spreading hell on Earth."

The boy shook his head, "No, don't say that about God. My father says he's our only salvation. I trust God to save me and help me through this."

Zeral cut off the boy's faith with a mocking laugh. "Hahaha, you believe your God will help you? He didn't help me when I needed him. Let me prove he won't help you either."

Unsheathing his sword, Zeral offered a twisted promise. "You want me to help your father, right?"

The boy pleaded, "Yes, master, please, go back and help him if you can, I beg of you!"

With a sinister smile, Zeral approached the boy. "Alright, I'm going to help him." His blade sliced through the boy's body without a second thought.

"Now he's up there with your God. Go, meet him, and tell your God I said hey, I'm coming for you soon..."

Zeral casually wiped the blood from his blade, the lifeless gaze of the boy he had just slain staring back at him. The once-pleading eyes now held only emptiness, a silent witness to Zeral's ruthlessness. With a detached apathy, he sheathed his sword on his back and resumed his journey to Palin. The weight of the boy's life extinguished meant nothing to Zeral, and his stoic expression revealed a man devoid of remorse or empathy.

Palin, once a vibrant city celebrated for its breathtaking natural beauty and architectural marvels, now lay in ruins—a stark reflection of the toll taken by the war between humans and monsters. The remnants of magnificent structures stood as crumbling witnesses to the city's former glory, their grandeur faded to haunting skeletons of the past.

As Zeral entered the city, the atmosphere was grim and somber. The once-lively streets were now filled with wary eyes, each person casting furtive glances at his peculiar appearance. His sword, a glinting reminder of violence, caught the attention of onlookers, and a palpable tension clung to the air.

Undeterred by the discomforting gazes, Zeral proceeded through the dilapidated streets. The townsfolk's whispers followed him, repeating the uncertainty and fear that gripped the city. He reached a tavern on the outskirts, seeking respite from his journey and the judging eyes that bore into his silver skin.

Zeral eased into the worn tavern stool, the air heavy with the amalgamation of myriad scents and the distant hum of raucous conversations. His eyes flickered with a transient weariness, a reflection of the battles fought and the burdens carried. Summoning the bartender with a nod, he leaned in, his voice a quiet command, "I want a couple shots of wine, please."

The bartender responded with a curt "All right," and soon Zeral found himself face to face with the intoxicating allure of the rich red liquid he had longed for. With a deft flick of his wrist, he raised a glass to his lips, savoring the taste that danced on his tongue. "Mhm, this is so good," he uttered, a rare note of satisfaction threading through his usually stoic demeanor.

Amidst the comforting haze of the tavern, a random woman, alluring and adorned in silk, sauntered over to Zeral's seat. Her voice, laced with suggestive tones, cut through the ambient noise. "Hey pretty, you want some enjoyment tonight?"

Unperturbed, Zeral continued to relish his drinks, as if her words were nothing more than a passing whisper. But, the woman persisted, attempting to entice him with promises of pleasure at a seemingly low price. Her gaze lingered on Zeral, curiosity dancing in her eyes.

Zeral's swords, twin blades of gleaming steel, hung at his back, catching the fluttering candlelight. Intrigued and emboldened, the woman inquired, "What do you need two swords for?"

Zeral's response was swift and stern. He clasped her hand before it could inch closer to the hilt of his weapons. The air around them thickened with tension as he issued a warning, his gaze unyielding, "Don't you dare touch it, or I will cut off your hands." The weight of his words carried a gravitas that silenced the tavern's frivolous chatter, leaving an unspoken acknowledgment of the latent danger that lurked within the enigmatic figure of Zeral.

The pub, previously murmuring with its own tales and laughter, became a stage for escalating tension. A disgruntled observer, one of the other men in the establishment, couldn't stand idly by, his sense of chivalry stoked by what he perceived as a slight against the woman.

"How dare you treat a lady like this?" he bellowed, his voice cutting through the ambient noise like a blade.

Zeral, seemingly indifferent to the man's outburst, continued to enjoy his wine, his gaze fixed on the swirling liquid within the glass. The persistent man, provoked by the lack of response, pressed on with escalating aggression.

"Hey, are you deaf?" he demanded, his tone laced with anger. "I asked you a damn question! How dare you treat that lady like that? You want me to teach you some manners?"

Zeral's lips curled into an evil smile, and a low chuckle escaped from him, a malevolent sound that hung in the air like a portent. "Please do," he taunted, his eyes gleaming with a mixture of amusement and something darker.

The man, fueled by righteous anger, drew his sword with an aggressive flourish. "You will pay for this, you dumbass," he declared, the air thick with the anticipation of impending conflict. The tavern's atmosphere shifted from one of camaraderie to a charged battleground as the man, driven by a sense of justice, prepared to confront the enigmatic figure who seemed to relish the impending clash.

This novel's true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.

Zeral rose from his stool with an almost languid grace, his movements betraying a fluidity that belied the lethality within. In an instant, he unsheathed his left sword, a glint of steel flashing in the dim light. The aggressor's strike was met with a lightning-fast parry, the blades colliding with a resounding clash that recurred through the tavern.

With a swift and precise maneuver, Zeral's left sword arced towards the man's head, the strike executed with a seamless blend of skill and deadly intent. In a heartbeat, the man's head separated from his shoulders, the violent act executed so efficiently that it seemed almost choreographed.

Blood erupted from the severed point, an ominous crimson spray that painted the scene in macabre hues. Zeral, unaffected by the gruesome display, looked upon the lifeless body with a chilling detachment. A sinister smile crept across his face as he spoke, "Now it's raining again, hahaha."

The shock among the onlookers was palpable, their collective gaze fixed on the lifeless form before them. Zeral, however, reveled in the chaos he had wrought. His eyes swept across the now-stunned patrons in the bar, the weight of his gaze inviting challenge.

"So who is next?" he taunted, his laughter resonating like an unsettling melody in the air. "Come on, who wants to try his luck and kill me? I just killed one of your men in front of you, so come and avenge him."

The tavern, once a haven of revelry, now stood in eerie silence, the air thick with a mixture of fear and anticipation. Zeral's jest hung in the atmosphere, a grim reminder of the capricious dance between life and death orchestrated by the man with the swords.

A low murmur spread among the remaining men in the tavern, a collective undercurrent of anger and grief. "Let's kill this monster... He killed one of our brothers... Yes, that's right... Kill him now!" The vengeful intent hung in the air like an impending storm.

All sudden, Zeral moved with uncanny speed and precision, his swords weaving through the air like extensions of his will. As the aggressors lunged towards him, their swords held high with furious determination, Zeral countered with a ruthless efficiency that bordered on the supernatural.

Each swing of his blades was a deadly dance, and the air resonated with the dissonant melody of clashing steel. Zeral's laughter, a sinister accompaniment to the grim ballet, felt through the tavern as the aggressors fell one by one. Their swords, once wielded with righteous fury, proved futile against the unstoppable force that was Zeral.

The lifeless bodies of those who sought revenge now lay scattered across the tavern floor, a chilling tableau of the consequences of crossing paths with the man of two swords. Zeral, unscathed and untouched, surveyed the aftermath with a malevolent satisfaction.

Shouting to the survivors who trembled in the wake of the massacre, he taunted them with a sinister glee, "What about you guys? Who wants to dance with me? I'm just getting started!" The challenge hung in the air, an invitation to those who dared to challenge the relentless force that Zeral had become. The survivors, faced with the grim reality of the unfolding nightmare, hesitated, caught between fear and the palpable presence of an unyielding darkness.

The tumult in the tavern reached a fever pitch as the surviving men and women fled in terror, leaving chaos and overturned furniture in their wake. Zeral, standing alone upon the aftermath of his brutal display, observed the exodus with a twisted sense of satisfaction.

"So, everyone runs away, what a shame!" he mused, his voice carrying a devilish melody that underscored the uncanny calm that settled over the tavern. His predatory gaze swept the room until it rested on the bartender, who had sought refuge beneath a table.

With an almost nonchalant curiosity, Zeral approached the cowering bartender. "Alright, I really loved this wine, could you give me the bottle?”

The bartender, his hands trembling, replied in a hurried tone, "Yes, of course, y-you can have it, just please don't kill me."

Zeral, showing a fleeting moment of unexpected civility, accepted the offered bottle. In a surprising twist, he dropped a small pouch of coins into the bartender's trembling hand. "Take this to cover the bottle and all the damage I caused here. Now, if you excuse me, I have to go.”

As Zeral made his way toward the exit, his eyes, ever perceptive, caught sight of the woman from earlier. She remained hidden, tears streaming down her face, under one of the tables.

He approached her with a sinister smile. "You've got a nice body, I must say—it reminds me of my wife’s. But you see, I'm not into women’s bodies anymore. So I'm sorry I can't play with you tonight; go find someone else." He dropped a handful of coins from his pocket onto the table. "Here, take this. Farewell."

The woman, a mix of relief and confusion etched on her tear-streaked face, watched as Zeral exited the tavern, leaving behind a scene of destruction and shattered normalcy.

As Zeral ambled along the labyrinthine streets of the city, a chilling calm exuded from him, an unsettling serenity amidst the aftermath of his tavern spree. His attire, a cloak of darkness, billowed behind him as if following the trail of destruction left in his wake. The wine bottle in his hand swayed with each step, a morbid companion to his unhurried journey.

The soldiers stationed along the street cast wary glances at Zeral, their eyes narrowing as they took in the sight of the enigmatic figure with two swords at his back. A soldier, his curiosity piqued, nudged his companion and gestured towards the approaching anomaly.

"Hey, who is that guy with the black clothes and the swords? And look at his weirdly white skin covered in blood," he questioned, uncertainty etching his features.

His companion squinted, attempting to discern the details from a distance. "Mhmm, I'm not sure. I’ve never seen a man like him before... But yes, that is blood. Who the hell is he?"

Another soldier, overhearing the conversation, joined in with a speculative tone, "Wait, is that the man who our dear king is looking for in his recent later? I heard that the king asked his generals to find a strange man with two swords on his back, a black beard, and a white like silver body.”

The first soldier's eyes widened in realization. "Yes, now that you mention it, I think that's the man we're looking for.”

"I didn't hear about this until now,” the one who initiated the conversation admitted, “But tell me why the king desires to find this man?"

The informed soldier shared the tidbit of royal interest with a hushed urgency. "As I heard it, the king wants us to find this man and deliver him alive because he can be a big assist in this war."

The first soldier, spurred by newfound purpose, declared, "Really? Let's get him then!" The other soldier nodded in agreement, their eagerness eclipsing any reservations they might have had about the ominous figure making his way through the city. The soldiers, armed with the conviction of duty, prepared to converge on the mysterious man with two swords, unaware of the chaotic storm they were about to unleash upon themselves.

Then one of the soldiers warned the others. "Hey, be careful, as I heard from other soldiers who were patrolling Bartak, this man is insanely powerful. There are even rumors about him that he is not even human...So we need to talk to him and avoid any fights because if these rumors are real, we may end up causing real trouble here."

The first soldier groaned, “Ohh alright, let's go after him before he gets out of our sight.”

The quartet of soldiers moved with purpose through the city streets, their conversation hushed as they strategized on how to approach the enigmatic figure known as Zeral. Each step towards him was laden with the anticipation of an impending encounter.

Zeral, ever vigilant, sensed their approach but chose to feign indifference until they closed the distance. The soldiers, finally catching up, mustered their courage to address the mysterious man.

"Oh hey, you!" one of the soldiers called out, adopting a veneer of cordiality. "We need to talk to you for a few moments, if you don't mind."

Zeral, his crimson eyes glinting with a predatory awareness, acknowledged their presence. "You kept following for a while, so I guess you have something important to tell me. You want to fight?" He nonchalantly rested his hand on the hilt of his sword.

Another soldier, seeking to defuse tension, spoke hastily, “No, we are not here to fight you. We just want to talk to you about a few things, that's all.”

Zeral, his expression unreadable, considered their words. "So what do you want?" he inquired, his voice carrying a subtle edge that hinted at both caution and curiosity. The soldiers, now face to face with the mysterious figure, stood at the precipice of a conversation that could unravel secrets and shape the course of events in the city.

The End.