Under the light of the three moons above, he, known as "the Rustler" by Kae and a select few of her people, silently navigated the bustling streets of the city's slums. His pace remained steady, neither hurried nor relaxed, as he resolutely made his way toward his intended destination.

After walking for a while, even leaving the slums for the upper districts, just like Kia had done earlier in the day, he arrived in front of what appeared to be a lonely, run-down shop wedged in the middle of nowhere, even in the dark.

Upon entering the shop, the Rustler, unlike Kia, opened the door, allowing the bell at the entrance to ring out. The sound of the bell echoed through the empty shop, breaking the stillness of the night. The Rustler stepped inside, his eyes meeting those of the Shopkeeper, who had lifted his gaze from some jewel-cutleries he seemed to have been inspecting with a strange monocle.

Removing the unique-looking monocle, a warm smile spread across his face, replacing the initial surprise, the Rustler saw flickering within him.

“Good evening, and welcome back,” the Shopkeeper greeted. “I wasn’t expecting to see you back so soon.”

"Neither was I," the Rustler said, as he advanced towards a small chair placed in the corner of the room. Before settling down, he took a moment to courteously pull a second chair out and then sat down.

“I see. Far from me the desire to sound inconsiderate, but what brings the infamous Rustler to my shop this late in the evening?”

“I am here for my tools,” he promptly declared.

To these words, the shopkeeper furrowed brows, “It has only been two days, you are already here for her name?”

“No,” he promptly replied. “Not yet. I’m just here for my tools, nothing else,”

"I see," he sighed silently. "So if you're not here for that purpose, I assume you want your tool for something else... let me guess, does it have something to do with what I heard happened in the Rats' corners of the slums?"

Without making any attempt to conceal it, the Rustler nodded. "You heard about it?"

"I did,” he confirmed, leaving to retrieve something from the back of his counter. “I may live here on this estranged corner of the city, but news travels fast across the city, especially when you know where to find it."

Retrieving what looked like a chest, he left the counter and approached the Rustler to put the said-chest atop the table upon which the Rustler sat.

"I've been informed, which is precisely why I was intrigued to witness how that girl would address this matter. Frankly, I never anticipated her soliciting your assistance, let alone you acquiescing."

“I’m just going to send over a message, nothing else.”

“I see,” the shopkeeper commented, sliding the chest toward the boy.

The Rustler opened the chest to examine its contents. Inside, a neatly stacked leather hooded coat caught his eye, accompanied by several pairs of black gloves. Adjacent to them lay multiple sets of knives, each with varying sizes and edges.

A satisfied smile spread across the Rustler's face as he reached out to close the chest. However, just as he was about to do so, the shopkeeper stepped in, intervening to stop him.

The Rustler raised his eyes, meeting the shopkeeper's gaze with his piercing blue eyes.

"What is it?"

"It's only been a couple of days since your last venture, and I barely had time to clean up after your previous mess. Did you even read the letter I sent to you?" the shopkeeper asked, a touch of frustration evident in his voice.

"I didn't. There was no need. I'm already aware of its contents," the Rustler responded, his voice carrying a tinge of obstinacy and defiance, mirrored in his piercing blue eyes.

"Well, I'm glad you're aware because it means you understand, just like I do, that the last thing we need right now is another mess. That's why, as you leave my doorstep, you can take the coat, the gloves, and the sleeves, but 'no knives,'" the shopkeeper firmly stated. “After all, you were only sent over to send a message, and nothing else, right?”

The shopkeeper's words hung in the air, as a silent tension filled the air. A fierce stare down was engaged between the Rustler and the shopkeeper. One that went on for a moment until The Rustler, his expression unchanging, out of nowhere relented.

"Fine," the Rustler simply conceded. “I’ll take no weapons.”

“Oh, don’t get me wrong, I’m not expecting you to head there unharmed,” the shopkeeper explained. “After all it’s a dangerous place, even for someone like you, which is why I was thinking why not arm yourselves with something much more appropriate than knives.”

Frowned upon by the doubtful Rustler, the shopkeep retreated once again to the back of his shop to then shortly come back with something in hands.

“A hammer?”

“Yes,” he smiled. “A hammer. With this tool, I believe the message can be conveyed more effectively than with knives," the shopkeeper explained, donning the convincing expression of a seasoned merchant. "Just be sure to avoid targeting the head," he added with a wince.

The Rustler rose from his chair and extended his left hand, requesting the hammer. He stood there for a moment, quietly examining the tool in question. Due to his shorter stature, when the Rustler held the hammer at rest, its head came mere inches away from touching the ground.

“So, what do you think of it?”

When asked the question, the Rustler glanced up at the man, towering at a height of 1.90 meters, before casting an appraising look from head to toe. A last glance at the hammer in his left hand he declared, “This’ll do.”

***

In the heart of the slums, there existed a notorious gang known as the Rats. They occupied a dilapidated corner, surrounded by crumbling buildings and narrow alleyways. Living by their own rules, they roamed the darkened streets, seeking dominance over their territory.

On a chilly evening, a group of five Rats huddled together around a flickering bonfire, their tattered clothes barely shielding them from the biting cold. Their breaths hung in the frosty air, forming visible puffs of mist.

"Damn, it's freezing tonight," grumbled one Rat, rubbing his hands together for warmth.

"Yeah, colder than a witch's tit," another Rat replied, shivering. "I miss the old days, back when we had the castle. It wasn't this damn cold."

"You said it, man," chimed in a third Rat. "Those brats took everything from us. Now we're stuck out here in the freezing slums."

"Screw these brats," said the first Rat bitterly.

This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

"Yeah, screw them," echoed the three others.

One Rat, more audacious than the rest, spoke up, "Why don't we just drive these brats out of the castle? This place is ours. They're just a bunch of kids. What's stopping us?"

"I don't know, man," replied another, contemplating the idea. "That's up to the boss to decide. After whatever back then. He still forbids us from causing too much trouble in their territory."

"Yeah, but we did trash two of them today, didn’t we?" boasted a Rat with a hint of pride. "Boss got hold of them this morning."

"Dared to venture into our territory without paying the fine, and even talked back. They were taught a valuable lesson, didn’t they?" added another Rat with a maniacal laugh. One soon followed by the others.

"What do you guys think is going to happen now, after what the boss did?" asked one Rat, breaking the silence.

"Dunno," came an uncertain response.

"What do you think they're gonna do, complain to their mama that they got beaten up? What's their mama gonna do?" scoffed another Rat, a hint of disdain in his voice.

The group nodded in agreement, a flicker of defiance and superiority shining in their eyes.

As they shared stories and sought warmth, a sudden presence caught their attention. Emerging from the shadows, a figure approached, one so small and short-statured that one would easily assume that it was that of a child no older than ten years old. Clutched in the child's left hand was a hammer, an unexpected and unusual sight for the Rats.

“A kid?”

“Whose kid is that?”

They were a gang of teenagers and young adults, accustomed to brandishing knives and makeshift weapons. The presence of a child, armed with a hammer, dressed in a full dark cloak, raised questions and ignited a flicker of uncertainty in their hearts.

The little silhouette, belonging to none other than the Rustler, unwaveringly stood there and remained silent for a moment, as though savoring the tension that hung in the air.

"Hey, you're deaf or something," the Rat, who was bold enough to approach, inquired threateningly as he lunged forward, his intentions set on taking the hood off of the small and mysterious figure.

Then, with a voice that did anything but belie his age, he declared, "I come from Den. And I have a message to deliver."

The man was reaching out for the boy's hood, but the Rustler's reflexes were lightning-quick. With a swift motion, he deflected the man's hand, the crack of impact echoing through the desolate streets. In the blink of an eye, the Rustler's hammer swung, striking the man's right leg with a resounding thud.

The unmistakable whoosh of the swing was followed by a chorus of gasps from the startled Rats. The fallen gang member writhed on the ground, his pain palpable. His eyes, now at a lower level than the Rustler's, met his assailant's blue eyes.

A cry of anguish escaped the injured man's lips, cutting through the stillness of the night. The sound galvanized the nearby Rats, filling them with rage and a fierce desire for revenge. They surged forward, their voices raised in indignant fury.

"Bastard!"

"What do you think you're doing?!"

But before they could reach the Rustler, his left arm swung back with a forceful backhand, silencing the man's cries of pain.

The sight of their friends being so quickly disposed off shook the three other Rats, and halted them in their charge but the sight of the Rustler walking over their comrade, nonchalantly approaching them, prompted the two Rats to lunge at him, roaring, fists clenched and teeth bared retrieving concealed weapon they had on them..

“You son of—”

“You’re gonna pay for that!”

The Rustler sidestepped effortlessly, evading the attack with the grace of a dancer. In one fluid motion, he swung the hammer in a wide arc, the blunt force colliding with the Rat's ribs. The sickening sound of a crack filled the air as the bone snapped, causing the Rat to crumple and collapse in agonizing pain.

As another Rat approached, wielding a fortune knife, the Rustler took a few steps back, creating some distance between them. The Rat lunged forward, throwing a wild haymaker at the Rustler's head. With deft agility, the Rustler sidestepped the attack, allowing the Rat's momentum to carry him past. Seizing the opportunity, the Rustler swung the hammer with full force, targeting the Rat's exposed arm holding the knife. The impact echoed like wood being torn apart, followed by the man's piercing scream.

The Rat's arm twisted in an unnatural direction, but the Rustler paid no heed to its state. Without hesitation, he swung his hammer once again, aiming for the Rat's knees. The force of the blow caused his opponent to collapse, bringing him down to the Rustler's level. Seizing the moment, the Rustler delivered a finishing blow with the back of his hand.

Upon witnessing his comrades falling so easily, one of the Rats swiftly turned on his heels and fled without hesitation. Sensing the fleeting opportunity, the Rustler swiftly shifted the hammer from his left hand to his right and hurled it towards the fleeing Rat. The hammer hurtled through the air with tremendous force, closing the distance between itself and the fleeing Rat in an instant. With a resounding impact, the hammer collided violently with the man's back.

The Rustler approached the fallen Rat with deliberate steps, displaying no signs of haste or urgency. His gaze was curious and probing as he drew closer, taking in the sight of the Rat writhing in agony on the ground. With an indifferent expression, the Rustler extended his leg, firmly placing his foot atop the Rat's writhing form. From this dominant position, he looked down upon the Rat, his eyes devoid of any trace of empathy or compassion. As he prepared to speak, his gaze remained cold and unfeeling. However, before he could utter a word, his words were abruptly interrupted by loud shouts that filled the air. It seemed that the commotion he had caused earlier had attracted the attention of another group of Rats, drawn by the grunts and cries that had pierced the quiet night.

Emerging from the shadows, a second wave of Rats descended upon the scene, their numbers surpassing the previous group. Sensing their presence, the Rustler braced himself for the imminent onslaught. His interest in the Rat beneath him waned, and with a swift kick, he rendered the man unconscious, ensuring he posed no immediate threat. With purposeful strides, he walked over to retrieve his hammer, his grip on the weapon firm and unwavering.

The second wave of Rats arrived with a flurry of voices and the sound of hurried footsteps. Their arrival was marked by the distinct sound of a blow torch, casting an eerie glow in the darkness of the night. As they approached the scene, their eyes widened in surprise and confusion. The sight that greeted them was unexpected—an unknown child wielding a hammer, surrounded by unconscious and injured comrades strewn across the ground. They hesitated, momentarily taken aback by the Rustler's presence and the chaos that unfolded before them.

With a swift motion, the Rustler removed his hood, revealing his face to the approaching wave of Rats. However, before they could fully discern his features, a gust of wind extinguished the blow torch, leaving only a feeble silhouette in its wake. The dim light barely allowed glimpses of one another as the tension in the air thickened. In that charged moment, the Rat charged forward, and the Rustler responded in kind. Their paths converged in a clash of wills and steel.

But just as the Rustler closed in on his opponent, he snapped his fingers, unleashing a blinding bolt of light that erupted from his fingertips. The sudden burst of brilliance disoriented and temporarily blinded everyone in its vicinity, causing a momentary chaos and confusion. Amidst the disarray, the Rustler remained unaffected, his senses keenly attuned to the unfolding mayhem.

As the disoriented Rats stumbled and groped in the darkness, the Rustler swung into action. With calculated and precise movements, his hammer became an extension of his will, delivering powerful blows and shattering bones in its wake. In the midst of the confusion, he moved with a purpose and clarity of mind, his strikes finding their mark with deadly accuracy. The silhouette of the Rustler became a blur of motion amidst the chaos, his presence a singular force cutting through the momentary blindness and disarray.

With each swing of his hammer, bones broke, and bodies fell. The Rats' attempts to overwhelm him crumbled under the weight of his unyielding spirit. The second wave, once full of determination, now found themselves overwhelmed by the ferocity and skill of the young Rustler.

The battle raged on, with an increasing number of Rats joining the fray, only to be swiftly overwhelmed by the Rustler's who fought as though he were oblivious to the concept of exhaustion. The clash of metal against flesh reverberated through the night air of the slum, punctuating the chaos with a cacophony of screams, whimpers, moaning and groaning.

***

Bursting through the shop door, causing the bell to chime loudly, Kae entered the room, her gaze darting left and right in search of someone.

"While I do appreciate the fact that today you took the time to allow the bell to chime, I would appreciate it if you treated my shop more gently," the shopkeeper remarked, expressing a touch of irritation.

Breathless and inattentive to the shopkeeper's concern, Kae locked eyes with him and urgently asked, "Where is he? Don't tell me he's already been here?"

"I'm afraid that's exactly what I'm telling you. He has indeed been here, and I suspect he's already ventured into the territory of these unfortunate souls," the shopkeeper responded, the weight of the situation evident in his voice. Upon hearing this, Kae bit her lips and reached for her forehead, attempting to calm the pounding headache that had seized her.

"Crap, crap, crap!" she cursed, unable to remain still as anxiety consumed her.

"When he arrived, I must admit, I was surprised that you chose him to handle this situation instead of someone more level-headed. Dealing peacefully with people has never exactly been his forte, so I take it that my hunch wasn't entirely unfounded," the shopkeeper mused.

“I just wanted him to help me deescalate the situation. Did I make a mistake by involving him in this?" Kae questioned, her voice laced with anguish.

"Did you make a mistake? I wouldn't know," the shopkeeper replied with a hint of resignation. "All I can say is that I wouldn't want to be in the place of those poor souls right now."