In the middle of the night, as the echoes of the one sided battle faded to scream in the faraway horizon, the Rustler stood amidst the fallen Rats moaning, groaning, whimpering, crying, catching his breath.

“It isn’t finished yet.”

I know.

I’ll get this done right away.

Putting an end to his brief respite, the Rustler used the sleeve of his coat to wipe the blood off his face. Among the dozens of unconscious rats strewn about, he searched for someone who could provide answers to his questions. It didn't take him long to locate a figure attempting to crawl away from the chaotic scene, his knees seemingly bursted.

Approaching with little effort, the Rustler closed in on the crawling rat, causing the frightened creature to freeze in place as if encountering a ghost. The rat appeared ready to ramble, likely pleading for mercy and an end to further injuries. However, the Rustler swiftly silenced him by placing a finger in front of his own mouth, signaling for silence.

“I was initially looking for the ones who beat the children from the Den, but being this late at night and having so many of you around, I doubt I’ll be able to find them, so instead I’m going to ask a simple question: where is your Rat’s boss?”

The young rat remained silent, seemingly unable to gather a response. With his hammer, the Rustler gently lifted the rat's chin, ensuring their gazes met. Assertively, he declared, "I do not need you to speak. I just need direction."

With a feeble gesture, the rat weakly extended his finger, pointing in the direction of the barracks of fortunes.

“That’s far from narrowing anything but I guess this answers what you asked of him.”

Removing the hammer from beneath the man’s mouth, the Rustler headed toward the direction the man pointed out.

More or less satisfied with the rat's response, the Rustler released his grip and stood up straight. His blue eyes gleamed with a sense of purpose as he processed the information.

Without wasting another moment, the Rustler swiftly turned on his heel and began making his way towards the indicated direction: Toward the barracks of fortunes.

Fearlessly, he navigated through the desolate streets of the slums. The echoes of the earlier battle still reverberated in the air. People—mostly women—were shouting in panic for some reason, their voices filled with fear adding to the overall infernal mood. As he moved through the streets, people scattered in all directions, some even stumbling and falling as they tried to distance themselves from the Rustler's presence. Among the panicked crowd, he noticed even Rats who, upon catching sight of him bloodstained from head to toe, swiftly turned on their heels and retreated in haste.

As he approached the outskirts of the barracks, his gaze immediately fixated on a particular barrack that stood out from the rest. Its appearance was distinct, bearing a unique design and a noticeable air of prominence. The structure seemed more fortified, with reinforced walls. The Rustler's sharp eyes quickly discerned that this particular barrack held a different significance compared to the others in the vicinity.

As he approached the door, the Rustler noticed the eerie absence of light emanating from within. The silence was deafening, intensifying the sense of anticipation that gripped him. With a blasting swing of his hammer, he forcefully pushed the closed door open.

Stepping into the room, the Rustler couldn't help but notice a lingering scent of freshly extinguished lamp light. The air held a faint warmth, indicating that someone had been present here not long ago.

Assessment soon confirmed by a whistling sound cutting through the darkness, followed by a singular raging scream, "Die!" Reacting swiftly, the Rustler instinctively raised his left arm as a heavy and sharp-edged object collided with it, resulting in a resounding metallic clang that echoed in the air.

"What the fuck!" the assailant cursed as his weapon, instead of slicing through flesh, collided with an immovable force that felt akin to cutting through a solid boulder. The impact reverberated through his arm, sending a jolt of pain up to his shoulder.

Seizing the opportunity, the Rustler capitalized on his assailant's momentary confusion. With a swift motion resembling a shield bash, he deflected the weapon that had been aimed at him, redirecting its trajectory.

In response to this countermove, the Rustler once again snapped his fingers, unleashing a blinding burst of bolt-like light that erupted between them. While his assailant was left dazed and momentarily incapacitated by the sudden burst, the Rustler remained resolute and unaffected, his vision unclouded.

During the short window, light burst out blinding, the Rustler caught a glance of his assailant's overall appearance—one that he’d seen once in the past and clearly recognized.

With a swift and precise swing of his hammer in the darkness, the Rustler disarmed his assailant, causing him to let out a pained cry of "Arrrrgh" followed by the metallic clang of the weapon hitting the ground. In a swift motion, the Rustler continued his assault, delivering two more calculated swings aimed at the assailant's lower body. Each strike elicited another agonized cry of "Arrrgh" from his opponent, before crumpling to the ground.

“Bastard!!! My legs! My arm!”

"You said 'die,' didn't you? I'm curious to see that," the Rustler retorted with a hint of taunting in his voice.

“This voice, you’re the one—”

In one swift motion, The Rustler swung his hammer from the side, its trajectory aligned with his words. The forceful impact connected with the man, the one whom the Rustler recognized from the tribal tattoo all over his face as Rat’s leader, rendering him instantly unconscious.

***

As the Rat's leader regained consciousness, his groggy eyes flickered open to a disorienting sight. Despite the pain coursing through his body, he mustered the strength to prop himself up into a sitting position. Immediately, his gaze was met with the harrowing dance of flames, casting an eerie glow that illuminated the surrounding darkness. Standing before him was the figure of the Rustler, a silhouette amidst the fiery backdrop. The air hung heavy with the acrid scent of burning wood and smoke.

Through the haze of the Rat's leader's awakening, the Rustler silently observed the confusion in his eyes.

The flames roared and crackled, consuming the once-proud structures that represented the Rat's dominance. Panic echoed through the distant voices of the people who had been startled awake, their screams blending with the chaos of the growing inferno.

The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

In the midst of the burning chaos, the Rustler's eyes remained fixed on the Rat's leader, asking, “Do you remember me?”

“You! You’re… You’re the dwarf from back then!”

“Pfft! You hear that? He said you were a dwarf.”

As if to mock the man’s answer, the Rustler's hand rose slowly, gently lifting the hood of his cloak to reveal his face to the Rat king.

“Well, I guess, I can’t blame you for thinking I’m a dwarf.”

The flickering light of the fire cast an ethereal glow upon the features that emerged, a face that defied expectations amidst the unfolding chaos. It was the face of a young lad, a visage that one would not associate with the depths of turmoil and strife that surrounded them. A face belonging to a boy that clearly didn’t yet see more than 30 lunar harmony.

His eyes, a striking shade of blue, staring at the Rat’s leader, burned with an intensity that mirrored the relentless blaze engulfing their surroundings.

The Rat's leader stared back, his expression a mix of recognition and disbelief. In that moment, no doubt, memories flooded his mind, connecting the dots of a past encounter that he had hoped to forget.

"You remember me, but you see, I too, despite my reluctance, remember you. Forced to. Because while you didn't forget about me, you forgot about what we had agreed upon," the Rustler declared, his voice inquisiting.

In the mesmerizing glow of the engulfing flames, the Rat king's expression wavered, a flicker of recognition momentarily crossing his face. Despite his wounded state, he attempted to rise, his injured knee and arm hampering his efforts, causing him to falter and remain in a kneeling position.

"I didn't forget," he contested, his voice laced with indignation. "I held onto my promise, vowing to never again show my face to you."

"Yet you did," the Rustler interrupted, his voice firm and unwavering.

“I didn’t—” The Rat king's retort caught in his throat, his words halted by the sudden realization that uttering them could bear severe consequences.

The Rustler's piercing gaze bore into the Rat king, unwavering in its intensity. "I understand what you're trying to say," he responded, his voice laced with a mix of understanding and reproach. "You believe that by not directly revealing yourself to me, you have absolved yourself of any wrongdoing. And in a way, you may be innocent of that particular act. However, what you are not innocent of is creating the circumstances that inevitably led to our encounter once again, with you swinging a machete at me, no less."

A heavy silence settled between them, broken only by the crackling of the relentless fire.

“So what are you going to do with him?”

I don’t know. I haven’t decided yet.

“You messed up. You did something you shouldn’t have, and now here I am forced to break the promise we made to each other, because I was asked to deliver you a message.”

“Do you know what that message was?”

The Rat King shook his head.

"Never, under any circumstances, touch any of the Den's children unless you are prepared to face the consequences," the Rustler relayed, his tone firm and resolute. "Did you get that message?"

Though baffled and being at the verge of a breakdown, the Rat King nodded.

“I’m glad you did.”

At these words, the Rat king's resolve crumbled, and tears welled up in his eyes, streaming down his face in silent anguish.

“Come on,” The Rustler seemingly cheered, his voice softening as he spoke, his words and yet his voice was devoid of either compassion or understanding. "You chose this path, but I believe in the power of second chances. For once, I am willing to let go of the past and begin anew. We can wipe the slate clean, leaving behind the pain and mistakes that have plagued us. But for that to happen..." the Rustler leaned to murmur the next words to his ears, “I want you to leave this city, it would be safer for you.

The Rat King looked up as though to voice out a reservation but was shut down upon meeting the Rustler’s eyes.

“Take whatever those flames leave behind, leave the city. Go be a rat king somewhere else. Somewhere I can forget about you. The northern part of the continent can do that for you. Could you do that—-What was your name—Your true name?”

“Ivan…”

“ Hm? Ivan, you see, for both our future to be peaceful, could you do that for us? Leave the city and never come back ever again.”

Wiping his tears with his only available hand, the Rat King nodded.

“Good,” the Rustler smiled, delivering a gentle pat on his back. “I give you two weeks.”

***

Covered in blood and emanating a pungent burning smell, the Rustler retraced his steps, making his way back to the place he arrived from—the Shopkeeper’s Shop. The journey back was one filled with silence, though not entirely.

You’re silent. The Rustler started.

“It is because I have nothing to say. Or perhaps you have something for me to say?”

I don’t. Or at least I don’t think I do. What could I want you to say?

“I don't know, perhaps you might want me to praise you?”

To praise me… The Rustler muttered. Perhaps I do, but would you praise me?

“That depends, do you think I would praise you?”

Upon being asked that question, the Rustler halted his steps, turned around to face the one he was sharing thoughts with, and replied, No, I don't think you would—not for that.

“Then I will do no such thing.”

With a nod, the Rustler did not contest the decision that was taken.

He turned around and resumed his stride back to the Shop, it was then, amidst the shadows, that he caught sight of a familiar figure standing in the middle of the road. Rae, breathless and wide-eyed, her attention fixed on the distant glow of the burning slum. Her gaze slowly descended upon the Rustler, instantly recognizing his presence amidst the darkness.

Their eyes locked, a silent understanding passing between them. Or not.

“Oh, look who’s coming.”

She approached the Rustler, and first words were, “That fire. What have you done!?”

Unmoved by her outburst, the Rustler maintained his calm demeanor, meeting her gaze with unwavering resolve. "I delivered your message," he repeated, his voice steady and composed.

"Which part of my message involved burning down an entire corner of the slums?" she lashed out, her frustration evident in her tone.

Unfazed by her accusation, the Rustler remained silent, his gaze fixed upon her.

After a moment of contemplation, her eyes traveled up and down his blood-stained form, pausing at the sight of the hammer in his hand. A mix of horror and concern crossed her face as she asked, "Is this blood his?"

"Some of it is, but not all," he calmly explained. "Rest assured, he received your message loud and clear." With those words, he turned as if to leave.

However, his departure was abruptly halted as Kae reached out, grasping his arm firmly. Both she and the Rustler frowned, their attention drawn to the arm she held upon.

In one swift motion, the Rustler freed his arm from Kae's grasp, his gaze fixed upon her. "Don't pretend you didn't know," he replied with a touch of sternness. "You were well aware of the possible consequences when you sent me on this task."

Kae thoroughly confirmed the Rustler’s allegation by her ensuing silence.

The Rustler's gaze remained unwavering, his resolve unyielding, while Kae's expression revealed a mixture of remorse and unease.

"Just tell me, is he at least still alive?" she ventured after a while, her voice tinged with desperation.

"Do I look like someone who would kill just anyone?" he retorted, his words laced with a hint of frustration.

"I don't know. I don't know anymore," she admitted, her voice filled with uncertainty. "I don’t know you. I’ve seen you doing things —things that I can’t fathom how far you can take. So no, I don’t know. I don’t even know your name, who you are, and quite possibly what you are.”

His gaze lingered on her, his eyes reflecting a complex mix of emotions. A moment of silence hung in the air, pregnant with unspoken thoughts. Then, as if struck by a sudden memory, a flicker of reminiscence passed through the Rustler's eyes.

"My name? You want to know who I am?" he murmured, almost to himself. The flames of the burning slum danced in his eyes, casting shadows of the past upon his face. For a brief moment, he seemed lost in a distant memory.