Hunger for this beautiful female brightened their eyes, and he chuckled with satisfaction.
“If you’d seen that bitch’s face, you wouldn’t have waited to hunt her down.”
God...
Bachmann hadn’t thought of God in a long time, but he was praying to him now. He had approached that woman thinking to help her, and it had led to this. His heart was filled with guilt.
He could only hope she had escaped. But as the robbers organized to spread out and search the area, it seemed less likely. His eyes darkened.
But just as he lost hope, that
Bachmann didn’t recognize him, at first. But he swung his sword at once and three thieves lost their lives in a single second. The robbers fell, blood flowing everywhere.
They were shocked at the sudden attack, and there were confused shouts, warning that reinforcements had arrived. But as soon as they realized it was only one man, they laughed as if it were a great joke.
One of the traitor mercenaries pointed at him.
“That’s her husband! The woman must be nearby!”
“Is it? Kill him quickly, see if we can draw her out.”
How disgusting. Bachmann thought the man would fly into a rage, but he remained surprisingly calm, and even smiled a little. He did not seem to be any stranger to a situation like this. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t angry. There was a fierce glint in his eyes.
The lone man moved without hesitation, hacking through the wrist of a man who had made a filthy gesture about the woman. Blood spurted, and the man died painfully of blood loss. Several more followed, with equally painful deaths.
The other robbers who had been watching from a distance charged in to fight, wild and disorganized. They were like children compared to this man. The blood he spilled, the brighter the man’s eyes glowed, his face twisting into something bestial.
No spell could long conceal this man’s nature. As it faded away, Bachmann could see his shining golden eyes.
“Kurkan...” he murmured.
Ishakan, the King of Kurkan.
Now he couldn’t even worry about the thieves. Bachmann was much more concerned about the lack of respect he had shown in the oasis. Would Ishakan forgive him?
All the robbers were dead. The solitary man had dyed the desert sand red, and tore off the head of the final robber with his bare hands, then lightly tossed it at Bachmann’s side.
“Hey...!” Bachmann protested, horrified, but Ishakan only reached nonchalantly into the bags of a nearby camel to for a water skin to wash his hands. Plucking tobacco from his pocket, he lit it with a torch still smoldering on the ground nearby.
As he drew several leisurely puffs, none of the survivors from the caravan dared to speak. They could only hold their breath and wait.
Once he had enjoyed his tobacco, he turned toward Bachmann. The trader tensed, and for a moment he was almost afraid he would wet himself with fear. Under those golden eyes, the old man trembled like a child.
“Please forgive me!” Bachmann burst out, the second their eyes met. “If you spare my life, I will return the favor–”
“Redblood fruit,” Ishakan interrupted.
Bachmann froze in the midst of pleading for his life. His brain temporarily shut down.
“...what?” He managed, completely thrown.
“Redblood Fruit,” Ishakan repeated. “Do you have any?”