Diggen didn't know what had hit him. Something struck his head, throwing him off balance. Losing footing in a deadly duel against someone like Adam was fatal—and Adam seized the moment.
With a fierce downward slash, Adam's sword tore across Diggen's chest, cutting deep from his right side to his left. Diggen collapsed to his knees, disbelief clouding his eyes. He had been so close. Just a few more inches and Adam would have been dead. Instinctively, he looked down and spotted a fist-sized stone to his left.
Then came Adam's voice, raspy but laced with bitter amusement. "I thought it was over for me. Luck is a skill too, you know. I wonder who hit you with this."
Diggen lifted his gaze and met Adam's glare. The old assassin stood above him, sword raised, poised to deliver the final blow. "Any last words, dog?" Adam asked coldly.
Diggen closed his eyes, resigned to death.
But a sudden thud rang out. Another body hit the ground.
Startled, Diggen opened his eyes. A figure loomed behind Adam—it was Bull. Despite his grievous injuries, Bull had managed to stagger to his feet, and with one last surge of strength, he had headbutted Adam from behind. The exhausted assassin crumpled to the ground, unconscious.
The sounds of combat ceased. The watching crowd fell silent, stunned by the unexpected turn. No one had believed that the old man could come so close to toppling the very men who ruled this forsaken village.
Diggen, still bleeding from the gash across his chest, leaned on Bull for support and staggered upright. Standing over Adam's fallen form, he muttered, "In the end, I win, you old bastard." Then, with a final thrust, he drove his sword into Adam's neck, ending the assassin's life.
The battle was over. Half the combatants lay dead; the rest were barely clinging to life. Blood stained the dirt, and the stench of sweat and steel hung in the air.
Bull carried Diggen back to his home, doing what little he could—pouring beer on the wound and wrapping it in bandages. They sat in silence until Diggen stirred.
"What about Dan? Is he alright?" he asked weakly.
"Dead," Bull replied after a pause. "He bled out in his bed."
Diggen sighed, staring up at the wooden ceiling. "That's a shame. He was a good companion. It's over anyway. Black Scimitar won't let us keep our business here. They'll take over within a day or two."
Closing his eyes again, he murmured, "Go to that fat pig and tell him to sell our merchandise when Vekir gets here."
As the village settled once again into uneasy quiet, a lone boy wandered the streets with clenched fists and a storm behind his eyes.
Ethan couldn't stop replaying the battle in his head. Every time Diggen or his allies were struck, a thrill of anticipation sparked in his chest. Even the blood, the violence—none of it fazed him. Maybe it was because he had bled plenty himself.
When the fight had become one-on-one, his heart had pounded wildly. A strange cocktail of hope and dread flooded his senses. And then he had seen it—the stone at his feet.
He hadn't thought. He hadn't hesitated. He picked it up and hurled it at Diggen.
When it struck, and Diggen stumbled, a wave of satisfaction washed over him. But it vanished just as fast when Bull delivered the blow that turned the tide again. Relief gave way to bitter disappointment.
No one had seen him throw the stone—thank the gods. If they had, he might be in a word of pain right now.
He wandered aimlessly through the village, scuffing his shoes against the dirt. The sting of what could have been haunted him. He had been so close to watching his enemies fall. Adam might have been his ticket out of this hellhole.
Suddenly, from across the square, he spotted Stanley walking alongside someone. Curious, Ethan crept closer, weaving through shadows until he could hear their conversation.
The man with Stanley was Bull.
"Diggen wants to make it big on tomorrow's deal," Bull was saying. "But instead of food or liquor, he wants money."
Stanley sounded uneasy. "He knows Vekir won't accept that. He'd rather trade twice the goods than hand over gold. He doesn't trust us with coin."
Ethan listened carefully. The nervousness in Stanley's voice made him grin. If they were desperate for coin instead of provisions, things were more unstable than they appeared.
"It's risky," Stanley continued. "Vekir's not the kind to tolerate surprises. If he smells weakness, he'll exploit it."
Ethan backed away slowly, his mind already turning with different ideas and possibilities. The pieces were moving into place.
What if I tell Jenkins about the deal? Maybe he'll be interested—interested enough to snatch it for himself. That would be the final nail in their coffin.
Determined, Ethan set off to find Jenkins. It took hours of searching through alleys, ruins, and half-made homes before he finally crossed paths with one of Jenkins's men. The thug gave him a once-over before leading him to a small encampment just outside the village.
"Well, look who's here," Jenkins said with a crooked grin as Ethan approached. "The little runt of this hellhole. Hahaha."
His men roared with laughter, but Ethan was unfazed.
"I have news that might interest you," he said coolly.
Jenkins cocked an eyebrow. "Oh? You're an interesting kid. I knew it when I first saw you. Let's hear it, then."
"I overheard Stanley talking about a trade tomorrow with someone named Vekir. Despite the fire, they still have drugs to trade. They're planning to make a final deal. But this time, they want gold—not food."
Jenkins stroked his chin thoughtfully. "Hmm. And what do you suggest we do, little man?"
Ethan shrugged. "That's up to you. I just thought you'd want to know."
Jenkins laughed heartily. "Hear that, boys? Told you the runt was sharp. Crafty little thing. Hahaha. Very well, thank you for the tip. It'll be fun to watch their last hope go up in smoke."
One of his men grinned and clapped Ethan on the back. "You've got guts, kid."
Ethan nodded and walked away, a grin stretching across his face. The cool evening breeze still carried scent of yesterday's fire, but to Ethan, it smelled like opportunity.
Everything is in place, he thought. While Diggen and his gang are busy defending their goods, I'll make my move. It's tomorrow or never.