Hearing the fading sounds of slaughter, as well as the receding clatter of hooves, the boy cautiously sat up and began to look around. The first thing he saw was the corpse of his carrier, lying on his back and choking on an arrow in his neck. And looking further, he saw the only standing commander, who was very different from his soldiers.
He was equipped much more seriously than his subordinates, with more flexible-looking armor made from the scales of an unknown monster, but at the same time, it could withstand more serious blows. He also had several types of weapons in his arsenal, which was an infrequent occurrence among warriors.
And more... And more, there was no one else; the entire cavalry cohort was destroyed in an instant. And the surviving prisoner and the commander didn't know what to do.
"Come out, you vile bitch!" the commander shouted through his helmet, on which there was a single slit running from his left eye to his right.
The boy looked in the direction of the commander's gaze and saw a figure emerging from the very alley from which the arrow had recently flown.
"You..." the man drawled, feeling anger building within him. "What right do mercenaries have to interfere in family matters?!"
"What a worthless creature," a female voice with a hint of sarcasm echoed from the alley.
The figure, dressed in a light combat kimono the color of night, with a scabbard for a sword at her waist. Her physique indicated that the girl had a rather large build, but despite this, she had an extremely tall stature, about two and a half meters. On her face, the figure wore a cloth mask with two perfectly cut eyeholes.
Emerging from the alley, she paused for a moment, at which point about a hundred figures leaped from the roofs, each of whom, upon landing, knelt to the side of the female figure. No one had any distinguishing features; each was dressed in the same kimono and the same belt, but each carried a bow on their back, the string of which had a soft blue glow.
The knight commander, falling to his knees, began to scream in panic:
"Do you know what will happen to you?! The Family Union will not let this go, and my family will personally pursue you!" The commander's cry was filled with rage and despair.
The female figure didn't even pay attention to him; her gaze was directed at the boy, who was crawling towards the dying knight who had recently whipped him.
"I promised I'd get back at you," the boy thought to himself as he carefully crawled towards him. Upon reaching him, he began to pull off the man's helmet.
In an instant, after removing his helmet, a sword blade flew from the sky, embedding itself... "in the stone?!" The boy was simultaneously stunned by its sharpness and frightened; his actions had not gone unnoticed.
"What will you do?" the female voice, with a hint of curiosity, sounded.
The boy glanced at the woman standing among identical figures, dressed in identical kimonos and possessing identical swords and bows. A sinister aura, filled with darkness, emanated from the central figure, and the sword, which had disappeared from her scabbard, was stuck in the stone next to him.
Quickly assessing the situation, the boy tried to stand up, but it wasn't easy, with shackles on his hands weighing no less than fifteen kilograms. As a result, upon standing, he grabbed the single-edged blade with both hands and pulled it out of the stone.
The blade was slightly longer than his usual talwar, but this specimen had no guard on the hilt, and judging by the length of the hilt, it was a two-handed sword.
The boy raised the blade to the sky, and then turned his gaze to the suffocating knight. Their eyes met, and it seemed the boy's hand trembled. It wasn't the first time he had taken the lives of monsters, but taking the life of a human... He looked at the man's pleading eyes, but what was he pleading for? Was he begging for life, for mercy, or was he begging for death, to be freed from his torment?
Holding the sword in his hands and hearing the commander in the distance continue to shout at the dark figures, simultaneously threatening and begging for mercy, the boy looked into the dying man's eyes—"Kill me, don't torture me, just kill me"—a familiar male voice echoed in the boy's head—"What, who is in my head?!"—the boy wondered for a moment, and then he realized it was the voice of the rider who had whipped him on the back, forcing him to shut up.
"But why can I hear him?" the boy asked himself, but a moment later he saw a faint glow from the sword he was holding—"I see..."—it was a peculiarity of the sword, to hear the thoughts of the dying.
Gathering his thoughts, the boy averted his eyes from the knight and pointed the blade at the man's chest, instantly ending his life.
Hearing the screech of metal in the distance, the commander turned his gaze to the boy, who stood at full height, piercing the knight's chest. Rage and madness clouded the commander's gaze.
"It's all because of you, you little piece of trash! I'll gut you, you maggot, and throw you in an alley to be eaten by pigs!" his voice conveyed how the commander spat out these words.
The commander looked around and, seeing that the attackers' subordinates, as well as the leader himself, continued to stand by without intervening, he didn't know the reason for such actions. After all, it would have been more effective to simply kill him, but they took no action, as if every step was planned.
No, the attack itself was planned perfectly, but the commander was frightened by the thought that they knew his every next step, as if they could predict the future. "Pfft, no, they're just fools. It's clear that I'm stronger than them, so they're not interfering," the commander thought to himself, drawing a long hand-and-a-half sword from his scabbard, on the center of whose blade were engraved the initials of his family.
Glancing once more at the female figure's subordinates and confirming their inaction, the commander headed towards the boy, who was already drawing the sword from the dead knight.
The boy directed his gaze at the commander, who was moving towards him with firm steps, each of his steps filled with rage and madness. Shifting his gaze to the woman, who continued to stand in the center of her subordinates, the boy hoped for a change on the battlefield, but the woman and her servants continued to observe.
He hoped they would save him, but they continued to remain inactive. His strength had long since begun to leave the boy; the shackles, which he had been wearing for a long time, were exhausting him, his hands burned with agony from fatigue, and his head, injured by the blow from behind, continued to throb painfully.
Turning his head, he saw empty blocks. People had long since left this place, fearing harm. "Maybe I should run?" the thought crossed the boy's mind. After all, those who attacked the convoy at the moment were simply watching the whole scene, and surviving, let alone defeating the commander, was impossible for the boy. He didn't believe in victory; he saw the superiority between the commander and himself: his hands were bound, and the commander's were not; he was in torn clothes, and the commander was in strong armor. The chances were slim.
Each step was heard more and more clearly; the commander began to pick up speed, intending to kill the boy with a single blow.
"What will you do?" the woman's curious voice sounded again.
And at that moment, the commander had already raised his hand-and-a-half sword to the sky and prepared to strike the boy from above.