With his escort gone, Ethan was finally free to wander the village. He lingered among the crumbling stone paths and worn buildings, a smirk playing on his lips as he observed Diggen's lackeys sulking with hollow eyes. The misfortune of his enemies was like a balm to his soul, and he bathed in it shamelessly.
What truly made his heart soar, though, was the look on Stanley's face when he saw him strolling aimlessly. That moment made him feel for the first time in a long while that escape didn't seem like a far-fetched dream.
So, while the rest of the villagers whispered about Diggen's impending retaliation, Ethan seized the chance to prepare. He buried his newly acquired knife alongside a small stash of copper coins he'd saved over time. He foraged carefully for food, stuffing stale bread and dried meat into a hidden sack, just in case an opportunity to flee presented itself.
Once he finished his preparations, he made his way back to Stanley's place, curious to learn what had unfolded in his absence. But when he arrived, the small hut was empty. Frowning, he scanned the area. "Where the hell did those two idiots go?" he muttered.
After a pause, a sly grin spread across his face. "Well… might as well see if there's anything valuable left lying around. A few extra coins never hurt anyone." He slipped inside and began rummaging through drawers and containers, looking for anything of worth.
Halfway through his search, a sudden commotion erupted outside. Shouts and hurried footsteps broke the calm. Ethan froze, his instincts on high alert. He dropped everything and rushed outside, drawn by the swell of voices echoing through the village.
People were running, all heading in the same direction. Without hesitation, Ethan followed, weaving through the crowd with practiced ease. His small frame allowed him to slip between adults until he reached the front of the gathering. What he saw made his breath catch.
A brutal fight was underway.
Five men stood in a ragged clearing—four against one—and yet the lone fighter seemed to be holding his own. Ethan's eyes widened as he recognized the combatants.
On one side stood Diggen, Dan, Bull, and—shockingly—Friz, who for some reason had taken their side. Facing them alone was Adam, the seasoned assassin.
Bull was already down on one knee, clutching his bleeding side. His shirt was soaked in crimson. Dan lay unconscious nearby, deep gashes across his body. Only Diggen and Friz remained uninjured. As for Adam, he was far from unscathed. Blood streamed from wounds in his right leg and arm. He gripped his sword tightly in his left hand, chest heaving, eyes blazing with a murderous intensity.
Ethan didn't know the full story behind the confrontation, but he didn't need to. His heart pounded with excitement. He clenched his fists, silently cheering Adam on. If Diggen dies right now, he thought, I'm running. No looking back.
Just then, Friz darted forward, aiming for Adam's injured right side. His dagger gleamed as it sliced through the air. Adam braced himself. At the last second, he stepped in and smashed his forehead against Friz's face. The sudden headbutt disoriented his attacker. Adam quickly locked Friz's arm under his own, setting up for a finishing blow.
But from the corner of his eye, he caught a downward swing—Diggen's bastard sword slicing through the air.
Adam reacted instantly. He raised his sword to parry the powerful strike, his body trembling from the effort. With a grunt, he pulled Friz's trapped form between them, forcing Diggen to pull back or risk striking his own ally.
That moment of hesitation was all Adam needed. With a roar, he drove his sword into Friz's chest, the blade piercing clean through. Friz's body went limp, collapsing to the ground with a dull thud.
Diggen's eyes widened. He clenched his jaw, silently cursing. Fucking monster. Is this guy really just an assassin? he thought. His build, his moves… even his footwork—it's nothing like Friz or Brenda. He fights like a seasoned knight.
Adam's chest rose and fell rapidly. Blood dripped from his wounds, soaking his tunic. His face was pale, but his eyes still burned with unyielding fire. "So… this is how it ends," he muttered to himself. "Not how I imagined it."
He spat blood to the side and straightened his back.
The two men locked eyes—Diggen with a twisted scowl, Adam with a weary yet confident grin.
"You pathetic coward," Adam said hoarsely. "You didn't even have the guts to face the real enemy. So you came after me in the shadows, like the rat you are. You couldn't even fight me one-on-one."
He coughed again and laughed bitterly. "Now look at you. Your lackeys are out cold. Your ally lies dead like a mutt. And here I am, still standing."
Diggen's face flushed with anger. "Shut your mouth, traitor!" he spat. "You betrayed your own people—helped outsiders destroy us. And now you think you're the righteous one?"
"Righteous?" Adam laughed again, harder this time. "In this hellhole? Are you seriously talking about righteousness here?"
His expression turned grave. "I've lived through worse. I've seen death up close, too many times to count. And every time, I survived. I'll survive this too."
He lifted his sword, the blade trembling slightly in his hand. "Now come on, you buffoon. Let me send you to your grave so I can finally finish my nap."
With a snarl, Diggen charged.
Any other day, he might've retreated. But seeing Adam barely standing, he felt emboldened. He launched a series of rapid attacks, circling around Adam's injured side like a predator waiting for its prey to collapse.
Adam gritted his teeth, deflecting blow after blow. His left hand shook, and each step sent jolts of pain through his leg. Still, he fought with controlled precision.
Horizontal slashes were parried with his sword, countered with shoulder bashes. Vertical attacks were dodged with swift sidesteps and countered with hooks or quick slashes. But his energy was waning. Blood loss was catching up with him, and his reactions began to slow.
Diggen noticed. His attacks grew more confident, more frequent. He began pacing his strikes to wear Adam down, no longer risking anything fancy. A simple strategy—but effective.
Ethan, still watching from the crowd, clenched his fists tightly. "Come on, old man…"
Suddenly, Adam's foot slipped. Just a bit. But it was enough. His balance faltered, his defense dropped.
Diggen's eyes lit up. Now!
He rushed in, sword raised high for the killing blow. I can't let this chance pass, he thought. Who knows when the Black Scimitar will decide to intervene?
The blade descended, gleaming in the air. Inches from Adam's heart—
THUD!
Diggen staggered.
A stone—no, a rock—had slammed into the side of his head. His eyes widened in shock. The sword veered off-course, grazing Adam's shoulder instead of piercing his chest.
Confused, Diggen stumbled back, clutching his head. Blood trickled down from his temple. Around them, gasps rose from the onlookers.