LITMIR.BIZ

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he said loudly for everyone to hear. “So much strength and time were spent on you – all in vain. You’re too pathetic to kill. Even your father fought more honorably than you.” As a final touch, he decided to kick me in the face with his foot. Put a bold exclamation point in our duel, so to speak.

      I woke up from unbearable pain in the cheek area. It felt like a hot metal brand pressed against my cheek. This was how the Rhaedarian Empire branded exiles so that if an exile decided to return to the lands now forbidden to them, they would be immediately executed by any citizen with legal citizenship. Each such citizen was obligated to either kill the exile or report them to someone who could. After that, they took me out of the empire in a cart with others of my ilk, who were deemed unworthy even of death. Only eternal suffering in exile… The remaining life spent in torment, reminiscing about the past.

      CHAPTER 3 “THE LONELY WANDERER”

      The lady who worked at the tavern approached the table where two men were sitting.

      “Rein, would you and your friend like something else to drink?” she asked.

      “Absolutely, my dear. As soon as I finish this,” replied Rein, glancing at his glass.

      “Alright, I’ll come back in a couple of minutes,” she said.

      “Sure thing,” Rein responded with a smile.

      Most of Rein’s armor was covered by a dark cloak. It was evident that underneath it were the remnants of the armor of a Reydarian warrior, or rather, what was left of it. A Reydarian sword was visible at his back. However, nothing revealed his status as an outcast from the empire more than the brand on his left cheek.

      Surrounded by a motley crew, difficult to categorize as human based on their behavior, Rein took a large glass and emptied its contents as if it were a mere glass of water.

      “Well… What do you think of my thrilling story, Ain?” Rein asked the local drunkard sitting across the table.

      “Won-derful, Uh-huh,” Ain responded, hiccupping and almost passing out right before Rein’s eyes.

      Ain was an ordinary drunkard who looked like an old man, but determining his exact age was challenging. Despite his absurd appearance and the overwhelming stench emanating from him, despite excessive indulgence in the local brew, he behaved extremely politely. He rarely interrupted and almost never allowed himself to be unruly. He always tried to speak politely with people and only behaved recklessly when he was so drunk that he couldn’t control his own body. Rein found it difficult to imagine how a person with such manners could end up living such a life, so he drew parallels with himself and pictured Ain closer to old age.

      Outside, thunder rumbled, and the night was coming to an end. The local tavern where Rein and Ain were situated was located on a high, expansive slope between two large villages, just beyond the borders of Reydaria but still in close proximity.

      “Wishing you sweet dreams, Ain,” Rein said to the snoring drunkard.

      “Saul? So that’s your real name,” came a voice from the side. “The man sitting with you may not be in his right mind, but it doesn’t mean everyone here is the same.”

      “You! Whatever you heard – this whole story is nonsense,” Rein replied anxiously.

      “Well, I don’t think so. I saw you in action when you scattered that Reydarian convoy like puppies. I thought, ‘What drives you? Just a thirst for loot?’ Now I understand. You fought not just to sell the spoils from that battle – you wanted to reclaim your own. The sword and armor. Reydarian ones. You could buy them, but now, with the local traders, it could cost a small fortune.”

      “I don’t know where or when you saw, but I’m sure that was someone else. And even if I were the person you describe, you understand that this person, as you put it, dismantling Reydarian convoys like puppies, would hardly want everyone to know about him. And I’m afraid to even imagine what he would do to someone who goes against him and starts spreading the word about who he is. I hope that’s clear?” Rein said menacingly.

      “Ah-ha. Don’t worry, I have no reason to spill anything about anyone. And all this tough look of yours. Nothing more than an illusion. Yes, I’ve heard the whole story, and you should drink less and talk less if you want to remain unnoticed in these parts. Honestly, I could have kept quiet altogether if I pursued such selfish goals. So, your threats are at least silly and entirely inappropriate.”

      Rein, quite intoxicated, looked down.

      “Indeed,” Rein thought.

      “Forgive me if I said anything threatening, and for having to hear all this… Sometimes, someone needs to vent. My life… My whole life – it’s not a life at all. Fate has prepared an extremely unpleasant path for me, and it continues to laugh at me.”

      Rein sat down at the table next to this stranger.

      “Where’s your friend then? Won’t there be threats coming his way?” the stranger said, smiling.

      “What? No. Ain… he’s harmless. I’ve already told him these stories more than once. Every morning he doesn’t even remember who I am. It’s some kind of madness!”

      “Hmm,” the stranger smiled.

      “At least take off your hood,” said Rein. “It’s unclear, are you even human?”

      “And if I’m not human, then what?”

      “I usually have a bad experience dealing with non-humans… And if you’re some kind of elf or even a force, which I strongly doubt, then I think I have nothing to worry about. In such places, they don’t tolerate elves and the like, so if anything, no one will believe you, which seems like a pretty good outcome to me.”

      The stranger removed the hood and said, “Well, my name is Iziro.”

      “You have a shaved head. And the name… You’re from the great mountains! Mountain monk. Are you one of them?”

      “Yes, you could say that. But I was born in the capital of Raidaria and was once a warrior, far from the mountains.”

      “So you’re one of us? A Raidarian. That explains your build. For a moment, I thought all those warriors from the mountains were like that. It’s even scary.”

      “Haha, we’re not warriors, just defenders of our territories,” replied Iziro. “And you, I understand, think it’s all about how big you are? Right?”

      “Excuse me, but size does matter. However strange or banal it may sound.”

      “Although there are indeed tall and sturdy monks in the place I come from, most monks in the villages of Oi are much smaller than you – and they wouldn’t let you land a hit on them, let alone kill them. A big but slow warrior like you would be simply helpless against them.”

      “And why, if they’re so strong and fast, does the Raidarians’ empire exist and not the empire of those bald mountain villagers?”

      Iziro’s emotions changed slightly.

      “At some point, if you’re not lucky to encounter an even stronger warrior on your path, you’ll understand.”

      “You mean defeats in battles?”

      “No! I mean endless victories,” Iziro replied sadly.

      “And how?”

      Rein didn’t have time to finish speaking when two Raidarian warriors entered the tavern. Iziro and Rein almost instantly pulled up their hoods. Everyone in the tavern, except for the arriving warriors, hid. All conversations abruptly ceased. Almost complete silence fell.

      One of the warriors stepped forward, removed his helmet, and, looking around, began to loudly express his intentions in a commanding tone:

      “Attention, please! We have information that people involved

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