Hearing the fading sounds of the massacre, as well as the receding clatter of hooves, the boy cautiously rose and began to look around. The first thing he saw was the corpse of his carrier, lying on his back and choking from the arrow in his neck. And looking further, he saw the only standing commander, who differed greatly from his soldiers.
He was equipped much more seriously than his subordinates, with armor that appeared more flexible, made from scales of an unknown monster, but at the same time capable of withstanding more serious blows. And he also had several types of weapons in his arsenal, which was uncommon among warriors.
And more... And there was no one else; the entire cavalry cohort was shattered in one instant. And the surviving prisoner and the commander didn't know what to do.
"Come out, you filthy bitch!" the commander shouted through his helmet, on whose face there was only one slit running from his left eye to the right.
The boy looked in the direction of the commander's gaze and saw a figure emerging from that very alley from which the arrow had recently flown.
"You..." the man drew out the word, feeling anger accumulating in him. "What right do mercenaries have to interfere in family affairs?!"
"What a worthless creature," a female voice with a note of sarcasm sounded from the alley.
The figure, dressed in light combat kimono the color of night, on whose belt were located scabbards for a sword. By her external build, it was visible that the girl had a sufficiently large physique, but at the same time had an extraordinarily high stature, about two and a half meters. On her face, the figure wore a fabric mask with two perfectly cut holes for the eyes.
Emerging from the alley, she stopped for a moment, as at that moment about a hundred figures jumped down from the roofs, each of which, upon landing, knelt on one knee to the side of the female figure. No one had any distinctive features; each was dressed in the same kimono and the same belt, but each carried a bow on their back, the bowstring of which had a soft blue glow.
The knight commander, falling to his knees, began to shout in panic:
"Do you know what will happen to you?! The Alliance of Families won't let this slide, and my family will personally hunt you down!" the commander's cry was filled with malice and despair.
The female figure didn't even pay attention to him; her gaze was directed at the boy who was crawling toward the dying knight who had recently whipped him.
"I promised I'd settle with you," the boy thought to himself as he carefully crawled toward him. And reaching him, he began to pull off the man's helmet.
In one instant, having removed his helmet, a sword blade flew from the sky, embedding itself... "Into the stone?!" the boy was simultaneously stunned by its sharpness but at the same time frightened; his actions hadn't gone unnoticed.
"What will you do?" the female voice sounded, in which a note of curiosity was felt.
The boy glanced at the woman standing among the identical figures dressed in the same kimono and having the same swords and bows. From the central figure emanated a sinister aura filled with darkness, and the sword that had disappeared from her scabbards was embedded in the stone beside him.
Quickly assessing the situation, the boy tried to stand, but it wasn't easy with shackles on his hands weighing no less than fifteen kilograms. In the end, standing up, 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 by the length of the hilt it was easy to guess that it was a two-handed sword.
The boy raised the blade to the sky, then shifted his gaze to the choking knight. Their gazes met, and it seemed the boy's hand trembled. It wasn't his first time depriving monsters of life, but depriving a human of life... He looked into the man's pleading eyes, but what was he pleading for? He was pleading for life, for mercy, or was he pleading for death, to be relieved of torment?
Holding the sword in his hands and hearing how in the distance the commander continued to shout at the dark figures, simultaneously threatening and begging to spare him, the boy peered into the dying man's eyes—"Kill me, don't torture, just kill"—a familiar male voice sounded in the boy's head—"What, who in my head?!" the boy wondered for a moment, and then he realized that it was the voice of that rider who had whipped his back, forcing him to shut up.
"But why can I hear him?" the boy wondered, but a moment later he saw the faint glow of the sword he held in his hands—"I see..."—this was a feature of the sword, to hear the thoughts of the dying.
Gathering his thoughts, the boy averted his eyes to the side, away from the knight, and directed the blade into the man's chest, instantly depriving him of life.
Hearing the scrape of metal in the distance, the commander directed his gaze to the boy who stood full height and pierced the knight's chest. Anger and madness clouded the commander's gaze.
"It's all because of you, you little scum! I'll gut you, you louse, and throw you into the back alley for the pigs to eat!" in his voice was felt how the commander spat out these words.
The commander looked around and, seeing that the attackers' henchmen, like the leader herself, continued to stand without intervening, he didn't know the reason for such actions. After all, it would be more effective simply to deprive him of life, but they took no actions, as if every step was planned.
No, the attack itself was planned perfectly, but the commander was frightened by the thought that they knew every next step of his, as if they could predict the future. "Pfft, no, they're just fools. So, it's clear that I'm stronger than them, that's why they're not interfering," the commander thought to himself, drawing a long hand-and-a-half sword from its scabbard, in the center of whose blade were engraved the initials of his family.
Glancing once more at the female figure's henchmen and making sure of their inaction, the commander headed toward the boy who was already pulling the sword out of the dead knight.
The boy directed his gaze to the commander who moved toward him with firm steps; each of his steps was filled with malice and madness. Shifting his gaze to the woman who continued to stand in the center of her henchmen, the boy hoped for changes on the battlefield, but the woman and her servants continued to observe.
He hoped that they would save him, but they continued to remain inactive. Strength had long begun to leave the boy; the shackles worn on him for a prolonged time exhausted him, his hands burned with agony from fatigue, and his head, injured from the blow from behind, continued to itch painfully.
Turning over his shoulder, he saw empty quarters. People had long left this place, fearing to suffer. "Maybe escape?" the thought visited the boy. After all, the attackers on the convoy at this moment were simply watching the entire scene, and surviving, not to mention victory over the commander, was not possible 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 ragged clothes, and the commander was in sturdy armor. The chances were slim.
Each step was heard more and more clearly; the commander was beginning to gain speed, intending to kill the boy with one strike.
"What will you do?" the masked 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 deliver an overhead strike to the boy.