Merun returned to Ota as the sun dipped low, staining the sky a dull, bruised red.
The village square was empty save for the village chief, who stood rigid as a post, eyes fixed on the path behind Merun. He searched it desperately—left, right—waiting for a small figure that never appeared.
"Y–you couldn't find him?" the old man asked. His voice cracked halfway through.
Merun smiled.
"I found him."
Hope flickered—just for a breath.
"He's sleeping with the fishes."
The hope died.
A woman let out a strangled sob. Someone dropped a tool. No one dared move closer.
"You see," Merun went on, tone light, almost amused, "I don't do this for money." He rolled his shoulders, as if loosening after a long walk. "I do it for fun."
The villagers recoiled. They wanted to be angry that their justice was taken away from them... but that smile—too easy, too calm. Something felt terribly wrong with this man.
Merun turned to leave, then stopped.
"Oh. Before I go. "His eyes swept the village slowly, deliberately, until they settled on a hut barely standing, its door hanging crooked on one hinge.
Inside, a young girl lay twitching beneath thin blankets, skin flushed red, breath shallow and uneven.
Merun lifted her with care, one arm supporting her back, the other beneath her knees. She was frighteningly light.
"If anyone in Sakai hears about this," he said quietly, back still turned, "you're free to choose what kind fish to sleep with next."
The words weren't shouted.
That made them worse.
The ground cracked beneath his feet—and he was gone.
Dust hung in the air where he'd stood.
The villagers remained frozen, staring at the empty space.
"…Why," someone whispered, "did he take the girl?"
"Quick!" another shouted. "Someone run to Sakai!"
"B-but he said we'll be next if we tell!" one said.
A third voice, shaking with forced bravado: "Fool. Lord Maeda will handle it."
———
There was no world where a peasant could outrun Merun.
He reached Sakai before the alarm bells even finished ringing.
At the gate, guards crossed their spears instinctively when they saw him carrying the girl.
"Where's the nearest healer?" Merun asked.
They looked him over—mud on his clothes, calloused hands, blood dried too neatly.
"For a peasant?" one scoffed. "House with red tiles. Purple flowers."
Merun didn't respond.
The wind burst outward as he vanished.
The door to the healer's house slammed open.
The healer barely had time to gasp before Merun set the girl down on the warm floor, arranging her gently as one might a fragile object.
"Treat her."
Killing intent poured out of him—thick, crushing, suffocating. The air itself seemed to press down.
"Do it properly."
"Yes—yes!" the healer stammered, already scrambling.
Merun sat on a stool nearby, elbows on his knees, fingers loosely clasped, eyes never leaving the girl.
Minutes stretched. The healer worked feverishly, sweat dripping down his neck.
Finally, he exhaled in relief and poured a potion between the girl's lips.
"What did you give her?" Merun asked.
"Its a common herb blend," the healer said, unable to keep the pride from his voice. "Her illness is easily curable. I cure hundreds of these patients a day."
Merun's brow furrowed.
"Easily curable huh?"
"Yes! Very common, actually. Since ingredients are abundant, it's quite profitable, too—"
The room went cold.
Merun's killing intent sharpened into a blade.
The healer collapsed, clutching his chest.
"I—I'm going to die!"
THUD
The door burst open.
"He's here, Warden!"
Boots thundered in.
The Warden stepped inside, wearing his complete armor set. Eyes taking in the scene in a heartbeat—the trembling healer, the unconscious girl, Merun sitting calmly like a man waiting out a storm.
"Explain yourself," the Warden said.
Merun sighed. "The boy is dealt with." A pause. "But I saved his sister."
The Warden stiffened. "You killed the child? That wasn't the mission!"
Merun shrugged. "It's not my fault humans are so so fragile."
He smiled.
It wasn't cruel.
It was empty.
Several guards stepped back, hands tightening on their weapons.
The Warden's face twisted with disgust. "I see. And she's to be your prize? You're a sick bastard if you think I'll ever allow that."
Merun blinked.
It was genuine surprise.
…So you're not completely trash?
For the first time since entering the room, his posture shifted. The lazy slouch straightened. The weight in the air subtly changed.
He rose to his feet, movements unhurried, eyes never leaving Maeda.
"So you won't sell her off," Merun said lightly. "You won't lock her in some 'protective' house until she's useful?"
Maeda looked personally insulted, "Watch your tongue, peasant. A man of my standing has honor and decency, unlike you."
"Good."
He rolled his shoulders once, as if loosening tension that had nothing to do with the room.
"Then let's settle this the old way," he continued.
"A duel," Merun said. "No tricks. No excuses. If I win, I take the girl and leave Sakai tonight. He shrugged, almost bored, "If I lose, you can chain me, jail me, parade me through the streets. Do with her however you like."
The silence lasted half a heartbeat.
Then the guards broke.
Laughter burst out, sharp and mocking. Hands slapped armor. One nearly doubled over.
"Did you hear him?"
"He thinks he has a chance!"
"A peasant challenging Matazaemon the spear master?"
Merun didn't look at them.
His gaze stayed locked on Maeda.
The Warden didn't laugh.
Instead, a slow smile crept across his face—measured, satisfied, the kind worn by men who believed the world still made sense.
"So be it," Maeda said at last. "A duel, then."
"And when I win," he added, voice cool, "everyone will see exactly what happens to men who mistake mercy for weakness."
Merun smiled back.
Not wide. Not cruel.
Just enough.