Two years later
"What?! Where has that bastard been for two whole years?!" the heavyset man blurted.
"Quiet, quiet..." another man quickly shushed him.
"..." The third man at their table just smiled silently.
The scene took place in a half-empty bar. Besides the three men at the table, there was an old bartender behind the counter, a pretty waitress taking a break, and another man sitting away from the trio.
However, the surprised cry of one of the men was so loud that the other visitor would have definitely heard it.
"So what happened to that guy? What's he been doing all this time?"
The third member of their group asked, a smile still on his face.
The man telling the story looked around anxiously and gestured to the other two.
"They say..." he began to whisper. "They say he's trying to become a legend."
"What?!"
Once again, the heavyset man with tanned skin couldn't contain his surprise.
"Shh..." The storyteller quickly covered his mouth.
Finally learning his lesson, he slowly moved his hand away and began to whisper.
"A legend...? How was it before? Is he trying to revive our culture?"
While the three were talking among themselves, something strange was happening to the remaining bar patron.
He was dragging his nails across the wooden table, so faint it was almost inaudible, as if trying to contain his agony, and twitching unnaturally from time to time.
After a while, a thin line of blood ran from his nose, and he signaled to the waitress.
"Another one..." he said barely audibly.
The girl with light hair and a short haircut smiled warmly and asked the bartender to pour an alcoholic drink. It looked like Brandy.
Meanwhile, the conversation between the three men continued.
"Yes, as was customary in Manshur..." The man who was speaking paused and cleared his throat timidly. "Ahem, yes, he is trying to become the new legend of Concord."
"Pff... Hahaha..." The restrained laughter of another bar patron reached their ears.
Two of the men turned at the sound, but the third quickly distracted them with a question.
"So what's this guy's name?"
In front of him was a glass of hard liquor. He smiled, shaking the glass with the liquid in it from side to side, and sometimes even stirring the drink with a cigarette. It looked like a very potent mixture that would never allow you to live to old age.
"Unknown. No one has seen his face or knows his name. They say you can't even say his nickname, just like..."
Instead of continuing the sentence, the storyteller put his index finger to his lips and made a gesture for silence. Without explaining anything directly, anyone would understand him anyway.
"No one has seen him..." the third man said thoughtfully, stirring his strong drink.
"But there is one phrase he says to his victims... Their answer determines whether he will spare them."
"Oh, and what is that phrase?" he asked with a smile.
"Hahahaha...!" Meanwhile, the laughter of another man in the bar grew louder.
His face turned red, sparks burst from the port in his temple, and his body seemed to begin to swell.
His hair was gray, and his face was wrinkled and almost aged. Despite that, his body was muscular — almost athletic and corresponded to that of a young athlete.
However, the strangest thing was that no one noticed the oddities happening to him.
"200 ml of brandy, undiluted," the unsuspecting waitress placed the glass in front of the man. "If you need anything else, don't hesitate to ask."
She smiled as warmly as ever.
"Yes... I need something from you..." the man said hoarsely.
"Yes, yes?" The girl batted her eyelashes sweetly and leaned toward him.
"Would you hold still… please miss..."
He kept her at arm's length, one hand around her throat.
Then, in an instant, the man drained the full glass of brandy and...
*Crash!* The top of the glass hit the edge of the table and shattered into pieces. The freshly poured alcohol spilled out completely.
Now the madman held the jagged remains of the shattered glass. His wide pupils trembled with a mixture of something like madness and fear.
The girl was still smiling...
*Squelch!* The sound resembled cutting fruit and then squeezing juice.
The smile faded from the waitress's face. Red juice trickled into the broken glass, and the girl began to choke on her own blood.
The man grabbed her by the hair and drove a sharp shard into her throat.
Soon, the glass was overflowing, and along with the disgusting sounds of her throat being cut, blood splattered onto the wooden floor.
"What the hell?!" the old bartender shouted in shock, hiding behind the bar.
The girl's snow-white neck was mutilated, and her body began to shake violently.
However, the man did not stop there. Cutting through the flesh, he thrust the sharp object even deeper until he completely severed the girl's Adam's apple.
Soon, a cluster of torn ligaments plopped into the red glass, splashing even more drops onto the floor.
Still holding the girl by her hair, the madman let go of the glass with her severed Adam's apple. Then he brought his index finger close to her pretty face and whispered:
"Shh, don't talk so loud. The walls always have ears."
"..." Of course, the girl's only response was a nasty gurgling sound.
But apparently, that was enough for the madman. He let her go.
Then the girl's light-colored head hit the tabletop loudly, and her bleeding, choking body fell completely to the floor.
As if he had done something good, the man straightened up and, stepping over the still gurgling girl, headed for the next table.
"...?!"
Of course, by this time, all three men had noticed what was happening and watched the arrival of the madman with shocked expressions.
All except one.
"You know, I thought you'd drink that," he said with a smile, pointing his wet cigarette at the broken, bloody glass with the Adam's apple.
The psycho's red face twitched unnaturally, as if he hadn't heard the inappropriate comment. His right temple sparkled more and more intensely.
Unfortunately, now he could hardly say anything intelligible.
"Don't speak. Don't tell. Don't listen. Don't know…" he repeated maniacally.
He approached the table of three men, staring intently at the full glass.
"Don't know..." The madman reached for the glass.
"Haah..." sighed the one whose glass was now being taken away.
He leaned back and rocked slightly in his chair. Then he caught the gaze of the girl choking on her own blood.
"..."
"Lesson number 6, sweetheart. You shouldn't have broken it."
*Crack!* The madman smashed the top of the glass, forming another jagged edge.
"But I don't like that there are only six of them. Seven sounds better…" he whispered thoughtfully as the madman swung at his throat.
*Click!* The sound of a revolver being cocked.
"Don't..." the madman began again, bringing the sharp edge closer to his throat.
"...mess with Nobody."
*Boom!* The stunning shot sounded like thunder.
It all started with a hole in his pocket. It continued with a hole in the table. And it ended with a hole the size of half the psycho's head. All three holes were made by a bullet from a revolver hidden in his pocket.
While bits of the psycho's brains flew everywhere, the dying waitress choked on her own blood, the old bartender peered out from behind the bar in shock, and his two companions nearly fainted from horror...
"Don't mess with Nobody... Sounds good. What do you think?"
"..."
"..."
"Then let's make it official. Lesson number seven..."
Don't mess with Nobody.