He couldn’t be sure of what had really made his knees turn weak – relief, from the sight of the brick-and-bamboo rooftops of a small town just ahead, or dread, from the sound of the laughing soldiers riding out towards him.

Ugh. So close.

Gritting his teeth, Nafan lowered his head and reminded himself that he really needed to buy a hat.

The sun was setting, flooding the entire horizon a flaming bloody red. Nafan was at that point in the day when he was too tired and too hungry to care. The only reason he’d felt the apprehension in the first place was because the eerily red sky had made the soldiers look like a wagon full of cackling demons.

Where are they headed at this time? Nafan cast the village, half-hidden in the cypress trees, a wary glance. Who was strange enough to leave a village at sunset and travel by night, when they risked running into predators? Maybe they weren’t soldiers, but bandits.

Still shaken from the previous night, Nafan winced as his wound stung. But when he lifted his hand, it was to cradle the other side of his robes – where he’d hidden his belongings. The little book of his had saved its life, but it had also been damaged by the blade… he’d have to check on it later tonight. Nafan had already memorized every word and diagram in full detail, but this book was the only thing he had left of his mother. It was important to him.

Plus, there were still scribbles in there that he couldn’t decipher. It was probably related to the lycan, so maybe with Khyriel’s help, he could finally–

Ah… his thoughts were racing far too ahead of reality again. When Nafan had woken up that morning, Khyriel had already vanished again. He’d waited a couple minutes, but when the young man didn’t show up, Nafan picked himself up and continued his way with a dejected sigh. Khyriel had already been tracking him unnoticed all of yesterday – he was probably going to the same thing today. At the very least, the lycan hadn’t killed him or run off with his money in the middle of the night… that comforted Nafan somewhat. Though it did puzzle him a bit, too. If Khyriel wanted money, why didn’t he just collect them off human bodies? And why would a lycan need something like human currency in the first place…?

Caught up in his own thinking, Nafan forgot about the soldiers until the long shadow of their wagon fell over him.

He stopped, momentarily baffled. Was he in their way? No, he’d already skirted over to the edge of the road. The wagon must have blocked his path intentionally.

Warily, Nafan raised his head. In the crimson sunset, the soldier’s grins gleamed maliciously within their shadowed faces.

“Oi, you!”

As one of them shouted from the wagon, a couple of his comrades – about five men in light cloth armor – leaped off the wagon to face him on the road.

“You’re the demon they were talking about, right? The one that eats fingers?”

Huh?

Nafan stared back in confusion, only to groan to himself half a second later when he remembered. Damnit, so this was what he was going to get for putting on a show… that merchant from last night must have made it to this village and told everybody about his finger-eating bluff.

Nafan, you’re an idiot, he told himself forlornly, standing stiffly by the side of the road as their long shadows slithered closer. The only weapon he possessed was a little dagger, and even then, he had no idea how to use it.

There was only one thing he could do.

He took out his money.

“Um, so, wait,” Nafan stammered, holding the chain of silver coins as offering in both his hands. Two of the soldiers paused and exchanged interested glances, but the other three kept advancing, dark smirks on their dirt-smudged faces.

“You can’t trick us, demon. For all we know that silver is fake. For the safety of the villagers, we should kill you here and now.” The closest soldier sneered and drew out his rusty iron sword with a terrible screeching noise. “Besides, I’ve heard they pay way more than what you have as bounty for a demon’s head.”

Oh, well then. Feeling the blood drain from his face in dismay, Nafan watched the blade rise and flash scarlet in the sunset.

He did feel a brief flash of fear – the sword didn’t look very sharp. He imagined that it would tear through his flesh in a jagged, painful sort of way… but apart from that, Nafan didn’t feel much else. In fact, the pain of being cut down was barely more than a slight burning sensation in his feet. Barely more than the sting of his blisters…

There was a loud, ringing clatter as the sword dropped to the ground. Nafan twitched instinctively, but he didn’t move. He stood there, eyes squeezed shut and shoulders scrunched up, still pathetically waiting for his conscience to leave his body. But a moment later, an abrupt scream dragged him back to reality.

Opening his eyes in alarm, Nafan realized that a dark-haired silhouette was squatting in the dirt between him and the soldier. The soldier stared back at them for a moment, eyes wide and mouth open in a last moment of silence.

Then, his body shattered into five separate pieces and fell to the ground with shuddering thuds, still twitching.

“Kh–” Shocked, Nafan broke off as he was overwhelmed with nausea.

Nonchalantly, Khyriel rose to his feet and sheathed his sword with a slow, clean hiss. The remaining soldiers stumbled back and fell into the wagon with trembling gasps of horror.

“This man is an important guest of Lu Boshan, brother to the King of Zhao,” Khyriel announced calmly. “Anyone who threatens his life will be cut down immediately.”

Nafan felt a shiver run down his spine as he gazed at the figure in front of him. Rather than a scruffy, bad-tempered stray, the young man standing there spoke in a low, solemn voice, his well-poised shoulders carried in a noble sort of manner and his gloved hand stretched out as though it were issuing some sort of absolute command. His dialect, too, was perfect… Zhao dialect, not a single hint of country accent or slurred syllables.

“… I suggest you don’t spread any more rumors, either.”

Lowering his hand, Khyriel threw a flourish of cold bronze coins onto the decapacitated head of the soldier.

“This is to keep your mouth shut. Scram, servants of the Crown, before I decide to turn the rest of you into bird food.”

With a swish of his dark robe, Khyriel turned his back to the men and returned to Nafan. His dark blue eyes were glittered with icy indifference, and he didn’t say anything as he grabbed Nafan by the arm and pulled him away from the wagon.

Mouth open but speechless, Nafan stumbled after the young lycan. It took a long while before his throat untwisted itself.  

“Who is Lu Bo-Shan?!”

His voice came out as a bewildered squeak. Nafan smacked himself internally – that wasn’t important. He knew that wasn’t important. Of all the things he could have said, he just had to pick the dumb question.

“No idea.” Khyriel shrugged, and he actually sounded quite amiable – as though he hadn’t just sliced a man into five pieces. “I made it up to save your pathetic ass. Isn’t that obvious?”

“Ahh… ahaha… I see…”

You didn’t have to kill him…

Guilt and regret lingered at the tip of his tongue, but Nafan couldn’t muster the courage to actually say it. He ought to be grateful it hadn’t been his blood dripping from Khyriel’s blade just now…

Suddenly feeling the need to grovel a little, Nafan ruffled the back of his curls and said with shaky cheerfulness, “You uh, were really impressive just now, you even had me fooled, haha…!”

Khyriel scoffed and lifted his hands behind his head, relaxing back against his palms as he tilted his chin towards the red sky.

“You humans are easy to fool. They didn’t even recognize their own sword – I stole it from their wagon.”

“Ah, yeah, I suppose we are, hahaha…”

Cringing, Nafan trailed off. He was probably just going to make things worse if he kept opening his mouth.

Averting his gaze, he looked towards the village instead, hoping to find some source of comfort. But instead, he felt a pang of worry – so the rumor had spread this far? He didn’t want to stay at an inn where everyone thought he liked eating human fingers.

Actually, wait, he already did just that the previous night…

“… You’re so damn slow.”

A growl interrupted his stupors, and Nafan blinked to see the lycan a good couple feet ahead of him, pacing impatiently back and forth across the dirt road.

“I’m tired,” he said with a wan smile. He tried to quicken his pace, but it was difficult without disturbing the blisters on his feet. “You were following me the whole day, weren’t you? Why don’t you just travel with me? It might give me some extra energy, having someone to talk to.”

Khyriel raised an eyebrow. “I already said I’m not travelling with you, you’re a pervert.”

The lycan crossed his arms as though waiting for Nafan to catch up, but he only lasted about thirty seconds before he turned away with an impatient sigh.

“The town’s five minutes away, don’t get killed. I’m going to hunt.”

“What? You’re leaving?!” Nafan tried to shout, but Khyriel had already disappeared into the shadowed undergrowth. Sighing forlornly, he brused the dust off his brown tunic and trudged forward with a faint whine. “At least hunt something for me, too… I’m starving…”

Putting one hand over his grumbling stomach, Nafan shook off his lingering chills, took a quick breath, and quickened his pace towards the shadowed rooftops.