“Didn’t you hear that?” Willow asked, far too tense still.

“Yeah? It’s the notification spell.” 

Willow turned to him with a frown. “What?”

“When you kill an assassin. They have a parchment in their uniform that tells the guild if they don’t check in.” He frowned at the corpse. “Why’d you kill him anyway?”

“…You know a lot about the Assassins’ Guild.” Willow frowned. He hadn’t known about the parchment. Then again, when he’d dispatched assassins in his previous life, that treacherous scum was always there with the guards to dispose of the corpses. He’d rarely spent any significant time with the corpses.

“It’s common knowledge,” the drunkard said with a shrug. Willow knew that it wasn’t. Information about the Assassins’ Guild was sparse and heavily guarded. He reflected that the drunkard had taken down the assassin with surprising ease even after being stabbed. The more he thought about it, the more suspicious it became. “Anyway, if you don’t want to deal with a whole lot of other assassins, you should get rid of the corpse or leave. The guild doesn’t like it when you kill their members. Seriously, why’d you kill him?”

“Habit,” Willow said, uncaring about how the words made him sound like a serial killer. He was frowning thoughtfully at the corpse.

More assassins meant that he could interrogate one of them to learn about who had hired them. Which was good. The trouble was that it would put the drunkard at risk of being collateral damage. Which wasn’t good.

Perhaps if he hid the drunkard in the bathroom while he dealt with them? But then what if the drunkard succumbed to his injuries? Surely, his priority should be to bring the drunkard to a doctor.

As Willow wrestled with his conscience, the drunkard lay back down on the bed and sighed. “This is gonna suck,” he mumbled.

Willow looked at him. “What do you mean?”

“You’re planning to meet the assassins, right?” The drunkard clicked his tongue. “Can I leave first? I don’t really want to watch you get murdered.”

Willow straightened up pridefully, glaring at him with an injured ego. “Excuse you, they’re the ones who would suffer if they faced me.”

“Wow.” The drunkard whistled. “That’s… okay, man. Have fun. Wow.”

“You don’t believe me.” Willow was further offended. “I’ll have you know—” He cut himself off.

Damn. Bragging about his prowess with the sword would only lead to questions that he could not answer. Besides that, he didn’t need to prove himself to this peasant. Why was he stooping to an argument with a foolish alcoholic who offered no value to society? Willow clicked his tongue and looked away. “It’s worthless arguing with the likes of you.”

The drunkard started laughing.

Actually laughing.

It was strange.

Willow knew the man should be in a lot of pain right now. He knew all too intimately what it felt like to get stabbed in the gut. Laughing ought to be agonizing and definitely aggravate his injury, but he kept laughing without a care in the world and even dared to sound mocking.

“Wow, you are a piece of work.” The drunkard laughed. “I really don’t know what to make of you. You’re so damn weird.”

“Why are you laughing?” Willow snapped.

“You keep contradicting yourself.” The laughter faded away, and the drunkard's mirthful eyes locked with his own. “It makes you hard to predict but pretty entertaining. It’s gonna be a shame to watch the assassins kill you.”

“I told you, they won’t—”

“So, I’m thinking. If you buy me some alcohol, I’ll help you out.”

“I don’t need or want your help! And for the last time, I will not assist in your worthless endeavor to drink yourself to death!”

Another giggle bubbled up from the drunkard. “You’re so weird. It’s a nice distraction.”

Willow growled, ready to continue defending his honor and declare that it was in fact the drunkard who was the bizarre one. But his words were interrupted by the drunkard tackling him to the floor.

In a breathless moment, Willow was lost in the appearance of shockingly crimson eyes framed by midnight locks inches from his own. Chestnut-colored skin complemented by a heart-shaped face. The drunkard wasn’t just youthful—he was attractive.

Willow didn’t have time to properly digest that information though, or how strange it felt to be pinned beneath the drunkard’s weight like this.

A mere second later, the glass of the window shattered and a crossbow bolt vibrated in the wood behind where Willow’s head had been.

“Fine. I’ll help you out for free this time.” The drunkard grinned from his position above Willow. The grin made his already handsome face brighten, and the hint of a dimple was visible at such close quarters. “But you owe me.”

“I—” Willow didn’t have time to complain.

The shattering of more windows combined with the drunkard standing up and twisting around to kick an assailant in the face entirely stunned him into silence.

He shouldn’t be able to move like that with his injury.

At least, not without causing further damage. But his movements were smooth, and the assassin was neatly kicked to the ground.

Willow, having some sense, expected the drunkard to then double over in pain.

He didn’t. Not even the slightest sign of discomfort. It was disconcerting.

The matter was dealt with quickly. They’d only sent three more assassins to support their fallen comrade, and once Willow had regained his wits, he joined the fray and was able to take care of the other two. It wouldn’t have normally been so easy, but the drunkard managed to attract most of the attention to himself, providing Willow more than enough opportunity to behead one and disembowel another.

He was just about to capture the third for questioning when the drunkard sent him flying out of the broken window.

It was a moment that felt like it lasted for far too long as Willow watched his only remaining informant fall to his death.

Willow regretted his choice to dispatch the others, but there were so few ways to reliably incapacitate a person without killing them, and Willow wasn’t used to utilizing them.

There were cries of fear and shock from the street below along with the sounds of chaos within the inn. The drunkard leaned his head out the window and whistled. “Wow. Right on the head. Poor bastard.”

Willow needed to get out of here.

The option of keeping a low profile in this room no longer existed. If the Oaken Guard got hold of him, they would likely bring him right into the clutches of the person he had to avoid most.

He needed to gather his things and get out.

The itch of the drunkard’s suspicious health caused him to hesitate.

Willow marched over to him and pinned him up against a wall by his throat, noticing right away that the drunkard made no effort to fight back despite his prowess against the assassins.

It shouldn’t have been that easy. Even with another person's help. Especially when the other person was just a useless drunk.

Willow ripped away the bandages from his stomach and stared at the smooth skin beneath.

There was no sign of the previous injury aside from a scar.

He’d been stabbed in the gut only a few hours ago and he was now completely healed. Willow’s grip on his neck tightened as he stared at the spot in disbelief before glaring down at the drunkard's pretty face.

He didn’t look at all perturbed despite being choked. His impertinent nonchalance was entirely undaunted by the circumstances.

“What are you?” Willow hissed. “Some kind of monster?”

“I mean my friends call me Ny but if it gets you off, you can call me a monster. Or whatever else ya want. I ain’t picky.” The way he introduced himself didn’t even sound like an actual name. Willow casted doubt whether Ny had any friends to call him that or whether that was his real name at all.

He was unsettling. A part of Willow did want to call Ny a monster. He found Ny’s lackadaisical attitude toward the insult to be equally unsettling.

Ny really didn’t seem to care.

Grinning disrespectfully and lying to Willow’s face. Willow knew this was a distraction but he still couldn’t quite ignore Ny’s provocations.

The healing was unnatural. Willow had never seen anything like this. He wasn’t extraordinarily knowledgeable in magic, but he knew that even magic couldn’t do something like this. If it could, there were many who wouldn’t have died. Even the best healing magic at the tower could only be used to treat minor injuries and stabilize patients, not heal them completely.

Willow tightened his grip yet again, earning a pained grimace. “What do you want? What are you planning?”

Ny gave him a rather bland stare that quite easily said, You’re the one who kidnapped me, remember? Willow clicked his tongue, releasing his throat and allowing the drunkard to catch his breath in choking gasps.

“You’re coming with me.”

Willow’s thoughts were chaotic. Ny’s ability to heal at an accelerated rate, the bombardment of assassins, his inability to seek out answers, the innkeeper that would surely barge into this room at any minute, his plans falling apart in front of him.

When had he ruined everything? Was it because he tried to help that damn drunkard? A deep sense of resentment filled him for the acts of charity that led him this far. What was he trying to do? Act like that foolish old couple? He knew that their actions were foolish, why would he try to act like them? It was pointless and stupid and—

The appearance of Ny’s face in front of his own pulled him from his spiraling thoughts.

“Oh, you’re panicking,” Ny said lightly. “Want help?”

It was such a strange thing to say.

Willow could still see the bruising around his throat, the drying blood from various little injuries he got from fighting the assassins that were certainly after Willow.

His own cold and demanding words had meant to intimidate him.

Yet this strange bastard was offering help as though it was a simple thing.

It didn’t strike Willow as irritating the same way the elderly couple had. The naive charity toward those who hardly deserved it and the stupidity of it all.

It didn’t feel like an act of kindness or charity, nor was it pity.

He was amused. He thought that Willow was entertaining.

The insult bristled against Willow’s ego. He wanted to demand the respect he deserved.

The bruise on Ny’s neck caught his eye again.

…Did Willow actually deserve respect?

The battle Willow had with himself ever since his regression reasserted itself and the panic that had already been flowing inside of his veins like blood through the gutters nearly caused him to choke.

The drunkard patted his shoulder.

“I’ll help.” Ny winked in a playful manner that was entirely inappropriate for the situation. “But you owe me a drink.”

“I’m not getting you alcohol.”

Willow was surprised by his own voice. He'd repeated this so often now that it felt like second nature. He sounded a lot calmer than he felt, and the man cracked a grin as though it had been his plan all along.

He got the distinct feeling that he was playing in the palm of this person. It was bizarre.

There was something about it that he didn’t mind at all. That was enough to unnerve him further.

Trusting or remaining in the company of the drunkard was foolish. He should run and hide and regroup before coming up with a perfect plan. Yet he felt drawn in like a moth to a flame. It was the easygoing smile that looked entirely unscrupulous and slimy that made Willow want to.

The glimmer of emotion that flashed in crimson eyes. Patronizing amusement. And a piercing gaze that seemed to see through all of Willow’s defenses.

A person who was probably not even human and certainly unworthy of being trusted. A person he didn’t even know the name of. A person who was doubtlessly suspicious and untrustworthy. Willow decided to follow his lead.

Willow took a leap of faith.