Of course, the pub wasn't open at this time of day. He also didn't want to get there right at opening time. Something inside him told him that would be wrong and too easy.
Corin spent the next few hours wandering around the old market square.
'Nothing remarkable about the market so far. But why haven't I seen anyone go in yet? Has Ezekiel closed the store as a precaution?'
None of the tables and folding chairs were outside, and as he turned the last corner, he unconsciously held his breath.
The pub was quiet. Too quiet.
No laughter, no rumbling, no voices arguing over dice games. Just a closed door. Corin felt his stomach tighten.
'The lock on the door is missing....'
Slowly, he stepped through the entrance.
Inside, it was like a scene from a nightmare. Tables overturned. Chairs broken. Blood. Too much blood.
And then he saw him.
Ezekiel.
Ezekiel lay there like a broken memory, in his usual place behind the bar. His body was twisted as if death had caught him mid-motion. His throat was slit. His eyes half open, as if he was still looking at Corin.
For a second, he felt nothing. Just a cold, numb void that ate through his chest.
Then the rage came.
His stomach clenched, his fingers curled into fists. This wasn't just any murder. It was Ezekiel. The man who gave him work when he had nothing. The one who taught him when to speak and when to keep silent. The man who had once beaten a rib out of his body, only to offer him a place to sleep afterward.
'Why him?'
Was it a coincidence? A clean cut, no signs of struggle. No. This was planned. Deliberate.
Were they the same ones who had chased him? The ones who had nearly driven him into the ruins?
His mind wanted answers. His body wanted to scream. But what was the point? Ezekiel was dead. And he was alone.
Corin swallowed hard, forcing the anger back.
'Not now, Not here.'
But one thing was certain, he would find out. And when he did, no one would walk away unscathed.
A noise made him lift his head.
From outside. Loud. Close.
He straightened up, stepped to the window, and pushed aside the curtains.
And then he saw it, hell had broken loose in the marketplace that had been so peaceful just moments ago.
Outside, sparks flew from the pavement. Screams filled the air.
A group of men in black fought against a single figure. It moved like a storm, lightning-fast, deadly.
Corin stepped outside to get a better look. And then he saw her up close for the first time: long blonde hair, parted into two at the back; a black dress ending in a skirt over her knees; black gloves and a weapon that looked like an arm-length spike.
Her blade cut through the air like a predator on the hunt. One enemy after another fell, but the attackers were many. Too many.
Corin's breathing remained calm. Too calm for what he had just witnessed.
He knew he should stay out of this. He knew he should.
But his body moved anyway.
The rage that had been surging through him moments ago shifted, turning into a deep, hollow emptiness.
'So it was them.'
He wasn't sure. But in that moment, it didn't matter.
Ravens circled above the marketplace.
The first attacker lunged forward, muscles tensing beneath his cloak. His fist alone could have snapped a normal person's neck.
But it struck nothing but air.
The young lady was gone.
She moved so fast that the wind carried the ghost of her presence.
Suddenly, she was behind him. The blade in her hand reshaped, slender, sharp, deadly. She drove it deep into the man's side.
But instead of screaming, he only grinned.
Blood spurted from the wound, yet he laughed.
He reached for her, but she was already gone again. The other five attackers surged forward, one of them roaring with brute strength.
They were tough. Unnaturally tough. But that didn't matter. Not yet.
She released her blade, and from the ground, thorns burst forth.
The men felt the tremor beneath their feet, but it was too late.
Writhing tendrils of thorns shot up, coiling around legs, arms, necks.
One of them was yanked back, a thorn impaling his leg. But instead of screaming, he tore himself free, shredding his own flesh. Blood splattered onto the pavement.
"Hah! Is that all?!"
She didn't answer.
She jumped, higher than any human should be able to.
In the air, a spear of thorns formed in her grasp. She hurled it.
The spear struck an attacker's chest, slamming him to the ground. But instead of dying, he just laughed, yanking the spear from his own flesh.
"You'll have to do better than that, princess!"
His blood dripped from the gaping wound, but he was still standing.
She landed with perfect grace. No emotion on her face. Only focus.
"All right, then."
She reached out and the spear still embedded in the man's chest grew.
His laughter turned into a strangled gasp. Black thorns erupted from within him, creeping through his veins, bursting from his skin.
His distorted smile faded as the thorned spear inside him twisted into something far worse.
He collapsed, eyes drained of life.
"Not bad," one of the Remnants growled. Then, they charged her together.
The marketplace exploded.
Thorns everywhere. Vines shot up from the pavement, the walls, the very air itself.
The assassins hacked their way through, tearing the thorns from their bodies. They were bleeding.
And the young woman?
She seemed in her element.
A web of death surrounded her, and she made her pray suffer.
But the fight was far from over.
The thorns had turned the market into a battlefield. Splintered stone, flesh, and blood mixed with the pitch-black wood of her vines. Three assassins lay motionless.
But the others,
They weren't slowing down.
If anything, they were moving faster. More precise. More coordinated.
They were adapting to her. Too fast. Too controlled.
"So, you're learning," she murmured.
Six against one. Nothing she hadn't handled before. But then...
A flicker in the corner of her eye.
A bluish glow.
A symbol on their masks.
It looked like some kind of Runes.
Her reflexes were inhuman, but these men moved as if they knew what she was going to do before she did.
The air turned heavy.
Then, her first mistake.
An attacker swung at her from the left, wide and obvious. A feint.
From a blind spot, a blade that she seemed to recognized too late.
The silver edge sliced through her thigh. Pain shot through her leg. Her movement stumlbed.
And that was all they needed.
Two of them grabbed her arms. A third drove his fist into her stomach. A monstrous, unnatural blow.
Her body slammed into an overturned market cart.
Her breath caught. Blood dripped onto the stone.
For the first time in this fight, she was truly hurt.
The men stepped forward. Slowly. Deliberately.
Their silver masks reflected the chaos.
She narrowed her eyes.
"…That was unexpected."