It was nighttime, just after Alaric had completed his first day as the head executioner—a brutal task that ended with the death of the enemy captain. His fellow comrades, who had been captured, met the same fate. Twelve soldiers and one captain—a total of thirteen lives taken.
As he rode his horse through the darkness, a strange sensation gripped him. He felt it—heard something. He tugged the reins, halting the horse.
"Get out. I know you're there," he said firmly.
Alaric was on high alert. He slowly drew two daggers from his hips.
Then he heard it—footsteps. Metallic clinks echoed through the still night, growing louder. The sound of armor. A figure emerged, bathed in moonlight.
"Impossible!" Alaric gasped as the man's face became visible. "I killed you earlier…"
He leapt from his horse, gripping his daggers tightly.
"I thought so," the man replied. It was the same knight Alaric had beheaded.
"You think a mere executioner could kill me?"
The knight charged, holding a longsword with both hands.
Swoosh!
Alaric tried to block the strike—but it was too fast. In a blink, he saw only the sword's tip driving toward his throat.
"Gulp… gulp…" He struggled to breathe as the knight forced the blade deeper.
"See? I am an honorable knight. A filthy executioner like you is beneath me," the knight sneered.
"You don't deserve to kill someone like me. Die, coward!"
"NOOO!" Alaric screamed as he jolted awake, drenched in sweat.
Another nightmare.
He clutched his throat. It still ached. He could feel the imagined blade. His palm came away wet from wiping his forehead. The moonlight outside told him it was still nighttime.
He made his way downstairs, grabbed some bread and water, then stepped outside.
His wolf, 21, was still awake, standing guard. The loyal beast wagged its tail and approached him. Alaric broke off a piece of bread and handed it over.
21 accepted it happily, clearly glad to see his master.
Alaric picked up an axe and a piece of wood lying nearby. He started chopping. Swing after swing.
Coward! Coward! Coward!
The words echoed in his head as he chopped, harder and harder, until they faded away.
As he gripped the axe, he thought of his father. The axe was intentionally dull—a part of his training. His father never used sharp tools. Effort was part of the lesson.
Rain began to fall. One drop, then a downpour—just like it had when his father began training him.
He was ten years old then, dragging a human-shaped sandbag in the pouring rain. His father stood silently, watching as the boy struggled.
"Father… it's so heavy," he cried out, hoping for sympathy.
His tears were lost in the rain. After what felt like hours, they finally stopped.
Inside, his father poured him a glass of water."Drink," he commanded.
Alaric obeyed, gulping it down.
"Son, do you know what I do for a living?" his father asked.
"Something bad?" Alaric answered, unsure—but aware of how people treated them.
His father stood and motioned. "Let me show you something."
They went to the forbidden room—one Alaric had always been curious about.
Inside, weapons of all shapes and sizes lined the walls. Some looked strange, all looked deadly.
"We are a family of executioners. I am the city's head executioner."
"What's an executioner?"
"I kill… for justice. And you're next in line."
"But I want to be a knight, or a traveler, or a blacksmith," Alaric protested.
His father's eyes were sad—not angry.
"You can't escape it, son. Trust me."
He too once had dreams. But their bloodline was cursed in the eyes of the world. The church banned them. The king avoided them. People whispered that they brought bad luck.
A day later, Alaric prepared to meet someone. The sun was low in the sky. He reached into the drawer beside his bed and took out a necklace—a pearl pendant. Simple, elegant.
He headed toward the village to buy some bread when—
"ALARIC!"
That obnoxious voice.
It was Lucius, the fat official.
"What a coincidence! What are you doing here?" he grinned.
Alaric said nothing.
"Have you thought about my proposal? About getting a wife?"
"Not this again…" Alaric muttered, annoyed.
"Listen, Devil. You've got no choice. I run a brothel—just pick one and pay me. Simple."
Alaric's glare was cold.
Lucius leaned closer, serious now. "Let's be real, Alaric, son of Hagen. No respectable woman will marry someone like you. It's my job to ensure your bloodline continues. Setting up a new family of Devils would be... difficult. I'm only trying to help."
"And besides, your mother was a whore, remember? So was your grandmother, and your—"
Alaric's hand shot to his throat, choking the fat man.
"Don't ever say her name—"
Then he stopped. Killing Lucius would only bring more trouble.
cough cough "What's your problem?! I was just saying—"
"I'm sorry. I'll think about it," Alaric muttered and walked away.
That evening, near a lake beneath a giant tree with a ship-sized trunk, Alaric sat alone. The moon reflected across the water.
Then came a soft, familiar voice.
"You're late."
On the other side of the tree, a young woman appeared—blonde hair, elegant features, freckles that only added to her beauty.
"No. You're just early," Alaric replied.
"Long time no see. How have you been?" she asked.
"Just fine."
"So, where do you want me to start?" she asked, walking toward him.
"C'mon, Al! Make some space," she teased.
"Oh—right, sorry." Alaric shifted aside.
"Thank you," she said with a mock royal bow, then sat beside him.
"Okay, let's begin. The first town we visited was—"
That marked the start of a long, wonderful story from Luna.
Luna—his only real friend since he was 16. Her father ran a traveling circus, and they'd visit her grandmother who lived nearby. Every visit, she brought tales of the world beyond.
Alaric, who had never traveled, was always captivated. Her stories soothed him. They were the light in the darkness of his grim world.
"—and then we finally got to—"
"Luna, I have something for you," Alaric interrupted gently.
"What is it?"
He pulled out the necklace and smiled—one of the rare, genuine smiles he ever allowed himself.
"For you. Do you like it?"
"Wow… yes, of course!" she beamed. She turned her back, moving her hair aside.
"Put it on, please. Hehehe," she laughed.
Alaric fastened the necklace. Luna went to the water's edge to admire it in the moonlit reflection.
"It's beautiful… thank you, Al." Her voice trembled. A tear slipped down her cheek.
She quickly wiped it, but Alaric saw.
"Is something wrong, Luna?"
"It's nothing… it's just… my grandmother passed away a month ago."
"Oh…" Alaric didn't know what to say.
"So now, we have no reason to visit this place again…" she said, tears falling freely.
"I'll miss you, Al."
He was stunned. Then she hugged him tightly. He froze for a moment, then slowly returned the hug.
"Luna… I have something to tell you," he said, pulling back gently. "You know that job I've never talked about? I'm a—"
"Pssst… you don't have to say it if you're not ready," she whispered, sensing his struggle.
"Don't worry about it," she said, patting his head.
"No matter what you do… you'll always be my Al. Okay?"
Her gentle smile calmed him.
"But don't worry, Al! I'll be back," she said, counting on her fingers.
"Nineteen… twenty… umm—yes, three!"
"See you in three years, Al."