8 Old friend? Stranger?

Azrael would have forgotten everything and just killed him then and there if it wasn't for the fact that he wasn't the only one on his list.

He would have just pounced on the bloody motherfucker, pinned him down to the ground, and started beating the shit out of him. No magic, no weapons, just his bare hands.

He would have watched the handsome face of the fucker turn into a mess of blood and flesh, and he wouldn't give a crap about the people watching him. That was what he wanted, to watch the pretty bastard die by his own hands.

And yet here he was, looking at the same person right in front of him, and he couldn't believe his shitty luck.

"Lord Arthur, are you alright?" A guy with dark hair ran over and helped the young lord up. "Are you hurt?"

"It's nothing," the young lord answered coldly.

"How dare you touch the young lord, filthy peasant!" yelled the guy and took out a long baton from his side. "I'll break your arms so you won't ever repeat this mistake, boy!"

A crowd gathered around the scene like it was the most exciting event in town—the fight between a peasant and a young lord!

Azrael's eyes were downcast. His mind was in a void. After the initial anger to kill the bastard, he felt nothing now. Like all the years of rage had been washed away in an instant.

"Why can't I move? Come on, he's just there. Reach out and grab the knife. Plunge it into his throat and be over with it."

But alas, nothing happened. He still stood there motionless, unable to move or act.

As he stood there, looking at the person he had vowed to kill, he felt a mix of emotions swirling inside him. Part of him wanted to fulfill his vow and take revenge for the betrayal he had suffered, while another part of him felt unsure about what to do.

Memories of the past and the pain he had suffered flooded his mind. He couldn't believe that he had been given a second chance to make things right, and yet here he was, standing before the very person who had caused him so much pain.

He felt a deep sense of sadness and disappointment that his friends had betrayed him. The thought of killing one of them felt overwhelming, but at the same time, he couldn't deny the rage that was building up inside him.

Azrael's mind was torn between conflicting emotions, and he found himself frozen in place, unable to act. He wondered if he was doing the right thing by holding back or if he was letting his emotions get the best of him.

As the crowd gathered around the scene, he felt a sense of isolation and loneliness. Like they were all laughing and mocking at him. He was alone in this world, with nobody to turn to or confide in. The weight of his emotions was too much to bear, and he felt like he was drowning in a sea of sadness.

For a moment, he considered giving up and walking away. But then he remembered why he had been given a second chance and what he had to do. He took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and prepared himself to face the challenges that lay ahead.

Azrael knew that he couldn't change the past, but he could change the future. He would repay everyone, but not now, not when they were just a bunch of kids. He would wait until they grew up to be heroes, and that's when he would strike them out.

His mind formed images of his old wife burning on a wooden stake as the crowd chanted, "Burn her."

It was the best outcome for that whore; he thought.

"That's okay, Eric," said the young Lord. "Look at him. I don't even think he can understand what nobility is. Just leave him be. I don't want to deal with these kinds on my first day of the academy."

"But my lord--"

"Let us go. I don't want to hear anymore. This is a good day, and don't ruin it," he said coldly.

"As you wish, my lord. But do check if he has stolen anything from you, sir. These kinds of people can steal from you without any effort. That's in their blood," said Eric, the bodyguard.

"Oh, don't worry, nothing has been stolen."

Without so much as a glance, the young Lord walked away. The once best friends walked opposite sides, like a couple of strangers that never crossed paths. A flicker in the fires of destiny, something that neither party could explain nor control.

Azrael took a deep breath and calmed his beating heart. Even though the crowd was murmuring, he couldn't hear them. "What kind of play are you writing?" he looked at the sky. It was just a cruel joke, a cruel and sick joke played by someone above. Meeting the best friend just days after he betrays and kills you, what an irony!

The crowd had already left the scene, leaving him all alone in the street under the blazing sun. Azrael shook his mind and decided to continue his path to become powerful.

He could relearn his moves from the pastime along the way. With the addition to the techniques and magics, he could become more powerful than the previous him in a couple of years.

"I need a horse if I want to travel to the mountains," he thought.

Getting a horse was simple if you had money, but Azrael knew he had to be careful when selecting one, as the breeders might try to fool him just because he was a kid.

Under the scorching sun, alone on the street, alone in the world, he walked forward, towards his goal.

With determination and willpower, he continued to walk through the streets until he saw a stable.

There, among many horses, was the perfect specimen for Azrael: big, strong, and muscular. It had a black mane and tail with white markings around its neck and legs.

This was the one. He smiled and approached the stallion.

He clutched the shiny coins in his pocket, not wanting to drop them, and asked the owner how much was needed to purchase the horse.

Azrael was surprised when he heard that the stallion was priced at eight gold coins.

"Yes, boy, this here is a pure BloodNight breed. You won't find a creature like him anywhere, ya know," said the owner.

"Pure BloodNight Stallions don't have spots on them. Your stallion is full of them," he crouched and examined the stallion.

He was sure this was in no way a pure breed of anything special, but the stallion itself looked proud and strong, and it could help him get to the mountains. How did he know that? He had a purebred SilverKnight in his past life.

Thinking of it, he suddenly remembered that Arthur had a red dragon as his mount, something he got from their ride at a dungeon on the South Continent.

"How do you know that, boy, eh? Have you bred one?" he laughed. "You must be new in the city."

Azrael ignored him and examined the horse.

He softly extended his arms to the beast and caressed it gently with his fingers. The animal let out a soft whinny and nuzzled against his hand.

"Come, boy, come closer," Azrael whispered.

The horse came near and leaned close enough for Azrael to pat its nose.

"I like it. I'll give you four for the stallion. Take it or else I can find a horse somewhere else," he said, his voice firm and clear.

The owner folded his arms and said, "Nah, that's too low for this good fella here. You can either buy it for eight, no, seven, as the fella likes you, or you can leave."

"Five. No more, no less!" he snapped back.

"Sorry, boy, can't do that," the owner shook his head.

"Alright then," said Azrael and started to walk away.

He was feeling a little sad as he had taken a liking to the stallion, but seven gold coins for a stallion that wasn't even a pure breed was way too high.

"Wait, wait!" the owner called out.

Azrael's lips curved upwards hearing the man's shouting.

"Six. No more, no less!" the man said.

Without even thinking for a second, he replied, "Deal!"