Headshot

Kazimir and his father journeyed for a while, the road stretching straight ahead with minimal turns, flanked by dense forests on both sides. The tranquil warmth of the afternoon enveloped them, accompanied by the melodic tweets of birds and the soft calls of deer echoing through the woods.

The parent and child engaged in conversation about the upcoming business in nearby cities, discussing the goods they should prioritize, and estimating the anticipated profits. Their dialogue revolved around strategic considerations for their trade, weaving a tapestry of plans and expectations as the carriage continued its steady journey.

"Father..." began Kazimir.

"What's wrong, little Kaz?" replied his father.

"Are you certain that you won't regret retiring now?" asked Kazimir, his worry evident in his voice. 

"I mean, you seem genuinely happy discussing trade," he added, concern furrowing his brow.

"Kaz, you will understand one day, when you become a father," his father replied gently.

"Maybe you're right, but I still worry about you," he responded. After contemplating for a moment, he added, "How about you join a trade league inside a big city?" He suggested this with high spirits as if struck by a genial idea.

"Father is not so young anymore. I'd rather return to our home and start farming together with other villagers. If you join a nearby knight order, you can come to have your pop's vegetables for supper," father said happily as he envisioned the future.

"Thank you fath—," Kazimir began, but before he could finish his sentence, a swishing sound accompanied an armor-piercing projectile that tore through his father's head.

Blood erupted from his father's skull like a fountain, painting a shocked expression on Kazimir's face in a gruesome mix of pale white and crimson red. The surreal contrast mirrored his disbelief at the sudden turn of events. Just a few minutes ago, they were chatting about the prospect of being a happy family, even if they halted their family business, and now? His father was dead, leaving him alone in this unforgiving world.

A hearty laugh reverberated through the forest. "Hahaha, headshot! I told you I could hit it, brother Wieslav," a forest bandit exclaimed joyfully, conversing with his companion.

"You indeed did, brother Kristof," replied another bandit indifferently, as if they were engaged in casual conversation rather than acknowledging the act of killing a random person. The nonchalant demeanor hinted that this was not their first time taking lives.

"Look at that carriage! It must have loads of goods... and the ox will make for a great soup stock! We hit big this time!" said one of the bandits, wiping his watering mouth as he envisioned indulging in ox meat. "Indeed, brother Kristof... indeed," echoed the other bandit, suggesting that it was his favorite phrase, one he repeated with a sense of satisfaction.

Kazimir clenched his sword, his gaze turning murderous as he confronted the bandits. "I will murder you both! You damned pigs!" His eyes burned with rage, bloodshot and intense.