Power of the weapon

When Varaha and Vtorak reached the village, the mercenary immediately went to the headman's house, leaving the young man alone in the street. The guy was not opposed: he could not stop looking at his new weapon. The sword lay in his hand like a glove. Holding it, Vtorak felt an unprecedented strength and power inside. Each movement, dissecting the air, responded in the soul with a sensation of unprecedented power. Sometimes it even seemed to him that he... Akshayah himself. The sword gave power over death, and the young man felt this very clearly. These feelings captivated him, and he peered for a long time at the occasional glare on the blade he held in front of him. So he stood on the street with a naked blade and looked at his metal with interest, when he suddenly heard the voices of a noisy company. From behind a house nearby appeared a group of men who chatted loudly among themselves. All of them looked pretty battered by life itself and time. Some of them rested on sticks. Then a young girl ran up to them with gilded hair braided in a long braid. She clutched the hand of one of them, sobbing and screaming. The second man, out of curiosity, came closer.

- Dad! Daddy! Stop doing that! You spent for drink all our money! We have nothing to eat in the winter, please! Do not go there! Stay home, stop it!

- Shut up, girl! - exclaimed the unshaven thin-armed man with a big belly, and threw the girl away. She fell to the ground and wiped away the tears with the sleeve of her shirt, - How dare you! I lost my hand in battle for you!!! - He raised to the light the stump of his left hand, - Ungrateful spawn!

The men watched with approval as the father beat his daughter lying on the ground with a huge palm. They did not flinch when her mother ran up to the girl and threw herself from above, covering her body from the random blows of her father. Vtorak detachedly watched what was happening. He came closer to better see the girl's face: she seemed pretty to him before she fell. Then the man flushed with rage drew attention to him.

- And what are you staring at, moron?! – exclaimed man.

- It's not your buisness, old man, - the boy answered. Men, having frowned at dissatisfied faces, came closer to him.

- Old man?! I am a soldier, not some old man! We are all soldiers! Weak peasants become old people, and we were, and remained warriors, even now! We defended these lands with blood and flesh, and now every puppie dare to bark in our faces?! Peeing on the graves of our brothers?!

- In what war did you fight? - asked Vtorak.

- We defended this village from barbaric raids when you still did not wear pants! - the man sprayed saliva.

- You're exaggerating, old man. Soldiers serve in the army, - the boy said. - It seems to me that you are ordinary mercenaries who have not pulled the hardships of the military path. You just captured a defenseless village and call it your home? Surely the inhabitants have suffered much more from you than from some raids of "barbarians" there! - The young man already openly laughed at the locals surrounding him. - You are pathetic cowards who could not stand the harsh life of a mercenary! They hid under the skirts of girls and softened like bread in milk! Who can you defeat now, "warrior"? Your own daughter and wife?! - Vtorak laughed all over the street. A man, who was already crimson with anger, drew a knife from his boot and rushed to the offender, sparkling his eyes and splashing saliva through his rare teeth. The boy orientated quickly and, confidently waving his sword, cut off the man's right hand at the elbow. He howled from unbearable pain, bulging his eyes and sack fell to the ground. The rest of the "soldiers" fled, leaving a wounded friend, his battered wife and daughter on the street. The second boy stood over the pathetic, defeated man, enjoying his pain. He almost felt hot drops dripping from the cold blade of his sword. Submitting to his sensation of strength, Vtorak himself did not notice how he brought the sword over the unfortunate crying man. The tip aimed at the spine. The last heavy drop fell from the sword and the young man struck.

However, the sword did not obey. The second boy strained all his muscles, but could not move the blade frozen in the air. He looked at the hilt and saw how the top was held by the strong hand of Varaha.

- Enough, - he said, and let go of the hilt. Vtorak obeyed and walked away. He looked at the people at his feet. A man was huddling with his wife, who was approaching him. He wept with pain with her. The woman looked at the boy with eyes full of tears:

- What have you done, butcher?! Now we will starving to death!.. How can he work now?!

- Bend, - muttered Varaha through gritted teeth. The girl barely got to her feet and helped her mother raise her wounded father. Disappearing around the bend, she cast a hateful glance at Vtorak. Varaha, with a rough push, turned the young man towards him. - Decided to play the role of a hero? Thinking to save a girl from adversity? But it turned out, do you see that!

- I actually... I did not think to help her, - the boy muttered.

- Oh ... so you're worse than I thought. To match these peasants, - the mercenary muttered disappointedly, - let's go. Wipe and hide the weapon.

Varaha led the boy along the streets behind him and soon entered one of the huts by the road. Vtorak followed him. They walked through the canopy and entered the main room of the house. There, straw mats hung on the walls everywhere, dry bunches of grass smoked in special metal cups, the fangs of predatory animals strung on the ceiling hung from the ceiling, and in the center of all this, an elderly woman sat with her legs covered in thatch covered with straw. Her eyes were closed, gray hair was gathered in a lush bump on the top, and gold jewelry sparkled in the weighty earlobes. Her dwelling enveloped the alien with comfort and warmth. The smell of smoldering herbs gently relieved the tension of the mind and body of the guest, disposing him to a sincere, friendly conversation.

- Uttama, hello! - said Varaha and bowed, - Peace to your home. It's me, Varaha.

- Hello to you, marked by light. And hello to you, young man, - the woman said.

- I came to ask your advice, just about this young man, a sorceress, - Vtorak looked at the mercenary in surprise, - Should I teach him how to use a sword? Is it worth keeping him close by myself? Does he have true potential? You always gave wise advices, therefore I am listening now.

- Hmm ... - the sorceress lowered her head, thinking deeply, - Come closer, boy. I want to consider you better. - Varaha nodded to the young man and pushed him toward the old woman. The boy walked embarrassedly and sat right in front of her. Her eyes were still closed. She stretched out her hands in front of her and gently hugged the guest, clutching him to her. - Everything is fine, dear. You are completely safe. Take it easy. Feel your body relaxing. You almost don't feel it, right? Go to sleep... go to sleep on Uttama's shoulder. Relax and let her see your true nature, see the deep essence of your soul...

- Vtorak! Vtorak! - The mercenary shook the boy slightly, which made him awake. He got up and looked around the room: Uttama was sitting in her place, and the young man was lying flat in the middle of her home - Get up.

- What was it?

- Vtorak, - the witch turned to him, passing an empty question past her ears, - The light touched your soul! You are marked with light just like Varaha! Your path is clear.

- What does it mean? - The young man was surprised, turning to Varaha.

- There is very little light in our world, young Vtorak, - continued Uttama, - the Pure that you already know about is the light itself in the flesh. Those who are marked with light are also rare in our world. They are light conductors. In addition to the destiny of the Doom, a bright destiny is imposed on their fate, which they can fulfill, but they can also miss...

- What?

- The light does not force to serve him. That is his nature.

- Darkness does not force either, - said Varaha.

- You're right. Man always makes his own choices.

- In that case... what needs to be done? - Vtorak shook his head in confusion.

- Trust the light and it will lead you to your destiny. Love this world and the people around you. Love enemies and friends, loved ones and derelict. Love opens such paths for a person that he does not even suspect. In the moments when darkness gathers around you, remember it and find strength in it. Oh... you have to go. The headman wants to tell you something. We will see you on your return. Teach him, Varaha, he will serve this world no less than you yourself.

- What?..

- Come on, - the mercenary pushed the boy to the exit, - Thank you, Uttama!

Leaving the old woman's house, they really stumbled upon the elder who was waiting for them. A full man, balding, with a magnificent mustache, he nervously chewed a straw, which he spat out immediately upon seeing the mercenary.

- I know, - Varaha prevented the headman, - I should have locked him to the inn or somewhere else, but it happened. They should not have come into conflict with an armed stranger. A chopped off arm is not the worst thing that could have happened.

- Chopped off ar... Varaha, what happened?

- Well ... - the mercenary akimbo, - In any case, you will soon find out yourself.

- Damn it! I wanted to talk about something else, - the headman leaned closer.

- About what?

- A gloomy nightmare settled in the ruins of an old stronghold near us... the hunters have not returned from the fortress for the second week. Tonight, something took Andrzej. The wife said that he heard rustling... then he went out into the back yard and did not return...

- I'm killing robbers and thieves. Unknown creatures are not my job, - the mercenary answered with doubt in his voice. He looked around at the door of Uttama's hut, obviously seeking her advice, but the door was shut tight: the sorceress obviously was not going to help in such trifles.

- Please, kind master... help us. If you do not help, the demoness will kill us all.

- Demoness? So is it a demon?!

- I don't know, kind master, I don't know... black horror... death in the flash. No one saw it from the living. Everyone who has seen is already dead.

- You will pay me a hundred gold coins for that.

- I will pay, Varaha, I will pay... Only get rid of that danger...

- Good. And let the innkeeper give us rooms for free all the time, as long as we are here.

- I will command, dear friend. I'll do everything. Don't worry about it.

- Tomorrow we'll go to your marvel, - the headman bowed gratefully and left. He was sweating with excitement during the conversation: apparently, he was very afraid to be refused. Varaha also noticed the man's experiences, - They seem to be really scared here... Once, I was dumped with only twenty-six gold for a gang of robbers. There were twelve of them, and I was alone. The biggest income it was. And here... one hundred is ready to give...

- Maybe they hope that we will not return? - asked Vtorak. The mercenary stared at the boy.

- Then what's the point of sending us?

- Well, I don't know... maybe they think that before death we can even wound the demon. And he will forget about the village.

- We'll see, - concluded Varaha. – Make several torches today. Just in case, we'll take a barrel of oil from the headman. I saw they have it. If we fail to kill the demon with the sword, we will burn him.

- Do you really have experience in such matters?

- No. But this is the only thing that comes to mind.