Sweet dreams.

This last decade, business went well. So this time I returned home as a master of a bigger caravan than I left with. I've brought all sort of things, silks from the south, spices from the west and a lot of the other more common goods. My partners Julius and Markus have taken their wagons to their own yards and the rest came to mine.

My father, Maximus sr., was happy enough about my return and ordered a big feast. My mother came along with my wife, there were tears, hugs, kisses celebrating my return to the family. My daughter, Maxima was still studying and joined festivities only an hour later.

Then I woke-up in my office, still remembering my bliss, warms of Maxima's hug and her shout of joy. This ... cruel beyond belief, worse than the time when that mad dog robbed my house, killed my parents and raped my wife 10 years ago (in result she lost our unborn child). She survived, she told me everything (even drawn his portrait), then she committed suicide, unwilling to live in shame.

I spent years to seek my revenge. His parents were already dead, but his wife was alive (thought abused), I've found, brought and sold her a fertility potion ... just to cook his unborn child for him, we had a hearty meal (with certain poison in his plate). And when paralysis took hold of him, I told him the truth, while cutting his arms and legs off, then chocked him to death with own dick. In the end, I've cut his eyes and heart from his dead body (just in case) and hid them in a cave in another country.

When I finally returned home, my neighbors already knew and somehow I ended up as mayor of my hometown. I've reached some semblance of peace since then and now those fuckers dared to mock me with my loss. Enough is enough, all ninjas must die, for the rest of us to have a chance for a good life.