The Veteran

8 Days later

Kleo

In the scorching embrace of Ariella's twin suns, the town of Kleo stood as a bustling hub for aspiring hunters and a thriving center of life. But as with any town that flourished in the light, there was a darkness that couldn't be hidden.

A lone figure on horseback traversed the dusty main road, the relentless winds of Ariella threatening to snatch his hat away. The steed came to an abrupt halt.

In this lawless realm of Kleo, located on the untamed western continent, the era of swords and bows still reigned supreme. Firearms existed, but they were considered weapons for the weak. Here, where gods and monsters roamed, swords and magic were the tools of the strong.

Though the world was home to formidable beings capable of mass destruction, most of them paid little attention to regular humans, or "mortals" as they referred to them. It was a matter of pride rather than necessity—why would a lion bother hunting an ant? Yet, the world was far from perfect, and instances of powerful individuals oppressing the powerless were not unheard of. In a place where might made right, such conflicts were inevitable.

However, the western continent was different. It embraced progress while still holding on to its age-old nobility, with kings, queens, emperors, and empresses ruling the land. While these rulers lavished their attention on capitals and thriving cities, lawless towns like Kleo were left under the jurisdiction of sheriffs appointed by local nobility. This often resulted in nepotism and incompetence, with many sheriffs failing to uphold justice effectively.

To combat this growing issue, the Crown had sanctioned the Association of Bounty Hunters—a motley crew of outlaws, misfits, and young nobles eager to prove themselves. In every town, including Kleo, a guild, and a designated building were established for the association. While the upper echelons of the organization boasted true competence, the majority of its members left much to be desired. After all, there were no stringent requirements for entry-level hunts, and not every problem could be solved with a gun.

Kleo, in particular, was renowned as a "cesspool," a town where lawlessness ran rampant, and the line between hunter and hunted blurred in the unforgiving heat of Ariella.

"You lost there son?" An old man Jeered as he glared at him

Mercer being taken aback was an understatement. Not even two feet in and a conflict erupted.

"You talking to me?"

"I'm not talking to the damn horse now am I son?" A hard sneer plastered on his lips as he showed his teeth.

Mercer's right eye twitched, and his grip on the reins tightened.

He scoffed. What right did this ant have to speak with him? Son? he'd flay his skin and drag it across nine suns until his soul was extinguished.

Perhaps it would have even been considered cruel if Mercer outright brandished his revolver and shot him dead. But would this not serve as a lesson? Be right with strangers less they kill you? A valuable lesson that should be taught to every mortal alive.

But was Mercer a petty 'god'? The short answer was yes the long no. Regardless, he was curious as to the reason why an old man would threaten someone with a gun attached to his hip.

"Old man?" He asked incredulously. Mercer's eyes blazed with an intensity that rivaled the sun's itself.

"We don't like strangers around these parts." He sat there patting his shotgun, smoking his cigar. Would he have shit himself if he knew he was talking to a god?

Would he have prostrated on the spot and begged for Mercy?

"I have business with your sheriff," Mercer explained, attempting to maintain a semblance of composure. "I have been personally hired—"

"Around these parts, I'm the law," the old man asserted, as he tapped his chest. His voice was laced with unmasked superiority.

"Is that so" Mercer spoke slowly, his golden eyes narrowed, his fingers twitched. He wished nothing more than to grab his revolver and shoot this old man.

What was that phrase? Don't blaspheme god? The more he walked these lands as a human the more he hated them.

His eyebrows furrowed and a vein was almost visible. Now he was genuinely starting to lose his cool. Was it beneath him as a god to be angry towards an ant? Yes. But ever since he was born he had issues with anger, if THAT DEMON wasn't the sin of wrath he would be a prime contender for the title, and ever since he stepped foot in this backwater town his ire was easy to gain and his anger rose way quicker.

Maybe that was another contender for why he was cast down. but now was not the time to dwell on it, Mercer had a bounty to turn in.

"Look, old man, as much as I'd love to shoot you in the head and move on, I'm not being paid to kill you." Was it insane that a god forgave blaspheme, that he would forgive an ant for threatening him? At the end of the day, it was laughable. An ant was an ant, did a human have to explain why he stepped on one?

His fingers clenched as his knuckles whitened. Okay, he was peeved, but so what? He had the ability to snap this town out of existence, to breathe fire on these primates. The only thing stopping an immediate execution was the little compassion towards mortals he held, and the faint sense of familiarity.

As a former entity of light, was it not his duty to preach forgiveness and repentance? Was it not his duty to uphold the image of God as mighty and forgiving?

The least he could do was not wantonly slaughter all those that messed with him. Not without a concrete reason at least.

Would this incident make others laugh at him? Unquestionably, in fact, he would be one of those laughing at said god.

The tall 'intimidating' sign reading Hotel hanging over his head, and the cranky old man with a shotgun did not give him any pressure. If you ignored the old man and the glaring sun, the windy dust the smoldering heat, and the overwhelming amount of criminals this place was kinda of neat.

It was a quaint old town that mimicked many of those in the western continent. It had the normal guilds – bounty hunters, adventurers, and mages – and 'essential' establishments like hotels, inns, diners, brothels, a sheriff's office, and a bank.

"Is that supposed to scare me, boy?" the old man challenged, his voice laced with venom. Mercer's eyes turned to meet the old man's navy blue gaze, his own anger simmering beneath the surface. Why waste his breath? One bullet, one wave and his life is extinguished like a candle.

Heavens he only needed one word.

The old man stretched his wrinkled old hands and gripped the double barrel shotgun. 'Please pull the gun on me' Mercer begged the Almighty.

Just a flinch would do and faster than the man could blink he would be on his way to be judged to whatever hell he believed in.

The tension in the air was almost palpable. Perhaps one could even cut it with a knife.

However, their standoff was interrupted by the appearance of a sweet old lady. She waddled out from the Hotel, her grey, and red hair was adorned with a band, and her face exuded kindness and trustworthiness.

"Who's this, dear?" she inquired, her presence diffusing the tension in the air. Mercer subconsciously relaxed his tensed fingers.

Her hand rested on his shoulder, the other with a basket full of freshly baked bread.

"Some punk kid" he grumbled as he put his shotgun away, his nose twitched at the smell and he reached for bread.

She gently swatted away his hand, "This is for the sheriff's office dear, I left you some inside" She sweetly smiled.

He grumbled something about always leaving him the small ones.

Regardless of how he acted before, it seemed that this Lady was his foil. It was obvious that in her presence he didn't want to escalate the situation.

"Would you like one sweetie?" Her voice was as sweet as her character. Her eyes directed their kind gaze towards Mercer.

Maybe it was a miracle that in a town filled with hunters and criminals, someone so kind could still live.

She walked up slowly and steadily towards Mercer like greeting an old friend.

"Thank you kindly, Miss"

"But that won't be necessary"

She walked up to Mercer and leaned over to whisper something. She swiftly and softly rested her hand on his shoulder as she spoke in a hushed tone.

"Last time a stranger came by the sheriff's family was murdered. So please don't take it to heart he doesn't mean it."

Mean what? Almost blasting his head with a shotgun? Of course, it wouldn't have worked on him, but if it was any other wandering hunter, he was shit sure her kind words wouldn't revive them.

She shuffled a bit as she shed some light on why the old prune was so trigger-happy.

Although the anger hadn't dissipated, it was almost completely placated by her radiating warmth.

Those were the type of humans he 'liked'.

Mercer nodded at her words.

"He's a vet, he came back from the war five years ago, Ever since then he thinks he can protect this town all by himself." Her face carried a tinge of regret.

"He blames himself for being too soft, he thinks that the fact the sheriff's family was murdered was his fault, so he's extra rough on strangers."

She continued.

Odd considering it was a town of Hunters and Outlaws.

There was a minuscule part of him that was relieved he hadn't shot him at his first words. This was a man that was just trying to protect his town.

Albeit if he was an even crueler god, demon, or monster, just the man's attitude alone would have been a death sentence for the town. Shit even if he was a slightly stronger human, he still could have done him in.

Even now after he knew the reasoning he still almost had an inking to shoot him dead.

He felt appalled, the long years of living as a killer almost completely dulled his positive emotions.

But was that not what a god should feel like? Everything beneath his feet was not worth his salt, the mortals only lived to worship him.

Now those thoughts were dangerous.

Had he not been banished, maybe his thoughts would have been different. Instead of a god of war perhaps he would have been a god of light.

"He doesn't understand that not everyone that comes by these parts are bad."

Of course not, just the majority, Mercer inwardly scoffed.

It was obvious now where he recognized the old man. As the first god of war, he was present for every single war that existed.

It was scary really, had it been the first week he was on his own, he would have been disgusted at the fact he gained power from the deaths of people.

But now he relished the feeling of being surrounded by blood, the sense of running his blade through an opponent's skull, to kill them with a single shot. There was nothing more exhilarating. That was beauty, that was WAR.

Except that's not war, war is not beautiful had it not been for the first war he wouldn't be here wandering around accepting jobs for some fleeting wealth. He wouldn't even be what race he was now.

Mortals didn't love war, war tore families apart. Perhaps only some batshit insane individuals like himself could truly love war. After all, there was a stark difference between a battle and a war.

Now he understood that look in his eyes, the old man really was ready to wage war all by himself. He accepted that he may have died, he was ready, heavens even the old lady who was kindly speaking to him was ready to die.

But was that not pointless? Condemning yourself to death over an unworthy cause, after all, had he been a bit more apathetic the whole town would have been burned. His disrespect would be absolved and Mercer would have completed the task he was hired to do. His original reason for being here.

As the former seat of death, he knew death more than anyone. After all, before there was war there was death. Had it been prior to his retirement, when it was their time to pass he would have gently guided them to Heaven.

But now he could only stare at them with faux pity.

"I remember him, the war against the Barbarians out east right?" Again as the Divine Seat of War, how could he not recognize a soldier? Now this drew a shocked expression from the lady. Had it not been for him exercising his right as the god of bounty hunters. Would he not have recognized him immediately?

A sense of recognition entered her eyes.

He smiled without saying anything. His golden eyes shined with faint Mirth. it was a shame most of his divinities were inherently harmful. But, time the most harmful of all could heal. But even if he blessed her with more life, would she truly want it? her eyes yearned for the beyond.

Maybe Humans weren't so bad after all.