The Witch Hunter!

Riding the stallion was not easy on his little body but his muscle memory and his knowledge helped him quickly gain confidence.

After a few hours, they arrived at a small village located at the foot of the mountain range.

It was a peaceful place, surrounded by lush green grass and beautiful flowers. The air was fresh and clean and the people living in this area seemed happy and contented.

They entered the village and the first thing he did was to buy a cloak. Though the quality was very low it will work the way it is intended.

He then headed straight to a tavern. There, he paid the innkeeper two silver coins for the night's stay and food.

Once they settled down, he went downstairs and ordered a drink. Well, there is no better place to learn about local and national politics and happenings, he thought.

The tavern was crowded with bustling activity as it was the only tavern in the area. The next one was on the next village which will take more than five hours to travel.

But there was something on the air, a solemn silence, despite the chattering and singing, there was something on the air like people knew something was wrong but were afraid to speak up.

He sat on a chair and waited patiently as the bartender served him some wine and bread.

"Have ya heard of the rumors?" Asked a burly man. Beer smeared across his long and unruly beard.

"What rumors?" asked another man, bobbing his head while a goblet of beer was clutched tightly in his hand.

"That there's a witch hunter here," his voice dropped to a note, it was just a whisper. "Ya know what that means, right?"

The bobbing man stopped bobbing his head as he took a long audible gulp.

"Eh, Ernie," the burly man said, leaning closer to old Ernie. "That means there's a witch here. Hiding in plain sight. We will be damned if it decided to hunt us down."

A loud thud echoed throughout the room, causing most of the customers to look at each other uneasily.

The door to the tavern suddenly opened, not the slow way any normal person would do but the force behind the door was evident in the way it opened up.

The bustling had already stopped at that point and everyone was just slowly drinking and only had eyes on their goblets but their ears and minds were someplace else, somewhere near the entrance of the tavern.

Cold wind blasted into the tavern as a tall figure stood before the door, blocking out the cold breeze.

In front of the door was a large hooded robe covering his whole body. The cowl covered everything except his face and hands. Even though it was dark outside, he still managed to stand in the light from the lanterns hanging on the wall. His presence was heavy and oppressive, almost palpable.

From the looks of things, he wasn't wearing armor, but his muscles bulged underneath his robes as if he was hiding a sword in his belt.

Even though he wore a thick hood, his features were easily discernible. Despite being cloaked, he exuded a sense of menace and intimidation.

He was a giant, taller than anyone present in the tavern.

He regarded the men at the tavern for a moment, his dark eyes piercing through them. They all looked away when the dark beads searched them like they were afraid of the consequences.

He walked over to the bar, his footsteps were heavy and hard hitting the floorboards. He placed his palms on the counter and leaned on it slightly before dropping a few silver coins on the table.

It made a clanking sound as it hit the wooden counter.

The bartender, who had been cleaning a mug, looked up at the sound and froze at the sight of the hooded figure. He hesitated for a moment before speaking in a shaky voice.

"W-what can I get you, sir?"

The hooded figure's voice was deep and gravelly, sending shivers down the spines of everyone in the tavern.

"Bring me the strongest drink you have and a roasted boar to the table," he said, his eyes never leaving the bartender's face.

The bartender nodded quickly and scurried off to fulfill the request, not wanting to incur the hooded figure's wrath.

He scanned the room and find a table with only a boy sitting alone.

He walked over there and pulled back the chair, not even asking permission to sit. Once seated, he put his elbows on the table and rested his chin in his hands.

"Don't ya drink?" He asked without looking up at the boy.

"I'm drinking," replied Azrael. His voice didn't waver or crack. It sounded confident and assured as if he had spoken these words many times before.

It made the hooded figure chuckle.

"Ya call that a drink? That's just grape juice," he laughed.

Azrael shook his head. "Aren't witch hunters needed to be sober if they want to catch the evil witch? How are you gonna catch it if you gonna drink the strongest poison here?" He took a sip of his wine, not taking his eyes off the witch hunter.

The man regarded the boy for a second, then chuckled again.

His laughter filled the room, making every customer turn toward the source of the noise.

Then he got serious.

The laughter died down, and a somber expression replaced the momentary mirth on the witch hunter's face. His eyes, now devoid of humor, bore into Azrael with an intensity that could pierce the thickest armor.

"You have a sharp tongue, boy," he said, his voice low and resonant. "But do not mistake my indulgence for weakness. I drink to fortify my resolve, not to drown it."

The atmosphere in the tavern grew heavy as if the air itself held its breath in anticipation of what would unfold between the enigmatic hooded figure and the audacious young boy.

Azrael, undeterred by the foreboding presence before him, met the witch hunter's gaze head-on, his eyes reflecting a resilience beyond his years.

"There are many ways to catch a witch," he said calmly, his voice carrying a subtle hint of defiance. "Sometimes, it takes more than brute force and empty words. Sometimes, you need to understand the shadows before you can unravel the darkness."

A flicker of interest gleamed in the witch hunter's eyes. It was a glimmer of recognition, a spark that suggested he saw something in the boy that intrigued him.

"You speak as if ya know something, young one," he replied, his tone slightly less austere. "Tell me then, what secrets do ya hold? What shadows do ya see?"

Azrael leaned forward, his eyes alight with a blend of curiosity and determination. The dim light of the tavern danced upon his features, casting shadows that mirrored the enigma of the witch hunter.

"I may be young, but I have seen more than my fair share," he began, his voice filled with a quiet intensity. "I have witnessed the dance of light and darkness, and I have learned to discern the true nature of things. The witch you seek may not be as obvious as you think, for evil can wear many masks and hide in plain sight."

The witch hunter remained silent, his gaze unwavering. The air between them crackled with an unspoken understanding—a recognition of shared purpose, despite their contrasting roles.

Azrael continued, his words weaving a tapestry of intrigue and insight.

"Listen to the whispers of the wind, the secrets carried in the rustle of leaves. Observe the subtle gestures and the hidden intentions that lie beneath the surface. To catch a witch, you must become one with the shadows, embracing their enigma, and unraveling the threads that bind the light and darkness together."

As his words lingered in the air, a moment of profound silence settled upon the tavern. The patrons, once hushed by fear, now listened with bated breath, their eyes locked on the unlikely duo engaged in a silent battle of wits and destiny.

The witch hunter's gaze softened, a flicker of respect mingling with the lingering intensity.

"I see ya have read the book of Eldrich, haven't ya?" He said quietly after a prolonged pause.

Azrael smiled and nodded. "Yes, I have."

"Tell me, boy, do ya want to witness witch hunting?" The man asked, his eyes searching Azrael's face intently.

Without hesitation, the boy answered: "Yes, yes I do!"

The witch hunter let out a laugh. A hearty burst of amusement, laced with genuine merriment.

"Well then, we shall make sure ye'll live to tell yer tale," he declared, standing abruptly. "Let's go! This is where the hunt begins!"