Tsruhelkcorb collapsed suddenly. It happened during one of their sword fight sessions, yet Enaj had not hit Tsruhelkcorb. Tsruhelkcorb’s face was sweating, and he was shaking.
“What is wrong with you?" Enaj asked.
“I am very sick,” wheezed Tsruhelkcorb, squirming on the floor. “I am in great pain. Do not let me die. Do not let me die!”
Enaj had no idea what ill had felled Tsruhelkcorb, but he tried to nurse Tsruhelkcorb back to health over the following days with random herbs he found in the woods, yet Tsruhelkcorb just kept getting paler and weaker, until he could barely move. In the end, Tsruhelkcorb told Enaj to come closer, and whispered in his ear, “I must go back to the city.”
“But they will kill you!” Enaj retorted.
“If I do not get help from a competent healer in the city, then I will die anyway. I despise the city as much as you do, but I see no other choice. Take care of the hut while I am gone — I promise I will come back as soon as I can, even if I have to escape from prison to do it.” Thus, the two bid each other farewell, and Enaj dragged Tsruhelkcorb to the city gates over the blanket of moist leaves and fir needles covering the forest floor. “You are the best assassin I have ever trained,” Tsruhelkcorb said as they parted. “Use your skills wisely.” Then he crawled into the city on his stomach, groaning with pain with each movement, leaving Enaj standing in stunned silence.
As Enaj was sauntering back to the hut, he had the distinct feeling that he was being watched. Must be a squirrel, thought Enaj.
Suddenly, a group of armed ruffians emerged from the trees and the biggest one yelled, “You are surrounded and outnumbered, give us everything you own, you city scum.”
Enaj drew a curved blade from his belt and threw it at the speaker, whose head, cleanly sliced off, rolled into a stream and floated away, the surprise still in the wide open eyes. As the ruffians lunged at him, Enaj spun around, slicing and slashing until they were all disarmed, wounded, or dead. The surviving ruffians were rolling on the damp forest leaves, clutching at their gaping wounds and protruding intestines.
And yet contemptuous, they cried out, “Do your worst, you city tyrant!”
“I am not in league with the city,” explained Enaj. “I have as much hatred towards it as you do. Trust me, I harbor no ill will towards you. If you let me, I will even heal you with my herbs.” The ruffians explained with tears that they were in fact a band of exiles from the city, and that they had only attacked him because he was walking from the direction of the city and they assumed he was a spy of the tyrant.
“We are actually planning to infiltrate the city and take over the government, one of them said, trying to reattach his arm. My name is Yelraf, by the way. We could really use someone with your skills — how about you lead our gang, seeing as you killed the previous leader?”
Enaj considered the offer for less than a second — he could live alone in the hut, or he could finally have revenge.
“Sure,” Enaj said. “That would be most desirable.” He licked his lips, tasting the blood of the masters and of the tyrant. How sweet it would be.
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