Chaos of Steel and Blood

The town had a pompous name for such a forgettable place: Marvalen. Though, to be fair, the pomp came from its founding days, when a man named Marval — or so they said — managed to kill a bear with his bare fists. Or with taxes. Accounts varied.

I wasn’t there when the guards closed the gates. By then, I was already far away, lying in a grain field, arms crossed behind my head, watching the clouds with the calm of a man who’s committed a political murder… and still allows himself a midday nap.

The grain scratched at my neck. The wind swayed the stalks. A constant buzz of insects, distant but persistent, kept me in that strange state between sleep and wakefulness. I had no watch or sun in my eyes, but I knew it was around midmorning. A perfect time to reflect on fate, chaos, and other things that solve nothing but give a false sense of control.

There was one detail I hadn’t fully grasped until now:
This world had no firearms.
And if all magic was like the “Scorching Light Spark”… then my abilities were something close to a superpower.
A gift.
Fallen from the sky.
Specifically for me.

It felt like a part of a bigger plan. Destiny? Guided reincarnation? A clerical error by the universe?
What if someone — or something — wanted me to do something here?
Free the world from tyranny?

I almost laughed. Almost.
Killing a fat Lord in a nameless town for personal reasons was not the same as becoming a liberator.

It felt like something beneath me trembled. Or maybe it was myself. After having such a detailed résumé in my previous life, it wasn’t fear, of course. It was… what? Excitement? Satisfaction?
Guilt?
No.
Not guilt.
That pig deserved it.

The people’s reaction left a bitter taste. I expected cheers, rebellion, a wave of freedom… But no. People screamed, yes. But not with joy. They screamed like someone screams when a dead rat is thrown into a party.

The Lord was dead, and his executioner would be turned into a monster.
Me.

Liberation implies revolution.
And revolution… implies people.
And I hated people.

Besides, who was asking me? Them? Soup in winter and silence — that was their revolution.

I sighed. Closed my eyes. Thought of the town crier’s voice, nasal and grandiose. Of the sound the Lord’s neck made when the natural order broke. Of the silence that followed: absolute, round, complete.

I stayed like that for a long while.
Hours, maybe.
Until the sound of wooden wheels pulled me out of my thoughts.

I stayed still, flat against the earth, like a lioness waiting for its prey —evaluating whether I should show myself and risk being recognized.

Along the dusty road came a small cart. Drawn by a donkey that its vocation appeared to be depressed. Pushed by a squat little man with a ridiculous hat, a braided beard, and a nose that deserved its own chapter.

News, I thought. And I revealed myself.

"Ahoy!" the man greeted without stopping. "This the road to Nolvar?"

"To what?"

"Nolvar. Trade town. Two inns, spice market, and... a bit of a bad reputation, hehe. This road leads there?"

I remembered the name from a weathered wooden sign. Nolvar was to the southwest. This road went east.

"No. The opposite," I said.

The man gave an “ah,” gestured somewhere between thanks and resignation, turned the donkey slowly, and started walking away.

A few meters later, I shouted:

"Did you pass through Marvalen?"

He stopped, turned halfway.

"Yeah. Passed by this morning. Planned to rest there, but… not a chance."

"Why not?"

"All locked up. Guards at the gate, checking carts, asking names, looking for someone, it seems. No one in or out."

"And so you're trying your luck in Nolvar?" I asked.

"It's a bit farther," he nodded, "but at least no soldiers staring at me like I slept with their sister."

There was no need to ask more. He waved, clicked his tongue, and went on his way. Slow, but steady.

I stayed there, seated among the stalks, feeling the afternoon begin to cool.

They're already looking for me.

I thought, as a half-smile slipped out on its own.

I lay back down, but I couldn’t fully relax anymore.

What was my purpose?
Being a weapon with no target had elegance, sure. But it was incomplete.

The sun began to set. Shadows stretched long. The sky turned those shades of red that look like diluted blood.

I stood up.
Brushed the dirt off my pants.
And walked back.

The house was in the middle of a small forest. A sturdy cabin, hidden behind treetops, From a little hill, you could even see Marvalen.

The lights were on.
Too many lights.
The wooden wall gleamed with torches that weren’t usually there. And not just that: there were lights outside the wall. Makeshift campfires, tents, and temporary structures.

The chaos I had started.
And with it, martial law.

The Lord’s Guard had taken control and locked down the town. No one in, no one out. The order was to protect the integrity of Marvalen while investigating the murder. Which really meant: beat the first suspicious person to a pulp.

But I had gone the other way.
No witnesses.
No trace.
Safe.
For now.

I entered the house. The air smelled of wood and cured leather. I locked the door twice. Sat down. Pulled out a crude map I had drawn over the past months, with incomplete names and barely explored routes.

Marvalen was becoming too small for me.
But there were other names.
Nolvar. Keldar. Yurkar…

And in the margin, in fine script, I had written a name with an arrow:

The Capital

I stared at it for a long time.

The chaos had already begun.
I had only given it the first stab.

Should I stop it?
Steer it?
Or simply watch as everything burned?

I had no answer.
But maybe, a new destination. A serpent’s head.

I knew that following that arrow would take me to The Capital.
What I didn’t know was where getting there would take me.