Ordinarily he wouldn't have been caught dead in a backwater like Saxony, but he was here on personal business. His personal affairs were always worthwhile.
It was your typical farmhouse you see everywhere throughout the Holy Roman Empire. He had located this particular one with great difficulty. The Germans were a cold people, unwilling to share their secrets with simple travelers like him. Well, he'd taught them some manners. He patted Nirvana's hilt.
He was walking towards the front door when he suddenly stopped and closed his eyes. He could hear the laughter of a young boy, a boy who'd had a happy childhood. A boy who loved and idolized his father. He smiled. Yes, this was the place all right.
He reached forward and knocked at the door with a white hand. It would have been a simple matter for him to shatter it but he didn't. How chivalrous of me, he thought.
The door opened a crack and a sliver of a woman's face looked out at him.
"Who are you?" She asked after a few moments of silence.
"You are Margaret Schtauffen, Siegfried's mother, yes?"
The eyes widened. She pulled the door open. Standing there was a middle aged woman. Her forehead was creased with wrinkles and her blonde hair was greying. She wore a stained white apron over simple peasant clothing. Typical German, he thought. A sneer began to spread across his face. She didn't notice.
"Siegfried? You know about my boy? He hasn't been home for four years now!. Do you know where-" He reached into his cloak.
"Tell him-" he grabbed her by the neck and plunged the blade into her midsection. He stared into her desperate eyes as he spoke: "-that Cervantes de Leon wants his sword back." He threw the limp body forward and left quickly. The German countryside was too cold for his liking.