Chapter 1: The Swordsman

The tavern was quite busy tonight. People came in and ordered drinks and food, but mostly drinks. A group of musicians played a lively tune next to the bar. The bartender served drinks to the bar patrons and a waitress went from table to table collecting food orders. All the tables had multiple people at them busily talking to each other about one thing or another.

All except the one table at the back of the tavern, its lone occupant half-hidden in the shadows. The occupant was a young man, twenty-one years old at best. He wore a long red coat that was split on the bottom once in the middle of the back and twice in the front. His hair was blonde and fell in unruly locks to frame his face. He had cerulean eyes that could enchant girls in an instant and the next they could be as cold as ice. If any could have seen his face, they would see an X-shaped scar on his left cheek. Any swordsman who saw the scar knew that they were old wounds made from a sword. Two swords were attached to his back in a single sheath, positioned so that one hilt was behind his left shoulder while its partner was just behind his right hip. The swords were unusual to say the least; both were slightly curved like scimitars, but not quite as curved. The hilt guards were the hilts themselves; the hilts were larger and wider than the blades. The hilts appeared to be perfectly shaped for combat; they were white in color and were shaped to allow total control of the blade in combat. He also had a single sword of similar design two the other two positioned behind his right shoulder. The hilt on this one was tightly wrapped in crisscrossing bands of a very dark blue, almost black fabric that went from the bottom of the hilt guard to the metal bottom of the hilt; the hilt guard was a dull yellow.

The young man never spoke to anyone other than the waitress. When he did it was only to order another drink. The bartender and waitress kept everyone away from him, he never sat with anyone. The bartender kept that table especially for its lone occupant; it was at the back of the tavern giving the young swordsman a perfect view of whoever entered the tavern. That was the arrangement. In exchange for a small sum, the young man would be left alone.

Suddenly a group of men entered the tavern and instantly everyone, including the musicians, became silent. The intruders were scruffy looking and dressed in filthy clothes. Many of them had scars from previous duels, showing that they were no amateurs. But what had made everyone go silent were the red sword hilts that were above each man's right shoulder. Everyone knew what those crimson colored hilts meant; those men were part of the infamous gang: The Blood Blades. One of them strode forward, obviously the leader, and spoke in a loud voice. "Greetin's all ye good people. As ya probably guessed, we're part o' the Blood Blades an' unless ya'll wan' trouble ye'll hand over yer rupees. Now, now don' git excited, think o' this as protection money. Stand up." As he spoke, his men went forward and began collecting the money from the terrified tavern patrons. A pair of the thugs approached the table at the back. The bartender and the waitress looked at each other with a knowing grin, things were about to get interesting.

The thugs approached the young man. The only response to the intruders the swordsman gave was to put his mug down, his right hand casually drifted to rest on the sword hilt behind his hip. As the thugs approached one spoke. "Maybe yer hard of hearin' mate. He just said ta stand up."

The young man gave no reply. The other thug reached forward saying. "Didn't ya hear me friend?"

The next instant could only be described as all hell breaking loose. There was a blur of motion as the young man stood up, holding his sword in an unorthodox reverse grip. The thug that had been reaching for him let out a scream that drew all eyes. The thug was staring at the stumps where his hands used to be and then at the blood dripping from the young man's sword. His partner let out an angry bellow and reached for his sword… an instant later, both thugs lay dead on the floor, one's head removed and the other lay in two pieces. All of the other thugs let out bellows and attacked the lone swordsman. No more than five seconds later all the thugs lay dead. The young man stood facing the leader who, instead of attacking like his men, had casually drawn his sword. The thug leader seemed unfazed by the turn of events as he looked at the man who had slain nine people in less than a minute as he called out. "Yer quite the swordsman ain't ya? Would ye be interested in joinin' The Blood Blades?" Silence was his answer as the young man approached, blood dripping off his blade as he altered his grip so that his blade was no longer held reverse style and drew the sword's twin from behind his left shoulder. The thug leader noticed that the twin blades had a single word etched into them. He read the word aloud. "Sounga." He looked at the young man's eyes and shuddered. The eyes were as icy as death. The thug leader had seen those kinds of eyes before; those were the eyes of a ruthless killer. "What kind of a name is that for a sword?" He asked as he adopted a ready stance. "When you get to Hell I'm sure my boys'll make it even more painful fer…" Before he could say another word, the young man was behind him and blood sprayed from multiple cuts on the thug leader's arms and chest as the dying man fell to the ground.

"When you're going to kill, kill don't talk." The young man said in a cold tone as he wiped the blood from his swords and replaced them in their sheath. Walking back to his table, the swordsman tossed a purple rupee to the bartender. "Sorry about the mess."

Before the tavern patrons could do anything, the bartender raised his voice, "The tavern is closed now!" He called out. "Collect your things, pay your bills, and leave!" The crowd quickly complied, many of them frightened at the bloodshed they had just witnessed. When all of the patrons had gone, the bartender and waitress walked over to the young man's table and sat down. "Thank you my friend." The bartender said to the young man.

"If you want to thank me," The young swordsman said with a smile, "I'll have another drink."

"Sure thing Link!" The young red haired waitress said as she ran to pour another cup of tea. It was the only thing that Link ever drank.

"Thanks Malon." Link said as he glanced at the dead bodies that littered the floor. "I am sorry about the mess Talon."

"It's nothing." Talon waved his hand in a dismissive manor. "If it hadn't been for you, there would be other bodies on that floor instead of those bloody bastards over there." The bartender grinned, "Besides, a little work and no one will know that there was blood on the floor."

"You mean I'll work my fingers to the bone while you nap!" Malon said mock indignantly as she returned with Link's tea. All three laughed, it was an old joke between them. In truth, Talon worked just as hard as his daughter to keep their tavern going. In fact the two of them even competed with each other on occasion to see who worked the hardest.

"So Link," Talon said turning back to the young man. "what are your plans for tomorrow?"

Link sipped his tea before answering "Go and collect the bounty on those thugs."

"When are you ever going to give up this dangerous lifestyle?" Malon demanded.

"When I feel like it." Link replied coldly. "We've been over this before Malon."

"But…" Malon was about to say more but Talon cut her off.

"Young lady that is enough! The matter is closed. Link has already made up his mind." Talon glared at her. "Now go to bed."

"Yes daddy." Malon sighed as she left the table and headed upstairs.

"You shouldn't be so cold Link." Talon remarked. "She only wants to help."

"I've told you before Talon," Link growled finishing off his tea, "It's none of your or her business."

"Alright alright." Talon said, raising his hands in a gesture of surrender as he stood up. "No need to bare your fangs Link." He yawned, "Well good night. If you feel like it you can always use our guest bedroom…"

"The roof will do just fine." Link said as he walked out the back door. "Good night, Talon."

Once outside, the young man quickly and expertly scaled the tavern's wall. A feat most people would have considered impossible, but Link was not 'most people'. In a matter of seconds, the young swordsman was sitting with his back to the chimney and began to doze, his right hand gripping one of the twin hilts.