The armed man brought the spear down hard.

The driver stumbled back, hands raised, and the spear shaft cracked across his shoulder instead of his head. He folded with a sharp cry, knees hitting the dirt.

The man with the ledger stepped forward, voice calm and measured, speaking words that didn't carry up the rise.

Gabriel moved.

He didn't hurry. He walked down the slope at the same pace he had kept all day, boots striking the road in steady rhythm. His hand drifted to the hilt over his shoulder, fingers settling around the grip without pulling it free yet.

The armed men didn't see him at first.

Their attention stayed on the travellers, on the carts, on the family pressed together near the edge of the road. One of them kicked the fallen driver, not hard, just enough to make a point. Another moved toward the nearest cart and reached for the canvas covering the load.

Gabriel closed the distance.

The man nearest to him turned at the last moment, instinct catching movement where there shouldn't have been any. His eyes widened as he registered the figure approaching, then dropped to the blade being drawn.

He opened his mouth.

Gabriel's sword slashed him across the throat before sound formed, the blade cutting deep enough to sever everything that mattered. Blood sprayed wide as the body dropped, twitching once before going still.

The road went silent.

For a single breath, no one moved.

Then everything collapsed at once.

The man with the ledger stepped back, hand going to his belt. The one near the cart spun, spear coming up in a clumsy guard. Another shouted something that might have been a warning or a command.

Gabriel didn't stop.

He stepped over the fallen man and closed the distance before the others could react. His blade came up in a tight swing, catching the spearman's thrust mid-reach and turning it wide. The opening appeared immediately, and he drove the second blade through it, punching into the man's side just below the ribs and angling up.

The man's breath left him in a wet gasp.

Gabriel ripped the blade free and let him collapse.

The spear fell.

Another attacker closed from the left, drawing a short sword mid-stride. This one moved sharper than the others, trained enough to matter.

Steel met steel.

The strike rang clear, and Gabriel absorbed the force without stepping back. He twisted his wrists and broke the bind, forcing the man's blade down and away. His second sword followed immediately, cutting across the man's forearm in a clean horizontal slash that opened skin and muscle to the bone.

The sword dropped from nerveless fingers.

Gabriel didn't give him time to react. He stepped in and drove both blades into the man's chest in a single brutal motion, one under each collarbone, crossing them as they punched through. The man's eyes went wide, mouth opening soundlessly.

The former Paladin wrenched the blades outward and stepped back as the body collapsed between them.

Three down.

The others broke.

One of them ran immediately, abandoning the ledger where it had fallen and sprinting toward the trees without looking back. Another hesitated, caught between fight and flight, then turned and followed.

The last one stayed.

He had moved to the family during the chaos, blade raised, using them as cover or leverage or both. His eyes darted between Gabriel and the road behind him, weighing options that were already gone.

"Don't," Gabriel said.

The man's grip tightened on the blade.

Gabriel stepped forward.

The man lunged, not at Gabriel, but at the father standing closest to him. Desperation rather than strategy. A final attempt to force a different outcome.

Gabriel crossed the distance before the blade could fall.

His sword came down on the man's wrist, shearing through bone and tendon in a single stroke that sent the hand spinning away, still gripping the blade. The man screamed and staggered back, clutching the stump as blood poured between his fingers.

Gabriel didn't let him fall.

He stepped in and drove his blade through the man's open mouth and out the back of his skull, the steel punching through teeth and bone before erupting out the back in fragments. The scream cut off instantly.

Gabriel pulled the blade free and stepped back as the body collapsed.

The road went quiet again.

He stood still for a moment, breathing evenly, the blades held low at his sides. Crimson liquid ran down the steel in thick rivulets and dripped into the dirt without sound. The bodies lay where they had fallen, already cooling in the evening air.

Gabriel turned toward the well at the side of the road.

He knelt and plunged both blades into the water, watching the blood cloud and drift before pulling them free. He wiped them once on the grass, then sheathed them across his back.

The travellers remained frozen.

Not scattered. Not fleeing. Just standing where they had been, staring at the space where violence had been and was no longer.

Shock, not fear.

They were looking at him, not away.

One of the drivers swallowed hard and took a step forward. His voice came out rough, unsteady, but not quiet.

"Thank you."

The words hung in the air.

Another traveller nodded, then another. The father with his family pressed close, stepped forward slightly, meeting Gabriel's eyes for a brief moment before lowering his head in acknowledgement.

"We thought-" the driver started, then stopped. He shook his head instead. "Thank you."

Not loudly. Not reverently. Grateful in the way people were when they expected to die and didn't.

A woman near the second cart clasped her hands together briefly, then released them. "Blessed be," she said quietly. Not to the Church. Not to a saint. Just to him.

One of the other men stepped closer, closer than the others had dared. His eyes found Gabriel's, red and steady in the fading light, and he didn't recoil.

"We owe you, traveller," he said simply.

Gabriel felt something shift in his chest.

Not pride. Not satisfaction.

Recognition without judgment.

The warmth was brief and unwanted, settling somewhere he had learned not to notice. He pushed it down before it could linger.

He nodded once.

Then he turned and walked past them, past the carts, past the bodies still bleeding into the road. His pace didn't change. His posture didn't shift. He simply left before conversation could begin.

Behind him, the travellers began to move again. Voices rose, uncertain at first, then firmer. Carts creaked as they were righted. The family huddled together, speaking in low tones.

Gabriel didn't look back.

…

Night fell while he walked.

The road stretched on, empty now, the traffic long since dispersed to inns and campsites hidden beyond the tree line. The sky deepened from grey to black, stars appearing one by one in the cold air above.

He stopped when he found water.

A narrow stream cut across the road, shallow enough to cross without effort. He knelt beside it and rolled up his sleeves, plunging his hands into the cold water. Blood washed away, swirling briefly before the current carried it downstream.

He scrubbed until his hands were clean, then dried them on his cloak.

For a moment, he simply knelt there, listening to the water move over stone.

Then he bowed his head.

"Dearest Mazrion," he said quietly.

The words came without thought, familiar and worn smooth by repetition.

He stopped.

His hands rested on his knees, fingers curling slightly against the fabric. The stream kept moving. The night kept settling. The world kept turning without waiting for him to finish.

He didn't pray for thanks.

He didn't pray for forgiveness.

He simply knelt in the dark, alone, and let the silence answer him.

After a while, he rose and continued walking.

The road stretched on ahead, empty and waiting.

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