Shadow Sword of Vengeance

Lucien was amazed by the sword—it carried the legacy of great warriors, as Peter had explained. 

"This is your responsibility now. To have this sword entrusted to you is the greatest honor a warrior can receive. Fulfill your purpose of vengeance and 'Fight against them until the mischief ends and the way prescribed by God prevails.' Paint these snowy white peaks crimson and turn the clear rivers red." Peter spoke in a thunderous, enthusiastic tone, echoed by the others. 

Lucien unsheathed his sword, kissed it, and nodded. 

Peter then picked up a bow from the chest, walked forward, and handed it to Lucien. 

"Since you cannot fight long-ranged opponents, accept this as well," he said. 

Lucien obliged. He was already highly skilled with a bow and arrows but avoided carrying them as they were a hindrance while traveling on foot. To resolve this, he was given a white-colored horse to ease his journey and carry his equipment. The horse was wrapped in leather for warmth and carried a blanket and a water bottle. This generous provision significantly boosted Lucien's confidence in his mission. He thanked everyone present and promised to wield his new weapons wisely. 

They all sat down, and Peter spoke gravely. 

"The sinners have started hiring mercenaries to eliminate those who stand in their way. The kingdom's guards are supporting them, as you might have noticed. The king is being threatened, and spies within our government could easily have him killed... This is a dire threat to our land, one that could lead to destruction. We must stop them." 

Despite the seriousness of the situation, they remained confident yet humble. 

"Stronger mercenaries are being sent starting today," said a man from the kingdom's governance. "The weaker ones were brutally slaughtered." 

"They will now send the disciples of 'Sins' since regular mercenaries have failed," he added, and the others nodded in agreement. 

Before long, the meeting concluded, and most of the attendees departed, leaving only Peter, Milerin, and Munir. 

Milerin turned to Lucien. "Would you like to train for a while?" he asked. 

Lucien agreed. 

Without wasting any time, Lucien and Milerin began to spar. 

Despite Milerin's age, his strength surpassed that of many younger men, and his skills rivaled the kingdom's best warriors, honed through years of experience. Facing him was a tremendous challenge, yet Lucien managed to keep up, astonishing the onlookers. 

They exchanged sword strikes and kicks, yet neither fell. It was a draw. 

The session was interrupted by Peter. "Lucien, you must train to improve your strength. Your speed and skill are already extraordinary." 

Lucien agreed, and Munir led him to a mountain. A waterfall cascaded from above, and unlike the surrounding snowy peaks, this area was lush with greenery and vibrant trees. 

Munir tied a heavy stone around Lucien's waist and instructed him to climb the steep, vertical mountain. The sheer incline made even an unburdened climb a near-death experience—one slip, and he would fall to his doom. 

Yet Lucien showed no hesitation. He began the ascent without fear. 

At first, the climb was manageable, but with every passing moment, it grew harder, demanding immense strength and stamina. However, there was no other choice—climb or die. 

Sweat dripped from Lucien's face despite the piercing cold. Just as exhaustion was about to make him collapse, his goal flashed through his mind. Renewed determination surged within him, and he pushed forward, eventually reaching the top. 

But the trial was not over. Munir now instructed him to run across the mountain's peak while carrying the heavy stone in his hands, then descend. 

Lucien obeyed without complaint, though each step intensified the pain in his body. At one point, he could no longer move, but Munir refused to let him stop, constantly pushing him forward. 

His training also included swinging his sword with rocks tied to his arms and legs, adding further resistance to every strike. 

By sunset, Lucien, exhausted, walked toward a wooden hut to rest, appreciating the beauty of nature and the calming mountain breeze. 

The next day, he resumed his training, increasing the weight and engaging in even more sparring. He also honed his archery and dagger skills. 

After multiple days of immense but beneficial training, Lucien was finally ready to leave. 

He bid farewell to everyone present, pulled his hood over his head, and covered his face with a mask as usual. Mounting his horse, he prepared to set off. 

"Your name will be Misk, my beloved. From now on, we travel together," he murmured to his horse in a gentle tone. 

He exited from a different route that didn't require crossing the river and went on his journey. 

His first stop was a town he was going to before being attacked. 

As he passed through lands and mountains with his horse and newly found strength, his confidence touched the sky. 

A few days had passed, and Lucien was walking with his horse alongside a frozen river, talking to musk had become his habit now. 

But, soon enough he reached the town and entered through a beautiful gate. 

It was filled with people, due to the entrance also being a market, this place was crowded with salesmen and customers alongside guards. 

As Lucien continued walking while seeing the shops there, he noticed a dispute between the shopkeeper and a soldier. 

"At least pay, half of what you take for god's sake. We work hard to collect food and sell here to feed our families" Cried the salesman 

The soldier slapped him and said "Be grateful, that I'm not taking everything you have for my friends. And don't you dare speak in front of me again" 

The salesman went silent and nodded in obedience. 

Now, even the soldiers were acting like mercenaries, and looting people of money and food instead of doing what they ought to. 

After the soldier left, Lucien walked toward the shopkeeper and paid him for what the soldier had taken earlier. 

The shopkeeper after hesitating accepted it while praying for victory and health for Lucien. 

All of this was seen by someone standing on the roof of a house. 

He wasn't a soldier nor a mercenary but the way he looked was dangerous.