The tavern was almost empty at this hour, bathed in a pale light filtered by the dirty windows. Alone in a dark corner, Krull stared at his beer mug with gloom. His broad stiff shoulders, his eyes fixed, were indicative of restrained rage. He ruminated the shame of defeat.
The door squeaked open. Two men came in, laughing among themselves, and saluted the innkeeper.
—Old branch! said one of them. Still alive?
—Harder to kill than your ideas," replied the innkeeper, laughing. "What can I get you?"
... Two beers, and... say, did you hear the latest rumours?
The tavern-keeper raised an eyebrow. — What rumours?
The other man leaned over with a conspiratorial air. — Krull's gang... They blew themselves up in an alley by two kids! You know, these two we saw yesterday, one blond with the lost look, the other with the black hair in spikes... Caden and Zetch, let them call themselves.
Krull, out of the way, squeezed his beer. He didn't need to hear the details; they were etched into his memory.
—Seriously?! the other one laughed. Krull got his ass kicked? It seems that even the children are better than him.
—His gang is a joke now. We should send them a fruit basket, for convalescence.
The mocking laughter of the two men rang like a bell of humiliation. Krull stood up abruptly. He put some coins on the table without a word and went out of the tavern, fists tight.
Outside, the cool wind of the night did nothing to calm his anger. He walked, jaw-clenched, reliving the scene.
He remembered this alley.
Of these two children, without fear, laughing in front of them.
— So this is your gang? We had ordered a fight, not a parade of clowns, threw the man with short green hair, striking a hard blow that made one of his men fall to his knees.
And this man with orange hair and clear eyes, who had sketched a smile before sneaking into the back of another, then grabbing him by the collar to throw him violently against a pile of crates.
There were only two. Only two!
But each blow sounded as if it weighed twice, every gesture was clear, precise, too fast for us to react in time.
He clenched his teeth. How... How could they?
—I can help you understand, says a calm voice.
Krull stood defensively. At the corner of the alley stood a hooded man, his figure concealed by a long dark coat.
—Who are you? grumbled Krull.
The stranger took a step forward, without aggression.
—Just like you, I have a score to settle with them. So... why not join forces? The enemy of my enemy...
—And why should I trust you? You could be a simple fool.
—Because I'm the only one who can explain why you lost... and better yet, give you the means to never lose again.
Krull frowned, puzzled despite himself.
—You want to know why you couldn't beat them? asked the man, slowly approaching.
Krull kept silent, but his eyes became more attentive.
— You saw the one with green hair break a reinforced stick as if it were made of straw. You saw the other one throw your lieutenant violently against a pile of crates. Kids? No. Not ordinary ones. They're carriers.
Krull had a shock. — Carriers?
—Mages. Or something more... They have powers, Krull. And you? You only had your muscles.
The silence stretched. The stranger approached again, turning around Krull with a hypnotic slowness.
— But imagine, Krull... Imagine if you also had this strength. If you could overcome them, break them, crush them one by one... Become powerful, dominate this village... and even more...
Krull squinted. He was already seeing the scene: his enemies on the ground, begging. Fear in their eyes.
He smiles.
—I accept.
The stranger bowed his head, satisfied.
—Perfect.