The dark nite enveloped the city. In one of the residential apartments, a man in a slightly tight black shirt sat on the edge of the bed, his head and back facing the ground as if he were carrying a mountain on them. His hair was white and as bright as snow, his skin pale, with veins visible throughout his body as if he were a corpse. He lifted his head with difficulty and turned to the bathroom mirror. There, a cold, merciless face reflected back at him, with a scar adorning the left side of his face from above his eyebrow to below his chin, extending to his other eye. His irises were as red as fresh blood. He wiped his face with his hands and sighed heavily, a long sigh. He returned his gaze to the mirror, where the cold reflection awaited him.
He whispered quietly but with a tone that carried deep anger, "How long must I endure this crap..."
He came out of the bathroom and returned to his bed.
Next to the bed, there was a long sword with dried blood stains on it.
Grab him by the collar and drag him to the bathroom.
He was dragging him as if he were dragging.
Sins
My sins
Innocent souls whose blood was shed without a real reason.
He turned on the water faucet and closed the bathtub drain so it would fill up with hot water.
Steam is rising from the inside, and his face is reflected on the water.
But it's not exactly his reflection.
It was just a reflection a few minutes ago.
His face is smeared with the blood of an entire family, or... Grandmother... Father... Child
He furrowed his brows in anger and threw his sword into the hot water, causing it to splash around the bathtub.
He muttered while holding the sword and cleaning it with a towel, "How do you feel, Coach Maxton?" Are you proud that you followed orders without batting an eye? Or are you angry with yourself because you killed a family? Among them was a small child who begged for his life... And what I did was truly kind... I stabbed him in the heart.
He noticed his hand and saw that the sword had left a mark on it due to the pressure. All he did was throw the sword back into the hot water and return to bed.
He was lying down, his face buried in the pillow as if trying to suffocate thoughts and guilt.
Whispers coming from inside the pillow
"You are a fighter..." You shouldn't have a conscience... He was an enemy... You must follow the orders...
"But..."
He said it slowly while raising his hand and turning his face toward the large window, a window overlooking the vast city.
The rest of the family... They are not to blame... Especially... The two children... A child still discovering the world... And the other hasn't seen the light yet...
Yes, the enemy's wife, as Coach called her, was eight months pregnant, and Coach... He killed her without hesitation.
He extended his trembling hand, grabbed his phone, and selected Elia's number from the contact list.
His hands were trembling slightly as he wrote a short letter to Lilia.
"I can't take it anymore, Elia. I want to withdraw, even if it means being exiled from the kingdom. I can't kill more souls."
He sent the message, then turned off the phone and placed it quietly on the table beside the bed, a simple wooden table.
Despite the large size of the apartment, its beautiful shape, and its distinctive view, Coach had grown tired of this routine that did nothing but kill.
After a few minutes, Coach's phone rang with a message.
He answered the phone, and it was Ilya.
"If you really want to withdraw?" That's a good thing. Open the door to your apartment; I'll be there in fifteen minutes.
The coach stood up and arranged some things in the apartment.
He hid his sword and threw the mop in the trash.
Finally, the doorbell rang.
Coach approached the wooden door and opened it slowly.
Behind him stood a tall man with a dark complexion, one eye black and the other closed with a long scar crossing it, revealing a past that no one had seen.
The coach stepped aside a bit to let Elia in.
Elia entered and closed the door behind him.
Elia noticed Coach's footsteps.
Heavy steps
Regretful
Elijah sighed as the coach continued to drag his feet with difficulty.
Elia stopped before entering the hall and, with his usual deep voice, asked, "So..." "Do you want to stop?"
Coach paused for a moment, his head lowered, and he clenched his fist until the veins in his hand stood out.
Elijah raised his eyebrows and grabbed Coach's shoulder from behind, "What do you think... To change from a killer to an executioner?
Kotch turned with a look of surprise toward Elia and continued, "So you will kill people who broke the laws."
Coach opened his mouth to speak, but Ilya interrupted him.
"And I will make sure that the person truly deserves death and is not wronged..." What do you think?
He turned his gaze toward the bathroom.
Where his sword is still sinking in the water
He lowered his gaze and whispered softly, "I will think about it..."
Elia smiled warmly at him and patted Coach on the shoulder.
He walked toward the kitchen, which was as clean as if it hadn't been used for days. The kitchen was white, and in the middle, there was a sink and a spacious area for dining, along with an electric kettle.
He took it and filled it with water from the tap.
He took a box from one of the kitchen shelves, took a plant, and placed it in the boiling water.
The smell rose from the electric kettle.
And the scent came like an old dream...
Something between wild honey and damp earth under a gentle sun.