The capital of Valthar did not sleep that night. And neither did Alex.
By the time the first gray light of dawn crept over the walls, the streets were already alive with movement - people drawn like moths to the crater that used to be the royal castle. Smoke still drifted lazily from the ruins, carrying the faint smell of scorched stone and melted gold. The summoning circle was a blackened scar in the center of the courtyard, surrounded by toppled statues and shattered marble. The king's banner lay trampled in the dust, its golden lion reduced to a muddy rag.
Alex moved through the lower districts on foot, hood up, cloak scavenged from a clothesline in an alley. He kept his pace slow, ordinary, trying to blend into the early-morning crowd. He wasn't hiding, not exactly. He just wanted to see what he'd done before the world finished deciding what to do with him.
The human citizens were easy to spot. They clustered in tight groups, whispering, eyes darting. Mothers pulled children close when he passed. An old man selling bread from a stall froze mid-slice, staring at Alex's face like he'd seen a ghost. A young woman dropped her basket of apples; they rolled across the cobblestones and no one dared pick them up while he was near.
Fear hung thick in the air around them, sharp and sour. To them he was the Butcher - regicide, destroyer, the foreign devil who'd walked out of the rubble glowing like a demon. Whispers followed him: "That's him." "He killed the king, his men..." "What if he decides we're next?"
*They're not wrong to be scared,* he thought. *I just flattened their entire government. Hard to spin that as community service.*
*You saved them from a war they would've lost anyway,* came the reply. *They'll figure that out eventually.*
*Eventually is doing a lot of heavy lifting right now.* Alex replied.
*Don't worry, everything is playing out the way we want it to." The author remarked.
*More like how you want it to,* Alex couldn't help but single him out. *I'm literally just your pawn, your walking Mary Sue.*
*Hey, it was either that or joining their ranks, and personally, that's overplayed like hell and back in these tropes,* the author explained his stance. *And I know deep down, you were not gonna let that slide, you're too good in your heart for that.*
Alex couldn't help but smirk at that last sentence. He recollected all the times he would take the blame for his siblings growing up, his mother scolding him for being too kind for his own good when it came down to his siblings. That reflected on his choice of job: being a cop to help people in his community, being a detective to give those who needed closure. And the author was clearly right, it was practically in his nature at this point. "You're right." He sighed, defeated by the author's logic. He continued on.
He turned a corner into the merchant quarter, where the crowd thinned and the architecture shifted. Here the buildings were older, patchwork, stone mixed with timber, signs in multiple scripts. Remembering his past beats as a cop, he knew this was a low income place. Non-humans moved more openly: beastkin with furred ears and tails, elves with hooded cloaks to hide pointed features, a few dwarves hauling carts of ore. They didn't scatter when he passed. Some even met his eyes.
A burly wolf-eared man loading barrels onto a wagon paused, nostrils flaring. He nodded once - short, respectful - then went back to work.
Further down the street, a fox-tailed woman selling spices leaned over her stall and spoke low as Alex walked by. "You did what the border clans prayed for every night," she said. "The king's legions burned our villages. You burned his throne instead. Thank you."
Alex stopped. Looked at her. She didn't flinch.
"I didn't do it for thanks," he said quietly. "I did it because letting it happen would've been worse."
She smiled - small, sharp, genuine. "Doesn't change that it happened. Safe travels, Otherworlder."
He nodded and kept moving, a strange warmth settling in his chest despite everything.
*Look at that, your first fan.* Author jokingly said.
*Well this is the poor side of this kingdom,* he continued to walk around. Looking at his surroundings, everyone who didn't fit the bill as a human, clearly lived here. *Places like these loathe power, just as similar as back home.*
*Whatever toots your horn dude,* author said, displeasing in his voice. *Fact of the matter is, you saved everyone from what could've been the worst calamity in existence. Keep your head high, the decision you made was the right one and I couldn't be happier to help you with it.*
A smile – small but still visible – crept up on Alex. Seeing the people here, the beast men and alike, they're smiles was worth all that bloodshed. "Yeah, you're right."
By mid-morning the wanted posters were everywhere.
**WANTED: The Butcher of Valthar**
**Crimes: Regicide, Destruction of the Royal Seat, Treason Against Humanity**
**Reward: 500,000 gold crowns – Dead or Alive**
**Description: Tall, dark hair, foreign garb (blue hooded top, strange pants), calm demeanor. Speaks to himself. Glowing eyes reported during the attack. Visible scar under his right eye.**
A rough but unmistakable charcoal sketch stared back from every wall and post: his face, mid-stride, hood half-down, eyes narrowed against the dust of the collapse. Someone had captured the moment he stepped out of the rubble. The likeness was good enough that even he had to admit it. *They got my good side,* he thought dryly.
*You have a good side?* Author mocked him.
*Shut up over there, feels like I got five stars on GTA with these hanging around.* Clearly, Alex didn't like that mocking.
*Well, even with these around, I don't think no one significantly would approach you,* author said. *It's a death sentence for sure.*
*What am I? A walking grim reaper? I'm not just gonna kill someone because they decided to look at me the wrong way,* Alex rolled his eyes, clearly showing his annoyance. *I still got my morals, I'll still help people here and there if need be.*
*Glad you said that,* Author couldn't help but laugh. Alex almost burst a vein, from the lick of arrogance from the author's voice. *You're now walking toward an adventurers' guild. This'll definitely take you in the direction I need you to go.*
*Oh? An attempt at a normal adventurers life?* Alex ever said so sarcastically.
*Hey, I'm being generous,* author explained, not liking the sarcasm in Alex's voice. *This is my way of showing you I'm not the bad guy in this. Plus, it'll be very rewarding, you'll see.*
*Hmm, fine. I'll humor you.* And without much conflict between the two, Alex made his way in that direction: the Adventurers Guild.
The guild building sat on the edge of the merchant quarter: sturdy timber and stone, sign showing a crossed sword and staff. Alex paused outside, took a breath, then pushed the door open.
The room went quiet the way rooms do when everyone recognizes trouble.
A dozen high-rankers lounged near the quest board, arms folded. At the counter stood who seemed to be Guildmaster. Guildmaster Torvald the Basher, to be precise: late forties, scarred forearms like knotted rope, hair shaved to stubble, one eye milky from an old wyvern strike, human like Alex. Behind him stood who seemed to be the ten of the guild's strongest S-ranks and near-S-ranks. Almost seemed like they were waiting, in a loose formation type way. Swords, staves, axes, all casually at rest. All pointed in the general direction of the entrance. At Alex. So much for warm welcomes.
Torvald didn't blink. "New face. You got a name?"
"Alex. Alex Reyes," He kept his hands visible. "Just looking to register. Maybe take a low-rank gathering quest. Herbs. Mushrooms. Something quiet. Not trying to bother anyone."
A few snorted. A tall woman with twin short swords leaned forward. She pulled out the same wanted poster that Alex saw before coming here. They knew. "You're the Butcher."
Alex shrugged. "Posters say so. I would prefer not to be called the Butcher."
Torvald's good eye narrowed. "You killed the king. The council. The castle. Walked out like it was nothing."
"I killed the people who were about to start a war that would've killed everyone. Big difference, but I guess you wouldn't be able to see that, even with both eyes open." Alex mocked the Guildmaster.
"You dare?!" Anger enveloped the tone of the Guildmaster's voice. "Listen here boy, don't you dare mock me. I don't care how many heads rolled before you got here, I'll make sure those are the last!" He threatened. "Doesn't change nothing about the bounty or the fact that half this room wants to collect it."
Alex glanced at the lineup. Then back at Torvald. "You're gonna need more men than this flock " Alex continued in his mocking voice. "So it seems like you're not going to let me register. At least without a fight, huh?"
Torvald cracked his knuckles. "Here's the deal. You beat me and these ten idiots behind me - clean, no killing, no maiming beyond repair – I'll personally register you, vouch for you. Guild protection. No one touches you inside these walls. Bounty hunters, nobles, soldiers - they'll have to go through us first."
Alex raised an eyebrow. "Even after all that mocking, you still offer me a generous deal? And if I say no?"
"Then we collect the bounty right here. Your choice." There it was, the ultimatum.
Silence. Then Alex laughed - quiet, tired, genuine. *You set this up, didn't you?*
*Maybe. Maybe the world just hates loose ends.* Author whistled, pretending like he had nothing to do with this ordeal.
*Asshole.* Alex sighed, annoyed.
*It takes one to know one right?* He laughed.
Alex rolled his shoulders. "Fine. Let's dance."
Torvald moved first - fast for a man his size. The warhammer came down in a brutal overhead arc, the kind that could pulp a man's skull or crater stone. Alex didn't dodge so much as flow aside, one hand snapping out to catch the haft mid-swing. Metal groaned. Torvald's eyes widened for a split second.
Alex twisted.
The hammer spun out of Torvald's grip like it had been greased, crashing through a table and embedding in the far wall up to the head. Before the guildmaster could recover, Alex stepped inside his guard and drove an open palm into the side of Torvald's skull - precise, almost gentle in execution. The crack of bone echoed like a dry branch snapping. Torvald's head snapped sideways; he dropped to one knee, then collapsed face-first, blood already leaking from his ear. The milky eye stared blankly at the floorboards.
The ten S-ranks didn't hesitate.
They came as one, confident, coordinated, the way high-rankers who'd cleared dragon nests and demon gates always did. They had seen the wanted poster. They had heard the stories. They had assumed exaggeration.
They were wrong. And Alex proceeded to prove that.
The spearman lunged first - long-reach thrust aimed at Alex's heart. Alex caught the shaft bare-handed, wood splintering under his fingers, then yanked the man forward like he weighed nothing. The spearman's face met Alex's rising knee. Nose cartilage pulped; teeth scattered across the floor like dice. He dropped screaming, clutching what was left of his face.
Twin short-swords flashed in from the flanks, woman with braided hair and a predator's grin. She expected him to block high. Instead Alex stepped low, hooked one ankle with his foot, and slammed his elbow into the back of her knee as she stumbled. The joint popped backward with a wet snap. She screamed as she fell; her second scream came when Alex stomped down on her sword-wrist, grinding the bones into gravel under his heel. Both blades clattered uselessly away.
A fireball roared from the rear - bright orange, the kind that could melt steel plate. Alex didn't flinch. He slapped it aside with an open hand like swatting a fly; the flames detonated against the wall instead, charring wood and sending burning splinters raining down. The mage's eyes widened in disbelief. Alex closed the distance in two strides, grabbed the front of her robe, lifted her one-handed, and slammed her spine-first onto the nearest table. Wood shattered. Her back arched with an audible crack - vertebrae giving way. She gasped once, then went limp, wheezing, legs twitching uselessly.
The berserker came next, seven feet of muscle and rage, greataxe already mid-swing. He roared something about glory and payment. Alex met him head-on, chest-to-chest. The axe bit into his shoulder and stopped. Skin unbroken. The blade stuck like it had hit granite. The berserker's roar turned confused. Alex reached up, fingers closing around the man's thick wrist, and twisted. Bone snapped like kindling; the axe fell. Then Alex drove his forehead into the berserker's nose, once, twice. Blood sprayed in a wide arc. On the third strike the man's eyes rolled back; he dropped like a felled tree, wrist bent at an impossible angle.
The rest came in a desperate rush.
A shield-bearer charged with tower shield raised, Alex sidestepped, hooked the shield edge, and yanked. The man's arm dislocated at the shoulder with a meaty pop; he howled as Alex followed through with a knee to the floating ribs. Something cracked inside; the man vomited blood and collapsed.
A dual-wielding rogue tried to flank - daggers flashing. Alex caught both wrists mid-strike, squeezed. Finger bones ground and shattered. The rogue screamed; Alex twisted both arms outward until the elbows hyperextended with twin cracks, then shoved him face-first into the floor. Teeth met wood. More blood.
One by one they fell - limbs broken, joints ruined, pride shattered worse than bone. No killing blows. No mercy either. Just clinical, overwhelming force that turned overconfidence into agony.
When the last S-rank, a lightning mage who'd tried to chain him with crackling arcs, hit the ground clutching a forearm bent backward at the elbow, the guild hall was silent except for labored breathing and the occasional wet cough.
Alex stood in the center of the wreckage. Not a scratch on him. His hoodie sleeve was torn where the axe had glanced off, but the skin beneath was unmarked. He looked down at Torvald, who was slowly pushing himself up on shaking arms, blood trickling from his ear.
*Not bad Batman, next time I'll throw on some fight music. Something like ACDC or maybe some Led Zeppelin. Spice up the mood.* Author joked, seeing the battle's end in Alex's favor.
*What is this? An AMV? No thanks.* Alex refused the author's request of music in the background.
Alex then crouched beside Torvald. Voice low, calm, carrying to every corner of the room. "If you're gonna come at me," he said, "You'll need more men."
Torvald stared up at him through the haze of pain. For a long moment no one spoke. Then the guildmaster laughed - hoarse, broken, but real. "Welcome… to the guild… Butcher."
"Alex is fine," sweat dropped down Alex's face. "I really don't want that name to stick, heh."
*Hey if that name sticks, you can go around and say "OI!" to everyone you meet." Author laughed.
*Someone needs to cancel your Amazon subscription…* Alex understood that reference.
Alex stood. Offered a hand. Torvald took it, wincing as he was pulled to his feet. "T-Thanks." He weakly said.
Alex sighed as the guild slowly stirred - groans, curses, someone already calling for a healer. A few of the less-broken adventurers stared at him with something new in their eyes. Not fear, exactly.
Respect. About time.
He took the registration form Torvald slid across the counter with a trembling hand and started filling it out.
Normalcy, apparently, came with compound fractures and a very clear message.
And he was okay with that, for now.