The Enforcer

Brandit tossed another glass across the room in his rage,
the sharps of the drinking cup landing on the floor, joining the pieces of
previously thrown objects. He cursed once again on how he had been bested by
nothing but a common woodsman who prevented him from taking care of a slayer of
the King’s animals. Such a loss was an embarrassment to his name, which was
covered in gold. Brandit had no intention of having that hold melted off.

“I don’t know who this man is, but he better not be in the
forest when I make my return” Brandit spoke to no one but himself. His large,
expensive room was quiet, without the usual hooker or soldier reporting the
daily executions and such.

Ever since he had been defeated, Brandit began sharpening
his skills with the blade almost instantaneously. If one of the stupid peasants
could beat him, he reasoned that others could do as well, and maybe even easier
than before.  He was the enforcer of the
law, and he was preparing himself to bring his wrath onto the people, a
practice he did often when in a bad mood. He had already alerted his men that
there would be mass amounts of public killings tomorrow and to get ready for
when they came around.

“If I do ever find this man, I will be much better and much
more alert than our first encounter. He won’t expect me to improve, he’ll never
see me coming” Brandit went on. He began to become self-aware of his ramblings
and quickly shut up.

A soldier opened up the door, quickly said “We’ve got
another one” and left promptly afterwards. A peasant was forced into the room,
and he looked like the same as the others to Brandit; dirty, rotten, useless,
and overly nervous.

“Stealing, I believe, is punishable by death” Brandit said,
beginning what would be a very brief conversation. He knew all of the common
cases of law-breaking, and he could tell from the man’s hands that he had

“I’m poor, sir… very poor. The government doesn’t give, only
takes, I had to get something!” the man pleaded. Brandit was hardly listening;
he was already pulling his dagger out from a drawer in his polished oak desk.

“The law is the law” Brandit replied simply. “Follow it or
don’t and get penalized. That’s how it has been and that’s how it always has

“Stealing, sir, isn’t even enforced by the death penalty…”
the man said, his voice trailing as Brandit brought the dagger up. He flipped
it in his hand; he had practiced for quite some time already with daggers and
about the many ways to use them.

“You waste my time, all of you damn peasants. The day you
fall in line is a day that will never come apparently” Brandit said. He
straightened up in his chair. “I’m done with you. Thank you for your time, you
pathetic animal”.

With blinding speed, Brandit tossed the dagger in a
perfectly straight line towards the unfortunate peasant’s face. It hit with a
sickening sound of metal embedding in flesh, the man’s expression turned to
that of pain and surprise. Brandit walked over to the now dead man and calmly
pulled his dagger out of his skull. Blood poured out of the wound and splatted
on the floor. With a small push, the corpse fell onto the ground.

“Someone clean this mess up!” Brandit called. “I have no
intention of touching that thing”.

Brandit exited his room on his way to continue his sword
training, making sure to slam the door as he left.

The End

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