There was something wrong and Indo wasn’t certain what exactly. He ducked as a pan thrown through a nearby window sailed dangerously close to his head.

  The villagers were acting strangely. They called him a deeeeeaamon, screaming nonsensically too, no matter how many times Indo denied it and shouted his true name back at them. His voice had become quite hoarse from all the shouting, which made the villagers even more enraged.

  As more and more adults exited their houses it became increasingly hard to dodge the rocks and household items they threw at him.

  He tried wiping at the troll’s blood that was slowly dripping on his forehead but his sleeves were equally soaked resulting in a red smear that did little to improve his crimson looks.

  Retreating from the onslaught only gave the villagers courage to pursue, and Indo was forced to move past the haunted house to the treeline at the edge of the village. There was a tense standoff moment as both sides considered each other.

  Indo gawked perplexed at what to do. This haunted house business had gone all wrong despite his winnings. He only wished to return to the orphanage, wash the stinky giant’s blood away, and eat the meager supper they would soon be served. It wouldn’t even matter to him to gloat over his achievement with the others.

  The mob, swelling in numbers finally decided on an action. They rushed at him wielding pitchforks, howling a merry tune of pure madness.

  Indo’s eyes widened and he bolted into the trees. They were the demons he thought frantically.

  Running in the woods at night made it easier for him to take the lead as the mob in an unorganized rush bumped and shouted at each other in the dark.

  Surprisingly Indo felt faster. Stronger too and he didn’t stop his mad dash until he heard no more shouting coming from his rear. Normally it would be quite impossible for him to outrun adult men, but once he was out of sight the darkness helped hide the trail of his passing.

  “Stupid haunted house,” He muttered to the darkness grumbling at his luck. The way ahead would dump him on a steep cliffside, and Indo decided he was far enough away from trouble to safely intercept the dirt road heading off from the village.

  The downward slope had a comfortable angle, it made him feel like he was having a stroll instead. Owls and other nightly predators smelling blood stalked alongside him but the warrior in him didn’t fear such meager challenges. He had his deadly knife safely pocketed. If it could kill a giant, it could easily slay any beast this forest offered.

  Maybe this situation was for the best, Indo thought and smiled bitterly, gulping down the bitterness stuck in his throat. There was nothing left in that village for him. His real adventures had just begun…a bit dirty, hungry, and tired, yes, but nothing would stop him from doing as he pleased.

  So he found a bush and lay down to sleep. A warrior should rest after a hard-fought battle.

  —-

  Indo woke up to a commotion–loud shouting in the distance. If he had been in the orphanage, it would have quite possibly involved him but luckily not this time. He yawned and turned the other way.

  —

  Indo woke up to a commotion–someone was crushing wood among other things. He squinted at the sky, not yet bright enough to be called anything but early morning. There was only one thing that should be done at this hour. He closed his eyes.

  —-

  Indo woke up refreshed and ready to start his day, yawning loudly. Only the hunger bothered him, but that was an old friend that kept him company. He had a plan in his mind. Soon, after he had gotten up, he would set a course to the nearest village and beg for food. Not a warriorly thing to do, but he had few options.

  His skin was itchy from the dried blood and he couldn’t smell himself but he probably stunk. He also quite quickly discovered that a colony of ants had found him quite appetizing and was crawling all over the place.

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  “Argh,” He bolted upright and patted himself free of the invasive insects, turning quite a few into a paste that clung onto his clothes together with the dried blood. A cacked matted itchy mix.

  Just wonderful. He thought sarcastically.

  Nevertheless, he had to get going. He had places to be and foods to beg for. With a little hop to commensurate the day’s start, he waddled through the dense foliage.

  It wasn’t long until he emerged into an empty dirt road. He squinted his eyes both ways but no enemy was in sight. Okay, it was clear to go.

  So without much pondering, he chose the way leading away from the village that had fostered him, had helped mold him into the person he was today, and he left carrying with him just the dirty clothes he wore and a tad bit of regret and of course his trusty knife.

  He took measured steps, avoiding the random boulder emerging into the road, walking casually without a care in the world. The dusty road led through overlooking trees that more often than not leaned heavily over his path.

  His worn loyal boots carried their owner with grace. He wouldn’t trade them for anything, except maybe a bigger pair, they were feeling a little stuffed at the moment.

  But beggars couldn’t be choosers. Wait, he was a warrior now. He shook his head to dizzy the naughty thoughts away from his mind and decided that his gear needed an upgrade. As was right for somebody of his station.

  He felt like whistling and tried to, but for all his effort he had never quite achieved the skill. It was sometime later and quite the spit drooling onto his chin from failing to produce the chirping sound that he met the old man.

  “DEMON! BEGONE THEE,” the old man shouted, covering his heart with a hand as if the symbolism could protect him from the netherbeast that appeared.

  “Not again,” Indo murmured, “I’m not a demon old man,” he replied with conviction but stopped to asses this new situation.

  “Then, what are you neatherborn?” he asked wild-eyed taking a few steps backward, his long robes dragging onto the dirt and unfortunately snagging on a protruding stick.

  The old man gasping crushed on the ground with a thump and didn’t get up.

  “Shit,” Indo said. He moved with the grace of a warrior to save the old man from his ill-fated fall but when he loomed over the still body, the old man opened his unfocused eyes and with a look of terror fainted once again.

  What's wrong with him? Indo considered. He must have hit his head, but after looking him over, Indo noticed that the old man held wounds, scrapes, and bruises that were definitely not new.

  It would be a mistake to leave such a helpless old man to his fate, even after he called him a demon, which was obviously wrong. Yet Indo had the principles of the righteous, so he struggled to lift the body only to find the limits of his meager strength.

  Depressed, he sat by the side of the road and waited for the old man to wake up. The caked blood covering his hands gave him the itch. He rubbed at them, scrabbing at the cause of his discomfort, and with his meticulous actions he cleaned them up pretty well.

  He was starting to get bored when thankfully the old man groaned awake. This time Indo kept his distance. Apparently, the old man’s wits were unstable, and he didn’t want to shake him into another fit.

  “Wh-where am I?” The old man asked eyeing the sky.

  “You are where I found you,” Indo replied. He kicked at a little rock near his boot that rolled a few feet forward.

  “Arg, it's YOU!” The old man shouted accusingly when he finally noticed Indo sitting there.

  “Are you well old man?” Indo asked concerned for his well-being. He wanted to get this over with so he could continue on his way to the village and the potential first meal in quite some time.

  “I’m–I’m not well, obviously,” The old man glared, and Indo cursed his luck. This complicated his simple plan for the day.

  “What ails you? Do you need any help?” Indo inquired in a dejected tone.

  “What? Who-who are you? I don’t need any help from your kind!” The old man said with a tremble. He had lifted himself halfway out of the ground, but a grimace revealed he was in pain.

  “You don’t have to be rude,” Indo replied frowning. “I only wanted to help. But if that is what you want, I’m leaving. Good day, Sir,” he said and a smile of hope emerged on his lips.

  “Wait!” The old man shouted and Indo paused his stride, instantly losing his improving mood.

  “What is it now?” he asked fearing for the worst.

  “You aren’t a demon? Right?” The old man asked narrowing his eyes at a sudden realization.

  “Of course not.” Indo scoffed at the accusation.

  “Then why are you… like this?” The old man said pointing at him with an exaggerated motion.

  “Like what exactly?” Indo said hawking his eyes. This old man was quite rude, maybe he didn’t deserve to be saved.

  “Like you bathed in the blood of innocents,” The old man indicated.

  “Huh,” Indo didn’t know what to reply to that. Was this the reason for all the dumbfuckery that happened? Hmm, they couldn’t be so stupid. Or..or could they? After considering it for a moment, this was it. They were stupid.

  “I’m sorry to have confused you, old man, but I was in a battle, and this is what came of it,” Indo said. He was proud even, now he could finally show off his success.

  The old man blinked, and cackled, his form shaking, which soon ended in a dry heaving cough. Indo waited for the old man to finish, shaking his head in pity. The old man’s wits had left him.

  After loudly clearing his throat and spitting out the disgusting content that had irritated it, the old man spoke.

  “Boy, you gave me the scares, damn you. I even hit my head. Thought a little netherbeast had portaled-in to take my soul. What a day today, huh,” He fussed almost to himself. “Come here and help me up.”

  It was as he feared. Indo parted with thoughts of early breakfast and gave the old man a hand, pulling him up. He leaned heavily on his right foot, rubbing tentatively at the left hip.

  With less, and less enthusiasm Indo steered the old man toward the nearby village. The pace was sluggish, heroing turned out to be difficult work but he was obligated to offer his services to the less fortunate. He was a warrior at the end of the day.

  “Whatever, what happened to you?” Indo asked when his curiosity bested him.

  “Bandits,” the old man hissed at the memory. “They stole my cart! Everything I owned was in there. If only I were a few years younger,” He said in anger throwing a fist at the sky.

  “Oh, there are bandits nearby?” Indo asked focusing his eyes on the target with interest. This could be his second chance at proving his worth. Bandits, huh! Sounded like a plan.

  “Yes,” The old man said slumping his shoulder on Indo, oblivious to the enthusiasm of his young bearer. “We’d better make it quick to the village and warn them. Maybe they’ll pity us and give us a free meal.”

  The mention of food took Indo out of his musings. “A free meal?” He asked with even greater enthusiasm. Finally, his day was coming together. What a lucky day.