Daryl spent the night riding back through the village square of Autumnfront—the only place that ever felt like home for him—on his black horse Stalwart. He and his steed were no strangers to the flat, barren terrain of the region. Beige dirt and gravel shot in the air with each gallop, with the occasional crunch of a fallen tree branch under the horse's hooves. The only thing that gave life to the area was the modest population of villagers bustling around the square's perimeter. During the day, the square would be busy with merchants selling various—often times overpriced—foods to bony customers, children with greyish black smudges on their cheeks running around carelessly, and the intermittent families who passed through in carriages.

An elderly man wearing a lavender, silk-like garb was riding out of the square in a carriage pulled by a white horse with a spotless mane. Around the collar of his shirt was a golden, swirling pattern that sparkled in the sunlight. With his nose in the air as two beggars followed him and shouted for money, it was clear to Daryl that the man was a noble. As the swordsman passed him by, he could feel the noble's distaste for him before he even glanced at him. The noble had a look of confusion and appalment seeing the dark swordsman ride through. Daryl met his glare with indifference after becoming numb to the disgust of complete strangers throughout his years of work.

The beggars stopped dead in their tracks to gaze in awe at Daryl's arrival. Although it was clear to them that Daryl was about as well-off as the noble, their pleas went silent. This was a normal reaction Daryl got from the villagers. Whatever it was they felt about him or his profession, there was always a sense of marvel whenever he passed by a crowd. He got plenty of looks from the people as he went on. Some were scared of what he might have in the two large sacks in the wagon tied to the horse's harness—one of them stained brownish-red on the side—some excited to see the famous swordsman collecting yet another bounty. It no longer mattered what they thought of him, because he knew who he was and what he was doing. Daryl kept straight ahead, his gaze toward his destination unmoving.

After traveling through the square, he rode through several streets with many run-down huts scattered on either side. As the swordsman reached the outskirts of the desolate region, he reached the neighborhood of his employer. Unlike the majority of the village, this lot had stable housing—homes built with brick and stone topped with cement roofs that would not easily cave in. All of the houses had stone, rectangular chimneys save for the one on the swordsman's right. The house was smaller than the rest as well—the house of his current boss. Daryl slowed his steed and directed it towards the front door.

He dismounted Stalwart and grabbed the bags out of the shallow wagon, lifting both of them on his shoulders. Daryl winced at the sound of the man's insides sloshing around with each movement he made. He plopped the crumpling mess on the ground with a grunt. As for the other sack, he placed a hand under the back of her head. With a careful hand on her back, he lowered the carcass sealed in burlap in front of himself. After staring towards her face, he sighed and kneeled in front of the severed heap before him. He placed the corpse on her back, next to the one she once called her love.

Once Daryl stood back up, he rolled his eyes with his back to his employer's door. With reluctance, he turned around and pounded a fist to the smooth, wooden door. As he awaited a response, he crossed his arms over his chest with a long sigh.

A few moments later, the swordsman could hear some hushed bickering from the inside. Before he could peer through the window with a harsh stare, Ms. Reiss swung open the door. The only resemblance she shared with her sister was her whitish-blonde hair, her face defined with a bitter glower. She wore what was once an expensive, sleek black dress, but was now faded and tattered at its bottom. Her eyes were squeezed shut as she pinched the space between her eyebrows. "Ugh, what do you...?" she began to ask, until she opened her eyes and realized who her visitor was. Unlike her sister, she was tall, almost capable of meeting Daryl eye to eye. She looked up to him, her exhaustion turning into wild curiosity. "You've done it already?"

Daryl gestured with his thumb over his shoulder and stepped to the side. "See for yourself." He turned his head away from her direction and crossed his arms once more.

She looked past him and rushed toward the sacks on the ground, dropping to her knees. Her fingers worked quickly to untie the knot at the top of one of them and she peeked inside. She gasped at what she saw, looking up at Daryl with a grin—the swordsman refusing eye contact. She looked inside the blood-stained sack and clasped a hand over her mouth. Daryl glanced back at her, wondering about her silence. A short breath escaped through her grasp, as if she were restraining a twisted fit of laughter. Any trace of exhaustion she expressed earlier had vanished through her elation. He turned his gaze away from her once more. Once she had her time to bask in the swordsman's success, she stood back up and walked toward Daryl with a proud smirk. "You live up to your reputation, Daryl the Dauntless!"

He turned around to face her with a blank stare, dropping his arms to his sides. "If you are satisfied," he started, "I would like to receive my payment now."

"Awfully forward, aren't you?" she scoffed. "Very well then, give me a moment to go fetch it for you." Ms. Reiss went back inside and shut the door behind her.

While she was inside, Daryl heard her yelling at someone. The lack of response from the recipient, as well as the prior knowledge he had on the woman he was doing business with, told Daryl that it must have been her child. He grumbled under his breath and tightened his jaw.

The woman returned with a pouch that was tied with string at the top, just big enough to fit in the palm of her hand. It was bulky with round protrusions, stretching the material of the pouch. She presented it with a nod and a closed smile. "Your reward as promised, swordsman."

Daryl took it and unfastened the string. As expected, the pouch was filled with tokens, enough to feed him for the next few weeks or so—a fortune that many peasants could not hope to achieve in such a short amount of time. "You are too kind," he said as he fastened it to his belt.

The woman chuckled with a slight tilt of her head. "Hm, be sure to send the fat one my regards as well."

Before returning to his horse, he was distracted by the sound of a child calling from the inside of her house. The swordsman turned to see the boy wearing nothing but a grey, oversized shirt, tattered all over and smudged with dirt. Daryl could not tell if the dark spots on his cheeks were more smudges or if they were bruises. The boy did not look to be much older than four years old. "Mommy!" he called, rushing to the doorway.

Her eyelids lowered at the sound of his voice, the look of exasperation returning. She turned to the boy and stamped her foot. "Didn't I tell you to stay inside? Your mother's busy!"

Despite his mother's sour disposition, he had an innocent wonder on his face as he looked up at the dark giant before them. He pointed at Daryl and asked, "Who is that man?"

She bent down towards him and snatched his pointing finger, forcing it back at his side. "Well, if you must know," she hissed, "that's the man who got your rotten daddy and auntie what they deserved!"

Daryl could feel a vein bulge from his temple. He balled his fists at his sides and shook his head with flared nostrils. Then, the swordsman looked down on himself, knowing that no matter how cold the mother was, he was to blame for the child's loss.

The boy's eyes became wide once his mother's statement set in. He directed his gaze towards the large sacks that rested near the swordsman's feet. With watery eyes, he asked, "Is...that where they are now?"

"Yes! Now get back inside like I told you!" She turned him around and pushed him inside and slammed the door. A thud from the inside sounded like the boy had fallen over. The woman turned back to Daryl with a groan, resting her hand on her forehead. "Sorry about the boy. He can be quite a pest at times."

Daryl narrowed his eyes at her and tilted his head. "I have met pests. He did not seem like one."

The woman moved her hand from her forehead to meet his eyes with a contemptuous smirk. "Excuse me?"

The bounty hunter stared her down for a moment until something in the window caught his eye. With a hand pressed against the glass, the boy waved at the dead bodies on the ground, sniffling as tears streamed down his cheeks. Once he noticed the swordsman staring at him, he gasped and darted away from his sight.

Daryl redirected his gaze towards Ms. Reiss. Cautious to stay out of affairs that did not concern him, he sighed and turned back towards his horse. "I am off."

"Wait," she ordered, some irritation in her voice, "won't you take care of the bodies?"

"I am a mercenary, not a gravedigger," Daryl answered, stepping into the foothold of Stalwart's saddle and hoisting himself onto his steed.

"There was something you wanted to say to me, wasn't there?" she called, placing a hand on her hip. "Something about my son?"

Daryl reached for the horse's reins but paused at her question. He glanced back through her window to see if the boy was still there but saw no one. His eyes shifted to hers and he asked, "Why do you care?"

"Because I find it curious that someone of your profession would criticize how I raise my child." She crossed her arms with a heated smirk.

At first, Daryl decided to keep his mouth shut to avoid involving himself in irrelevant matters. The more he thought about it, though, he knew all too well that how she was raising her son could potentially concern him and several others in the future. He averted his gaze to the scar on his neck and explained, "What becomes of a child depends on what they are subjected to. You are subjecting him to cruelty. All he will know is cruelty. It will twist his mind and he will become a danger to those around him."

She knit her eyebrows and jerked her head towards him, a confused expression on her face. After a moment of studying his disposition, she scoffed with realization. "Daryl the 'Dauntless,' they call you. Yet here you are fearing what becomes of a child."

"You asked me what I wanted to say and I said it," Daryl snapped, grabbing the reins of his horse as he prepared to leave.

Ms. Reiss laughed and tilted her head upwards. "Well, I can assure you, swordsman," she mocked, "you will have nothing to fear from how I raise my child."

"Perhaps I will not," Daryl considered, a more stoic expression molding his face as he yanked the reins on Stalwart. The creature whinnied as it began to trot. Before leaving the lot, Daryl met eyes with the woman a final time and finished, "But you will."

Ms. Reiss's smirk dropped slowly as she watched the swordsman ride off. The last image the swordsman saw of her before taking to the streets of Autumnfront was her staring down at the corpses she would have to bury. What he saw in her eyes was no intention of changing her wicked ways, but perhaps a preparedness for what may come to her as a result of her behavior.

As they made their way to their headquarters, Stalwart shook his head in a bothered manner and motored his lips. Daryl patted his head and replied, "I know, Stalwart. I found her atrocious as well."

***