From "Tales of the Weak of This World" by Palm Gorats.

  "Noble tournaments are for those who have money for steel and horses. Common folk make do with fists and squares. And among them was one who became a legend from the swamps to the capital. Kai 'Wolfram' from Nedermarsh — champion of the entire kingdom. For fifty years after him no fighter stronger has appeared. People thought that Garadarian blood flowed in him. He went against three and won with bare hands, with a knightly honor not typical for such places. But honor is a cruel companion. When fame reached the capital, Kai began performing in fights for a more sophisticated audience. There he won everything… except the last one. Before the new fight, they smilingly brought him his favorite cold milk. There was poison in that milk. The king, who lost the bet on that fight, in drunken rage ordered his hands to be cut off. Kai returned without hands and disappeared into the swamps. Everyone thought he had perished."

  Moonlight beautifully lay on the white and red ribbons of Palmza, which fluttered on the branches. The aromas of the holiday still hung in the air. But around Enma, a ring of an enraged crowd was slowly closing in.

  The crowd hummed and egged each other on like a pack of hungry dogs. Two dozen men, heated by beer and righteous anger, stepped closer.

  "Look, he even grabbed a spoon!" someone laughed from behind. "Now he'll feed us!"

  Enma stood motionless. He towered over the crowd by a full head, was stronger than any of them, and the spoon in his hand looked ridiculous and pitiful. He was already imagining how he would break their bones… and at the same time he understood: if he started — he would simply be crushed like a bug under a boot.

  Finally! — Bishu shouted enthusiastically. This big guy is going to gut all of you now!

  Oh, there are so many of them… — Biza whined pitifully. I don't want them to hurt us… Let's run away, please…

  And at that moment, a familiar shadow flashed behind the backs of the crowd. Enma recognized it instantly — even in the semi-darkness. Kensei.

  Small, thin, with a huge scythe behind his back. He stepped forward calmly, as if he was just passing by. His voice sounded quiet, but in such a way that the entire square instantly fell silent:

  "Stop."

  The crowd turned around. Someone already opened his mouth to send him off, but the cold and heavy gaze of a killer fell on them — and everyone fell silent.

  "I apologize for my younger brother. I'll deal with it myself from now on."

  He stepped toward Enma. And in the next second, the small Kensei exploded. The first blow hit Enma exactly in the solar plexus. The second — in the jaw. The third — in the temple. Kensei knocked him down quickly and cruelly — like a father teaching his son a lesson. The blows rained down one after another. The huge Enma fell as if cut down. Kensei sat on top and began methodically, without anger, but also without pity, to knock all the nonsense out of him. The blows were precise, heavy, like a hammer. The crowd stood with open mouths: a fly was beating a spider.

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  Kensei stood up, shook off his hands and calmly turned to the crowd.

  "As an apology for the disturbance — behind you there is a barrel of good wine. It's yours. Let the holiday continue."

  The crowd joyfully hummed and instantly forgot about everything in the world. Kensei approached Elinka, slightly bowed and quietly said:

  "I apologize for him. He will soon apologize to you himself, as soon as he comes to his senses."

  Then he easily threw his brother over his shoulder, as if he weighed no more than a bag of feathers, and carried him away.

  On the haystack Enma woke up already during the day. His head was buzzing as if a whole herd had run over it. Kensei was sitting next to him and carefully wiping the dried blood from his brother's face with a rag.

  "You behaved ugly," he said calmly. "I warned you: don't offend the weak. We are in a foreign country, we don't need extra attention."

  Enma tried to say something, but Kensei shook his head:

  "It's strange that Bermud's henchmen haven't found us yet. After I pulled you out of his captivity, I was expecting a whole squad. And here it's silence…"

  Enma just blinked guiltily with his violet eyes. Kensei sighed, took out a small box with Sinedian rice powder and handed it to him:

  "Take it. I know it's hard for you without the mask. Have they completely gotten to you?"

  Enma nodded, accepting the box with quiet gratitude and guilt.

  When they entered the tavern, Yakov, barely looking at Enma's face, burst out laughing so that he almost choked:

  "Oh my mother! Look at this face! Finally someone had the guts to knock some sense into you! And what is this white crap on your mug? Ha-ha, the bruises still shine like lanterns!"

  Marla instantly slapped her son with a towel on the back of the head and ran up to Enma caringly:

  "My poor boy… Sit down quickly, eat. I'll fix everything for you now."

  Kensei silently placed a heavy bag of coins on the counter. The sound of metal sounded heavy and solid.

  "Thank you for everything. We are leaving this evening. This is for the trouble. I got the boat."

  He turned to his brother, his voice becoming firmer:

  "And you go apologize to Elinka. Like a human being."

  Enma walked in silence, clutching a wreath of lilac flowers in his hands. Elinka's house was small but well-kept — carved shutters, bright paint, an old tree by the porch covered in ribbons. He stood in front of the closed door for several long minutes, then finally knocked.

  "Go away," Elinka answered immediately from inside.

  "I came to apologize," Enma said quietly. "I behaved like an animal. I shouldn't have grabbed you in front of everyone. I'm really ashamed."

  There was a long silence behind the door.

  "You acted no better than Moksha," she finally replied. "Now the whole town will be whispering."

  Enma lowered his head.

  "I'm leaving today. Just… take this."

  He carefully placed the wreath of Lilac Brides on the doorstep, stepped back and added:

  "The old folks say that if a girl dares to gather them in the swamp and weave a wreath — she will be the most beautiful all year. Many disappear there… but you deserve to be the most beautiful."

  Without waiting for an answer, he turned and walked away in silence. Only when his footsteps had completely faded into the distance did the door quietly creak.

  Enma walked back, his boots heavily squelching with swamp mud. And when he was already approaching the tavern, he saw thick black smoke rising in heavy clouds into the sky right above it.