The wagons wooden wheels rattled against the narrow gravel road, each stone sending a sharp ping into the air.

  Barnaby shifted his barrel body on the wagon bench, he side eyed Hugo with a sense of slight suspicion and intrigue.

  "You say your from a village up north ey?, lad?"

  Hugo nodded calmly looking straight ahead, his grey eyes scanned the thick forest trees ahead as if surveying for any threats, the sun was beginning to go down.

  "What about you Mr Wilkens, you been on the road all your life or you from some prestigious noble lineage?" Hugo joked in an attempt to lighten the mood.

  Barnaby chuckled lightly and smiled, a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

  “Nay, I wuz born a commoner, raised an’ bred in the kingdom o’ Grayhaven. All me life I’ve been there, lad.”

  He continued in an amused tone.

  "What made ya think I was born in prestige?"

  Hugo glanced over at Barnabys.

  "Well you seem like quite the successful merchant, I mean delivering Jewelry and artifacts seems like it pays well."

  Barnaby's amusement only seemed to grow.

  "Well, lad, my job does definitely pay me a rewarding sum, it nowhere close to what those nobles get."

  Hugo nodded a small flicker of approval appeared in his eyes.

  Hugo then responded in a polite,measured tone as if retelling fond memories.

  "Back in my village, I mostly did labor work, stuff like helping farmers back in my village with digging holes, carrying timber and at certain times," Hugo paused his expression falsely turning into that of slight grimness.

  "I buried a lot of folk back in my village was responsible for burying the bodies ye see." Hugo partially lied, whilst Walter Winson may have not buried bodies in this world, it was certainly not a false claim considering the atrocities Hugo Lennox the cold blooded mobster had caused in his previous life.

  Barnaby's suspicion had faltered, the mans sharp eyes had softened.

  “Oh well, Walter, I’m sorry, didn’t mean t’ be bringin’ that up—”

  Hugo cut Barnaby off swiftly.

  "No no need I should be sorry for drifting this conversation off into a tear fest," Hugo chuckled.

  Barnaby chuckled with him, the only genuine chuckle in the scenario.

  This was perfect Hugo finally had the chance to interact with a human of this world, someone who most likely knew the history and social norms of this world. The various races, information about magic, information on this worlds views on dark forces and the demon lord itself.

  Hugo's face adjusted slightly back into the polite grin he previously held in his previous life.

  “Well, shifting matters slightly", Hugo’s eyes drifted to a scepter strapped to the wagon’s side rail, half-wrapped in oiled leather, its top set with a red crystal that breathed heat into the night, as if it had a pulse of its own.

  "What's up with your glow stick over there?, don't the lanterns lighten the area enough?" Hugo asked with a hint of curiosity in his tone.

  Barnaby glanced over at the scepter.

  "Nay lad, that be me scepter," Hugos eyes widened in fake awe.

  "No way are you a mage?"

  Barnaby shook his head,"Nay lad, mage be a strong word, don't have enough of a mana pool for that, at most I can fire a couple bursts, strong enough to scare away some wolves or drunk bandits."

  Hugos eyes twitched a bit in confusion and slight disappointment.

  "Oh... that doesn't sound very efficient at protecting you, I mean to be travelling in a dangerous forest like this without much protection, it's a bit easy for bandits to just swarm you and surround you and attack isn't it?"

  Barnaby spoke in a slightly defensive tone in an attempt to not display any fear or embarrassment, Hugo himself assumed it was both.

  “Well… Walter, me lad, most adventurers, they go after the big league quests—dragons, dungeon hunts, that sort o’ thing. They might even try takin’ on… those warcrime mages—”

  Barnaby’s face went pale. His hand trembled near his chest. “Oh lords above…Walter I didn’t mean t’ say that name so boldly… please, don’t… don’t go tellin’ the church about—”

  Hugo’s expression sharpened with keen interest. “Wait, wait, wait! What did you just say?” His tone was light, surprised, the way someone leans forward when a story gets really good.

  Barnaby blinked, caught somewhere between guilt and fascination, unsure if he’d revealed too much—or just enough to be interesting.

  “That name… what’s a warcrime mage?” Hugo’s grey eyes narrowed slightly, catching the dim light, silver hair falling over his sharp cheekbones. His tone was careful, almost deferential, but genuinely curious. “I… I haven’t heard of such a thing. What… what do they do?”

  Barnaby blinked, shifting uneasily on the wagon bench. "Aye... they're... folk say they meddle with the dead, sir. Wicked, foul rituals... an'—well, sometimes—use magic that no honest soul should."

  Hugo nodded slowly, keeping his expression polite and curious, like he was piecing together a puzzle he'd never seen before. Internally, he thought:" I see... so, they're... dangerous, then?"

  Barnaby let out a short, barking laugh, shaking his head like Hugo had just asked if water was wet. "Dangerous? Aye, lad—dangerous as a fire dragon in a hay barn. Everyone knows their kind ain't to be trifled with. Not all of 'em serve the Demon Lord, mind you, but the worst... oh, the worst... they're out for themselves, hungerin' for power, domination, anything that puts 'em on top. Folk like that... best you avoid 'em entirely, or it'll be the last mistake you make."

  Hugo's face stayed calm, absorbing it all with a genuine-seeming interest. "Unholy... interesting. And the Grayhaven kingdom were headed too? Did they try to stop them?"

  Barnaby exhaled heavily, nodding as he flicked the reins. "Aye, if they can. The Adventurers' Guild usually handles sightings. But these... warcrime mages... rare as snow in summer. When one shows up, even the toughest get wary."

  Hugo nodded, his silver hair catching a faint breeze. "Thanks, I'll keep that in mind. These... warcrime mages—you ever encountered one?"

  Barnaby's eyebrow shot up, then he sighed, settling back. "Not proper-like, no. Nearly got torn up by one o' their zombies, though."

  Hugo straightened a bit. Torn up? "Wait, torn up how?"

  "Ripped apart sort o' way," Barnaby said matter-of-factly, like he was describing a bad day at market. "Thing moved fast, too. Not the shamblin' storybook kind. Had joints that bent wrong and manners that shouldn't exist. If it weren't for a paladin showin' up, I'd've been a decorative stain on a chapel door."

  The horse flicked an ear, as if agreeing with the tale.

  Hugo blinked a few times, processing. "So they can make corpses... agile?"

  "Aye," Barnaby replied, guiding the wagon around a rut with a grunt. "Necromancers don't just raise folk up; they tune 'em. Like a bard tunin' a lute. Make 'em quicker, stronger, quieter. That's why everyone calls the bad ones warcrime mages. Too many unfair edges, and no sense of fair play."

  Hugo's curiosity sparked again. , "But why are they considered so vile? Besides the obvious... corpse part."

  Barnaby scoffed lightly. "Because diggin' up the departed and puttin' 'em back to work is bad manners, lad. Also dangerous as a nest o' hornets. Most o' the Demon Lord's forces use 'em, though not all. Funniest bit is, the worst necromancers think the Demon Lord's slacking and want their own empires. If ambition were a crime, they'd be locked up twice over."

  He clicked his tongue and steered around a pothole big enough to swallow a goat.

  "Anyway," Barnaby added with a wry grin, "if you ever spot a corpse lookin' too spry for its age, that's your cue to let paladins and other paid fools handle it. You keep your bones in one piece."

  Hugo nodded, filing it all away like notes in a ledger. "Noted. Thank you."

  Barnaby wet his lips, glancing at the road ahead like the trees might be listening. "Now, lad, mind this—there's necromancers, and then there's warcrime mages. Folk often lump 'em together 'cause they both mess with corpses, but that's like sayin' a cook and a poisoner are the same just 'cause they're handy in a kitchen."

  Hugo leaned in slightly, his silver hair glinting in the fading light. "Difference being?"

  Barnaby shrugged his broad shoulders. "Necromancers... most are more like scholars than fighters. They study death, chat with spirits, keep graveyards tidy, learn secrets from the beyond. A real rotten one might get a fine or a quick chop if they go too far, but usually... they just poke around."

  He glanced over his shoulder, voice dropping. "Except in Virelion. Gods help us, that empire... human supremacists, followers of the Goddess o' Light. Every necromancer, demon, monster... they'll kill or enslave 'em on sight. Demi-humans too. No mercy."

  Hugo's gray eyes sharpened. "And the warcrime mages?"

  Barnaby's face darkened, a crease forming on his forehead. "Warcrime mages... now, that's a nasty breed. They don't just study death—they weaponize it. Command hordes o' undead, bend magical energy you wouldn't believe. Mana pools like oceans... enough to raze a town if the mood strikes. And the worst... some outclass even arch demons. Their ambition ain't about loyalty to a king, a church, or the Demon Lord. It's power. Control. Dominion."

  Hugo tapped his chin thoughtfully, silver hair falling over his high cheekbones. "What if... a warcrime mage was a mix—a scholar with all that power and ambition?"

  Barnaby snorted, eyes narrowing. "Ye mean a mage who's clever and learned... but with the raw might and drive of the worst? Gods, lad, that'd be a nightmare in human skin. I nearly got shredded by a zombie from one once—if it weren't for that paladin's blade, I'd be worm food myself. That's how real it gets."

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  Hugo's lips thinned, his gray eyes scanning the forest. "I'll keep that in mind."

  Barnaby exhaled, half relief, half warning. "Aye. Keep it close, lad. And pray you never cross one on a dark road. They'll chew up your plans, your hope... maybe even your soul."

  The sun was dipping low. throwing gold patches through the trees, making the road look pretty and peaceful. The wagon was rocking along, the wheels crunched on the dirt and roots.

  Barnaby was driving, humming some half forgotten tune, he sounded very content with himself. Next to him sat Walter Winson, the alias Hugo lennox the mob hitman who had been transported to another world, by the incarnation of death to kill the demon lord.

  Just then the wagon rounded a bend and three people practically fell out the bushes right in front of the two men.

  First was a woman, maybe late twenties, looking human except for the soft tawny cat ears on her head and the long striped tail flicking behind her.

  She has a slim yet sturdy build, she also had a face shaped like heart, high cheekbones smudged with dirt and a few small scratches across one cheek. Still she looked filthy,her clothes slightly torn, and her hair a mess of leaves and dirt. Her vivid green eyes locked onto Walter like shed seen a ghost and her ears instantly flattened due to recognition.

  She stepped in front of the younger girl like a shield. That kid couldn't have been more than twelve or thirteen same cat ears, same tail wrapped tight around her legs in fear. She clung to her big sister’s sleeve with small, trembling fingers.

  This kid was tiny,skinny even you could visibly see that this was caused by too many days without enough food, she was a fragile picture, but she had this stubborn spark in her huge moss green eyes that took up most of her round face. There were thorns in her dark brown hair.

  Walter could tell they'd all been running for days.

  Behind them was a teenage boy, about fifteen, lean wiry build, he had sharp amber fox ears that stood tall and pointed, they swivelied at every sound, and his thick bushy red tail with a white tip snapped sharply as if trying to put up a tough front. He had an angular face with high cheekbones,scattering freckles across his nose, and lastly those bright amber eyes that narrowed suspiciously at both Barnaby and Walter.

  His reddish-brown hair fell messily into those eyes, and his torn shirt showed fresh scratches across his ribs. He kept his fists balled, chin up, like he was daring the world to try him again.

  Barnaby pulled the reins hard. The horse snorted and stopped dead.

  Barnaby's voice carried across the road before the wagon had even stopped moving.

  "Oi! You three! Get out o' the open! Are ye hurt?"

  The demi humans all froze as if they were deer caught in headlights. Barnaby noticed there alarm and raised both hands his palms out, a big and non threatening gesture.

  “No need t’ bolt away,” he called, softer but urgent. “Ye’re already all lookin’ half-dead from ’ere. Come closer. Got water, an’ bread if yer stomachs can still hold somethin’.”

  He swung down from the wagon with surprising speed for a man of his bulk, boots crunching through muddy gravel. His gaze swept over their torn cloaks and smeared cuts, his face blanching.

  “Saints above… you’re in a right state.” He shot a nervous glance at the treeline. “Can’t linger out ’ere, dusk’s crawlin’ in. Roads fill with worse things than bandits when the light thins.”

  He extended the waterskin again, worry tightening his voice. “C’mon then. No one’s droppin’ dead in the road if I’ve got any say.”

  Hugo/Walters gaze shifted slightly making eye contact with the older cat eared women, there eyes widened slightly.

  she froze for a second, ears flattening even more. Then her green eyes stayed fixed on Walter.

  "You..." she croaked,throat dry. "You're the one who-"

  Walter calmly spoke cutting her off before she could finish,"shhh save your strength your not in any shape to be feeding your hallucinations."

  She opened her mouth shut it again. Looked at Barnaby who was pretending everything was normal, then back to Walter. the little sister tugged her sleeve and whispered something.

  Barnaby side eyed Walter once more.

  Walter shrugged, "Well I mean she looks like she got roughed up pretty bad we've gotta assume the worst am I right?"

  Barnaby's eyes narrowed as he crossed his bulky arms, skepticism arose once more but he didn't further comment.

  Barnaby glanced over at the exhausted catgirls and the alarmed fox boy.

  Barnaby, still holing out the waterskin like it was some offering to a shy animal, glanced between them all. His eyebrows knitted.

  "Right is there something I should know here?" he asked, voice low. "Ye lot look at walter like he crawled out of a grave ye buried him in."

  Barnaby glanced at Walter for a bit and then back at the 3 survivors in front of him.

  "Walter dont look like an undead to me, so I don't-."

  The older cat girl stried to speak her ears flickered down flat again. She opened her mouth-then closed it. Whatever accusation had been on her tongue died when she saw the flat, unblinking gray stare Walter returned. It wasn't even a threat it was just empty.

  Walter walked forward he raised a hand and placed it on Barnaby's thick shoulder.

  He spoke again, his voice taking a bored monotonous tone."Come on Barnaby, obviously she's just mistaking me for someone else, I mean people start seeing things when there starving and scared it's only a rational assumption."

  The cat girl exhaled shakily, After a long beat she took the waterskin from Barnaby's hand with trembling fingers, passing it first to her little sister, who drank in frantic little gulps. Then the fox boy snatched his next share with absolutely greed the little bastard finished the whole thing in the span of 5 seconds, he did this all whilst staring at Walter his amber eyes never stopped looking at him before returning the empty bottle to the small cat girl.

  Barnaby cleared his throat, trying to drag normalcy back into the moment.

  "Right, thats settled let's introduce ourselves, I'm Barnaby Wilkins. Wagon driver, sometime merchant, full-time fool who keeps pickin' up strays." He jerked a thumb sideways pointing to Walter jokingly. "This here's Walter Winson. He's a good lad, very approachable and handy when it comes to labour, he came from a no name village in the north, he's quite closed off about his home village."

  He waited expectantly

  The woman straightened her spine despite how much the two men could visibly see how much it clearly hurt.

  Barnaby gave a slightly concerned shocked face

  Walter grimace.

  "Lady you aint meant to be straining yer.-"

  "Im Lira," she said at last. A rough cracked voice from days of dust and silence. She laid a protective hand on the child's shoulder. "This is my sister. kira."

  Kira managed the tiniest nod, cat ears half-folded, still clutching the waterskin like it might vanish.

  The fox boy uncrossed his arms just enough to speak.

  His voice was sharper than he probably intended.

  "Ren." Just one word that came off in an irritated tone. No title or explanation just a name.

  Walter nodded and grinned politely on the inside however, he was thinking: Suddenly it all came crashing back to him, he remembered how he had been flung straight into that large wooden cage that contained a whole bunch of demi human slaves.

  “Right then! Introductions done, sun’s droppin’ fast, and this—” he swept one meaty arm around the small clearing they’d just rolled into—“this is perfect. Flat ground, stream close enough to hear, trees thick enough to block the worst of the wind, old fire pit already here. Been usin’ this spot for years. We’re campin’ here tonight, no arguin’.”

  He beamed at them all, the kind of big, genuine grin that said he’d already decided everything was going to be fine and that was the end of the discussion. “Cheer up, ye lot. Hot food, warm fire, and we'll be by Grayhaven kingdom by noon tomorrow. Could be worse!”

  Walter didnt move from his perch at the wagon seat.

  His grey eyes slowly swept the clearing again the dense wall of pine trees, the complete absence of any other recent wheel ruts or footprints. His expression did not change, but on the inside:

  Barnaby hopped down with a satisfied grunt, boots crunching on pine needles. He started unhitching the horse, humming again, then paused and looked over his shoulder.

  “Gonna grab some proper firewood before full dark hits. There’s a decent deadfall just past the bend—dry stuff, burns clean. Won’t be long.” He pointed a thick finger at Walter. “You keep an eye on things here, eh, Walter? You’ve got that calm head on ye.”

  Walter noded

  Barnaby flashed his typical grin and grabbed a small hatchet from under the seat, and disappeared into the trees with a cheerful whistle.

  Liras shoulders sagged like a string had been cut. She spun toward Walter so fast her tail lashed against the wagon side,

  "You," she breathed, voice cracking open. Her tears were already spilling, carving tracks through the grime on her face.

  She stumbled forward two steps, then three, and dropped to her knees right in front of him, hands hovering like the wanted to grab his coat but didn't dare.

  "You saved us. You you crashed into our cage. You were...bleeding,I saw your ribs sticking out, and you still got up. You killed them all. Every last one of those bastards. They were gonna...they were gonna."

  Walter...stared at her a calm mask concealed his emotions of confusion and the unease he felt.

  Walter grimaced internally

  Her voice was splintered, she pressed both her hands over her mouth, her shoulders shaking. "They kept whispering what they'd do to us...all of us." Her eyes widened in panic and horror. "Too...too Kira. Those monsters laughed about it. I thought we were done. I thought I'd watch them take her first and I couldn't even scream loud enough to make it stop. And then you....you just ended it. Thank you. Thank you, thank you, thank you"

  Walter raised an eyebrow and then formed a faint grimace for 2 seconds.

  Kira let out a small squeaky panicked sound and hurried over,pressing herself against Liras side, tiny hands clutching her sisters sleeve so tight the fabric hunched. She didn't speak just started up at Walter with those huge, glossy moss green eyes, nodding like every word Lira said was from sort of gospel.

  Ren on the other hand stayed rooted where he was, arms crossed hard enough for Walter to see the veins standing out in his fore arms.

  His fox tail snapped once,twice and then he spoke in a low,rough irritated tone that hinted at a hatred.

  "Save the waterworks, Lira, this guy isn't some hero."

  Liras head snapped up. "Ren"

  "No." He cut her off, stepping forward one aggressive stride.

  "Your on your knees thanking some...random stranger who is clearly not who he says he is." Ren continued glancing up at Walter for a bit then returning to gaze down at Lira.

  "You saw what I saw he got through through half the forest by that monster, hit our cage like a boulder colliding with a hut and got up with minimal injuries." Rens tone only got louder and more intense. "Are we also not going to address the skeletal arms that were on his back, and don't even get me started on that inhuman strength and speed, no one and I mean no one besides knights and physically strong warriors are capable of throwing an orc with one hand across the forest like a ragdoll and-."

  Lira shot to her feet, tail thrashing. "He saved our lives, you ungrateful little shit!"

  "He saved his own skin!" Ren snarled back, fox ears pinned flat. "We were just...the scenery. Literal collateral. Think for a second Lira...think about this logically, that kind of speed? That kind of strength? Thats not human at all. That's something only otherworlders are capable off. Or knight-captains. Or those black-blade bastards who slit throats in the night and vanish. Normal people let alone a "village laborer" don't survive what he has or even come close to what he's capable off."

  He jabbed a finger towards Walter without breaking eye contact with Lira. "Hes dangerous, and your acting like he's some saint from the Gods themselves because he didn't let the goblins finish what they were about to do. Wake up Lira, use that furball brain of yours."

  Lira bared her teeth, cat ears forward and trembling with fury. "You'd rather we were still in that cage? Day after day? Night after night? constant torture, constant beatings, constantly being fed scraps and leftovers and things you could barely even consider food. You'd rather Kira was-"

  "I'd rather we knew what we're dealing with!" Ren shouted over her. "Because right now we're stuck in the dark with some...deceiver who has a physicality that can go toe to toe with an A rank adventurer."

  Walter had been perfectly still the whole time, the shovel he had previously used to bury his undead rest across his lap like an accessory.

  He then leaned forward slightly, elbows on his knees, silver hair falling into his face. When he spoke, his voice was soft and carried a mocking edge.

  "Kids these days," he murmured, almostly fondly. "Your so dramatic."

  He slid off the wagon with a smooth motion,, boots hitting the dirt without a sound.

  Ren stiffened, his tail freezing mid lash as Walter walked toward him, Walter stopped just inside arms reach, close enough that Ren had to tilt his head up to meet his eyes.

  Walter leaned in a fraction, and spoke in a slightly mocking.

  "Let me make this easy for you to understand. You're right, I am anything but a hero. I'm not a knight. Probably not even considered a nice person." Hugo straightened himself with a polite grin, a fake one and spoke in a soft, deceiving tone."I did what I did because I wanted to survive and live another day, yes you were collateral, but I can promise you I would have saved you anyway, I just happened to be...occupied." Walter looked at Ren, keeping eye contact as he talked.

  His eyes flickered to Lira and Kira for a second before returning to Ren.

  Ren spoke in an irritated tone that died down slightly, however, it still remained distasteful.

  "Thats...thats not the point the point being, that big oaf claimed you were a village laborer..what reason would you have to deceive him into thinking you were a village laborer?."

  Walter continued his talk of attempted pacification.

  "Back where I'm from I did alot of labour," Walter internally thought: . "Not only that but I use to practise a lot, train my body, do loads of physical activities, anything to survive in the forested area I grew up in." Walter glanced at Ren, then at Lira and Kira and then back at Ren, his eyes softened. "My jobs included farming, undergoing security training and even a bit of bladesmanship from a rogue that popped by every now and then...and one of my other jobs that I solely had to do was...burials, thats why Ive got the spade in Barnaby's wagon."

  Rens face softened slightly he looked like he wanted to speak...to say anything...anything to stay in the argument...anything to accuse Walter off.

  "Nice one dibshit," Lira said distastefully to Ren. "All you did was come off as a paranoid prick."

  Ren blushed his cheeks turning bright red, "Shut up."

  Ren didn't look at Walter...his amber eyes were glued to the green grass his fox ears were flat.

  Lira slapped the back of his head. "Give the man an apology, you made him look like a demon lord general."

  Ren looked at Walter...eyes teary and then spoke through gritted teeth. "Sor...sorr..sorry.

  Walter grimaced once more..."Jeez kid you you're making this so awkward.

  Kira lauged, so did Lira, Walter looked at them slightly amused then chimed in.

  Suddenly, a loud crunching noise was heard in the distance of the trees.

  One branch snapped, then another.