Extortion works too well...
So much for staying out of trouble.
Leon's shoulders rose and fell with each breath, the air clouding before him. His blades hung in his hands, wrists limp from exertion. It was done. The bastard was dead, and his conscripted troops were surrendering. A Salvaran soldier clapped him on the back in congratulations, and his stance shook absentmindedly. He stared on at the corpse lying in the snow.
The son of a merchant had killed a man. More than that, he had enjoyed it. It was a rush. His heart beat faster than it had since leaving the City of Lights. He'd killed a demon and over fifty peasants, but the personal investment in killing John Kreskin was more than any of those. He'd killed him because he wanted to, and he liked it.
And he hated himself for it then.
Leon managed to stumble over to the nearest wagon and climb aboard. He sat there on a small crate, staring at his bloody blades. Dropping the weapons, his gaze then turned to the hands that did the deed. His hands. His hands that now filled with tears. The salt water stung as it dripped off his wounded cheekbone. Several minutes he spent like that, sobbing quietly to himself at what he'd done, before he wiped his face on the sleeve of his jacket and stood.
Finding the young Freiherr Djakara, he had only one thing to say: "When can we go home?"
((Spoils: Lily- A flintlock pistol named for its wielder's favorite bloom. The functional portions are made of steel, though it is decoratively encased in wood. The base of the handle is a knob, preventing it from falling easily from a loose grasp, and there is a filigreed plate of iron stamped on either side of the barrel, where the hammer access sits. With it, Leon has also pilfered about fifteen bullets and enough gunpowder to fire them as well as a few blanks.))