A Ghost's Wish [MxM]

21. A Threat

The night was restless. A harrowing storm broke with deafening thunder as vast sheets of rain swept through the woodlands. If one listened carefully, they would swear that they heard the screams of the dead who haunted the land.

The storm left just as quickly as it came, leaving behind a dense fog. The deep orange light of the rising sun created an ominous and bloody scenery.

The fog swirled and danced as a hooded figure walked into the small village with heavy steps. His hood was pulled down low, and he exuded a baleful aura. No creature dared stir as he passed them by, hiding from his presence.

The man entered this inn, and the innkeeper stumbled backward with trembling eyes.

"S...sir..." He called out meekly.

The man took a deep breath, and the heaviness around him disappeared, and his violet eyes pierced through the shadows under his hood.

"I went out for a little," Oliver said quietly.

The innkeeper recognized his voice, remembering him from his brawl the night before. The difference in demeanor was frightening. He still shivered and was weak in the knees. "Oli... so it's you..."

Oliver nodded and went upstairs without another word. The innkeeper slumped to the floor, holding his chest. He felt like he was facing death itself.

Oliver found the room he was sharing with Mark and entered. The moment he opened the door, Mark was startled awake and jumped from the chair he was sleeping in. He drew his sword and turned a sharp glare toward the person he perceived as an intruder.

"Young Lord?" He shook when he recognized Oliver's figure, but he was disturbed by the stench of death on him.

"I went to exercise for a little," Oliver said nonchalantly.

"What kind of exercise leaves you stinking of blood?"

Oliver pulled off his cloak, drawing a violent shudder from Mark. The rain had shoddily rinsed the charcoal from Oliver's hair. Now remnants of blood and charcoal stained his hair, face, and neck.

He revealed a menacing grin when he heard Mark's question. "The killing kind."

Without explaining further, he went to the attached bathroom and showered, rinsing off the filth and blood. He sighed contently under the water. It was a long night, and his body will now bear a few more scars.

He looked over his wounds and was relieved that nothing required stitching. He already burned the worst injuries closed with a hot dagger.

When he was done washing, he didn't bother staining his hair black again. Instead, he just pulled the hood low over his head. He met with the others, and they left the inn as soon as the fog started to lift.

As they rode through the village, their small group paused as they noticed a crowd in the center of the village. The people were shouting hostile words at a quivering kneeling man.

"It's the bandit leader," Sarah said quietly as she heard the growing murmurs of the villagers.

The man Oliver fought the night before stormed through the crowd and approached the bandit leader. He sneered. "Why the hell are you here?"

The bandit leader visibly shivered but could not shrink away. He was tied up, making him immobile. As the people looked closer, they discovered his hands and feet were crushed. The villagers struggled between empathy and delight when seeing the bandit leader in this state.

The bandit whimpered a little. "The ghost..."

The villager chuckled. "Did last night's storm make you go mad? What ghost?"