Permitted Freedom
"Hoo..."
Refreshing. Unlike the lilac scent that had quickly grown tiresome from daily exposure, the crisp aroma of fresh grass never lost its appeal.
Freedom. Unlike the Executioner's life of moving only on command... now I was just a passing wanderer. That fact still felt a little unfamiliar. I'd aligned my steps to someone else's summons for far too long.
The direction I walked in was now chosen by my own feet. No one had ordered it. There was no fixed destination. It was closer to wandering because I didn't know where to go. And yet, strangely enough, those aimless steps felt invigorating rather than anxious.
The dirt underfoot was nothing like the Imperial Palace carpets. It didn't softly swallow sounds, nor was it cold, unyielding marble. The path of dry soil mixed with small pebbles yielded quietly with each step, then sprang back to shape. Dew from the early dawn still lingered moments ago, tiny droplets on blade tips catching the morning sun in hazy glimmers.
When the wind passed, the grass bowed to one side. Then stood tall again. That simple motion lingered in my eyes longer than it should have. I slowed my pace a little.
Tall grass by the roadside brushed my knees. Its scent was clean. Not sweet and heavy like lilac. Not something that forcibly dulled the mind's edges. Just the smell of grass. The aroma of things alive in sunlight, piercing soil, swaying in the breeze. Slightly damp. Slightly cool. Inhaling it washed the depths of my lungs with freshness.
I breathed in quietly. The air flowed light and easy. No blockage. No heady sweetness pressing down. No fogging thoughts. It simply sharpened in proportion to what I drew in.
"Hoo..."
The sky stretched wide overhead. Different from the palace view. There, it was always sliced by buildings and towers. Seen through high windows or from broad gardens—I'd thought it vast. But this sky dwarfed that one. Nothing obstructed it. Endless blue unfurled.
I gazed up at it briefly. Strangely, my eyes felt at ease. Vision widened, and thoughts seemed to expand with it.
First place I want to go...
Anywhere but the Empire, sure. But total aimlessness worried me a bit. I paused. Pebbles rolled faintly underfoot. In the distance, the sound of chopping wood. Thwack. Thwack. Perfectly rhythmic. Someone raising and swinging an axe. The sound of ordinary lives beginning their day.
I listened for a moment. Then lifted my head to survey. The path split two ways. One led toward the forest, trees denser there. Less light filtered in, making the trail seem dimmer. The other followed a gentle hill. Smoke rose faintly in the distance. Probably a village. A place of people. Fire. Food. Conversation. And likely... problems.
I stared that way briefly. The thought flowed naturally, oddly so. Where there are people, there are always problems. Something I'd learned as an Executioner. Something I wished I didn't know.
Still, shall I go take a look?
The first place I chose of my own will—not by order—was a small village in the woods. I hoped I wouldn't need to draw my sword there.
A short walk down a path thick with leafy canopy, and the village appeared abruptly. The forest's end came suddenly. Moments ago, trees stood packed tight, layered branches blocking most sunlight like a green ceiling. A few more steps, and it vanished. Vision opened wide.
I slowed. Quietly took in the scene ahead.
Bigger than I thought.
The village wasn't small. I'd pictured a handful of hidden huts. Reality was far more ordered. A wooden fence encircled it in a rough circle, rooftops spaced evenly inside. Dew still clung where morning light hadn't fully reached, faint sparkles on the thatch. Smoke curled lazily from multiple chimneys. Breakfast preparations, no doubt. The breeze scattered it into thin gray wisps drifting skyward.
Small fields ringed the edges. Not harvest time yet—crops grew low, dirt paths threading between. A lived-in place. I regarded it a moment. Then naturally tugged my robe's hem lower, hood deep over my face. Partly to shield from sun, but mostly to avoid eyes.
My face was well-known in the Empire. Fewer people didn't recognize the Executioner. Especially around the palace and major cities. Unlikely the rumors reached this outpost. Habits die hard, though.
I tied the robe's cord tight. Fabric fluttered lightly in the wind. Then resumed walking. The entrance wasn't far. The path widened. Ground firmed. Well-trodden by locals.
I felt it with each step. Eased my hood even lower, slowly. A guard watched the motion quietly.
"Halt. State your identity first."
A familiar tone.
The corner of my mouth twitched up faintly. A smile slipped out unbidden.
"A traveler."
Voice plain. Weary tone. I continued.
"Purpose is food and lodging."
The guard's eyes shifted slightly. I shrugged lightly.
"Expected stay..."
I glanced skyward. Sun strengthening. Full morning now. Eyes back down to him.
"...one day, if no trouble."
Brief silence. The two guards exchanged a glance. Then back to me. I stood still. Hands tucked inside the robe. Sword at my waist hidden beneath.
Wind stirred. Robe hem swayed. Then—the front guard's eyes narrowed subtly.
"...This village has been rowdy lately."
His voice grew cautious.
"If you're not here to cause problems."
He paused.
"...best not to draw that blade."
I narrowed my eyes at his words. Then smiled quietly. More openly this time.
"...No need to worry."
Spoken like any ordinary traveler.
"I'd prefer not to use it myself."
And truly, if possible.
"...Enter, stranger."
"Thank you."
I dipped my head slightly. He nodded curtly. His hand shifted the spear. The wooden barrier—a simple bar between posts—slid aside. Nothing elaborate. But it held meaning. This was a village. With its own rules inside.
I paused before it. Not long. Just a breath before stepping through. Then moved forward slowly. Dirt compressed softly. I passed the gate into the village.
Behind, the bar clicked back into place. Light clack of wood. I listened a moment. Then walked on casually.
The air inside differed from the forest. Grass scent lingered, but mingled with others. Burning firewood. Warm bread. Soup simmering somewhere. The smell of human habitation.
I inhaled deeply. Warm. A touch oily, heavy. Strangely not unpleasant. Familiar, even. I'd smelled its like before. On execution runs. Passing through villages. Same scents then. But I'd always been transient. Scenery en route to a target.
Now? No destination. I could stop. Sit. Browse and leave. Or stay.
The inn drew the eye most. Crowded even midday. I watched briefly. It stood near the center, larger than neighbors. Thick log walls, roof layered in old straw and planks. A crooked wooden sign hung above the door. Letters rough-carved but legible. It swayed gently in the breeze.
...Ale.
I'd been granted freedom. Yet something hollow lingered inside. Rage. Sorrow. Joy. None fully returned. So I still moved mechanically. Judging. Walking. Speaking. Emotions didn't weave in naturally.
Curiosity struck.
What if I drink?
I eyed the glass on the table. Liquid inside shimmered in the light.
What would happen?
"...Here. The most ordinary ale, please."
What could go wrong? This Executioner, Philia, was strong at everything. Ale would be no different. Of course.