Amaranta-G

[a. D. 1166, 04. August] "Get that scumbag!". "Has he been at it again?!". "He even tried to tamper with the weapons this time!". "I told ya! There is a demon in that child!". It was still only the shouts that reached the boy. With his right arm he propped himself off the fence and swung over the waist-high obstacle, to prevent it from being their grips after all. Under his left arm he had a stick of bread and a piece of salami clamped against his body. One of his more chubby pursuers stopped in front of the fence and started digging at the bunch of keys to open the gate to this garden. Although when the key was inserted and the lock opened with a click, his pursuit came to a sudden end here, because the boy had long since disappeared around the next corner. Of course, he could have followed the angry shouts of the other villagers. But "would have", "will" and "could" were rather broadly defined words and all the broader when opportunity arose. After all, one was not robbed oneself, so

A youngster among them who was still in the militia. And the boy on the run knew him. He was just a handful of years older than him and yet was already allowed to carry a short sword. Not the fine virtusium that the soldiers from the Consecrated Blade used, to be sure, but iron all the same. And this youngster thought to himself, that it would probably be best to finally hunt down the fugitive. For what if he really possessed demonic powers, as rumours say? Firstly, such danger was not allowed to live and secondly, if it was banished, by him of course, he would certainly be accepted into the ranks of the Consecrated Blade! Why even Thoran would likely look down on him with a smile! There was just this one problem: All the leather armour he wore along with the weapon made him quite heavy. And the marauding rascal there in front of him, who just deftly slid under a cart in one go, he wore nothing but a loose shirt and a pair of cloth-laced trousers tied to his boots. That, and his stolen