The Dawn of a New World

Chapter one

A man wandered through the alleys of the village of Lipho, wrapped in a long black cloak that almost entirely concealed his face. Only a few glimmers of light revealed dark, piercing eyes, carefully observing the hostile environment around him. Each step resonated softly, with his sturdy yet discreet boots embracing the dusty ground.

Dressed entirely in black, he wore matching gloves, adding to his enigmatic appearance. The cloak floated lightly in the wind, reinforcing the mysterious aura surrounding him. His gait was calm and assured, contrasting with the agitation and nervousness of the villagers. The few passersby who dared to look at him felt a strange sense of serenity mixed with curiosity.

Every movement of this man seemed measured and deliberate. He did not hurry, taking the time to observe every detail of the ruined village. His demeanor, as peaceful as it was inscrutable, revealed no visible emotion, adding to the intrigue he sparked among the villagers.

The village of Lipho exuded a heavy and oppressive atmosphere. Located in the heart of unknown lands, its poorly maintained and dilapidated wooden houses seemed to lean under the weight of years and past storms. Their thatched roofs, in tatters, sometimes revealed gaping holes, evidence of pervasive poverty.

In the narrow and winding alleys, insecurity reigned supreme. Furtive shadows slipped from one hiding place to another, watching every movement with palpable distrust. The villagers, emaciated peasants and merchants with shifty eyes, went about their business under the constant yoke of fear. Occasionally, a coarse laugh would break the oppressive silence, emanating from groups of thugs gathered in dark corners.

The moral decay of the village was visible at every corner. The taverns, with their grimy signs, overflowed with drunk and noisy patrons, their discordant songs mingling with the cries of frequent disputes. In this degraded environment, poverty drove the inhabitants to desperate acts, further accentuating the prevailing insecurity.

As the mysterious man walked through the alleys, he noticed a group of knights in golden armor bearing the emblems of Luxoria. Their imposing presence starkly contrasted with the village's surrounding misery. The knights, indifferent to the suffering around them, moved methodically, taking away handcuffed children. These children appeared poor and terrified.

The villagers, petrified with fear, looked away, not daring to intervene. The silence was only broken by the muffled sobs of the children and the knights' sharp orders. The man felt a surge of anger seeing this scene, but he knew he had to act cautiously.

At nightfall, the mysterious man entered a tavern. It was a dark and dilapidated place, the only spot in the village of Lipho where one could find some comfort among the ladies, for a few coins. The smoke from pipes formed thick clouds, and a smell of vomit, alcohol, and blood hung in the air. Despite this nauseating atmosphere, joy and cheerfulness filled the space with laughter and songs.

As soon as he appeared, a heavy silence fell over the room, quickly followed by whispers. The tavern patrons, wary, watched the stranger. Behind the counter stood a burly bearded man, a satchel slung over his shoulder, leaning on the polished wood. As the stranger arrived, he slowly turned his head toward him, staring fixedly, a glimmer of curiosity and defiance in his eyes.

"Is it him?" he said loudly.

A few heads nodded in affirmation. From every corner of the table, the same phrase could be heard: "It's him, the condemned man!" "He's wanted for a large sum of money." "He's sentenced to death."

Seated around a table near the counter, three burly men began to dream aloud. The first, a tall blond, almost a giant, said:

"If I catch him, I could marry the beautiful Alife and even offer her a nice house and everything she desires."

The second, scrawny, bald, and unattractive, mockingly replied:

"You could have all the gold in the world, and she still wouldn't accept you."

The third, a rather handsome but too young man for a hope that required much courage and maturity, said:

"If I could arrest him, I would put my whole family out of need."

The fourth, an older and more reasonable man, added:

"Wait a few years, boy, before tackling big game."

The assembly burst into laughter.

Someone from the other side of the room, sitting with a pretty blonde on his lap, protested. She wrapped her pearly white arms around his neck, whispering sweet words in his ear, but he didn't miss a word of the conversation.

"He's surely an impostor; we've seen quite a few passing through lately."

The presumed culprit slowly advanced toward the counter and said:

"Good evening, I have no money, I'm tired and very hungry. Could you offer me something to eat and shelter, please?"

No response.

"Even leftovers? That would warm my heart and stomach."

The bartender behind his counter replied:

"They're coming, they'll give you everything you ask for."

Suddenly, a clamor shook the tables. The sound of footsteps approached, resonating like an army. The door burst open, letting in five armed men. Their chainmail armor bore the colors and crests of the kingdom of Luxoria, leaving no doubt about their identity.

These were not just any soldiers. Their crest and rank proved they were the elite of the country. Four of them had already drawn their swords, while their leader wore his at his waist, his hand resting on it. The weapon shone so brightly it illuminated the room. A robust and proud man, he stood straight before the mysterious man, a parchment in hand.

"Make way," he said, positioning himself in front of him.

He unrolled the scroll for all to see. One could clearly see the wanted notice, with a mediocre drawing of the man with the hidden face and the inscription: "SENTENCED TO DEATH."

Addressing the concerned man, he declared:

"I am Datia Blossoum, the commander of the Luxoria army. You, Yoga, traitor to the nations of the world, I arrest you by order of the kingdom. Please follow us without any resistance."

A drunken old man from the back of the room stammered:

"Leave him alone, the poor guy, he hasn't done anything."

The commander shouted: "Take that fool away, he'll have all night to sober up."

The bartender said to Yoga with a sly smile:

"You see, tonight you'll have company, a place to sleep, and maybe even something to eat."

The man with the covered face turned and extended his wrists toward the commander. Two of the guards hastened to chain his hands.

After that, Yoga asked:

"Right or left, chief?"

The commander, perplexed, replied:

"What?"

Yoga opened his right hand, revealing the key to the chains.

Blossoum took the key back and said:

"You find this funny? We'll see tomorrow. When your head rolls on the ground or you're hanged high and short, we'll see if you have any humor left. Let's go now!"

Outside, an entire battalion awaited them. They had barricaded all the streets and alleys. Others were posted on the rooftops, blocking the alleys around the tavern, so that no escape was possible and at the slightest attempt, he would be killed on the spot. At his sight, the soldiers from all sides pointed their weapons at Yoga.

Blossoum said to the two guards holding Yoga in chains:

"In line and move at the pace! EXECUTION!!!"

The villagers watched the scene from their windows, behind half-open doors, or even hidden behind simple curtains, seeming to wonder: "Who is this man for whom such an army is deployed?" "What crime has he committed?"