The Swordsman walked into the village, holding the town's hustler. Walking in the gravel road, the sun setting. Wooden houses, small food markets, and stone black smiths filled the village.
As the Swordsman arrived, the villagers gathered around him. He dropped the Hustler. Awaiting his 'thank you' and applause. Instead he saw angry eyes staring at him. This confused him. One villager stepped forward.
" What have you done!" He yelled.
The Swordsman suddenly felt dark inside. What was it he did wrong? He killed the man who drank and took without paying. Suddenly, he realized.
" The man you killed protected us from outsiders!" He claimed." In return he only asked for food and drinks when he wanted. For years he watched over this village!"
At first when he seen the Hustler, he thought he stole and swore in drunkenness. Taking things without asking and his foul behaviour. The Swordsman felt guilty.
The villagers threw stones and told him to leave. The Swordsman held up his shield. The sound of stone on metal. Denting his shield.
On the horizon, he fled in shame, but he learned things aren't always what they seem. And most stuff is exactly how they seem. He only needed to able to tell them apart from one another.
His heart was filled with darkness. Another life he wished he could give back. The Swordsman wondered if he should continue to wield a sword to protect or stop any and all blood shed. He thought this as he walked away.
" The Hustler I killed was a good man," The Swordsman said to himself." I hurt more people than I help. I only want to do what's right. Its my old master I must seek and present my troubles."
The Swordsman headed to his old master's, the Elder's home where he trained and grew up. It filled his heart with a bright, wonderful feeling to go back. He missed his old master.