The Praetorian raised his sword, pointing the tip towards the hunter, the rain dripping off like blood. The hilt was held close, both hands grasping it to deliver a powerful blow. Liam however, took a simple defensive stance. One hand on the sword, the other holding his dagger. The Praetorian made the next move. He brought his blade towards what would been his opponent’s neck had the man not evaded the swing. However, the Praetorian did not leave himself open for an attack with his first move. When Liam had attempted to stain his own blade red with his adversary’s blood by plunging it into his rib cage, the former guard parried it and used the momentum to push away the hunter. They both stood in the road for a moment, looking the other dead in the eyes. The Praetorian spoke again to the man chasing him after another moment of silence. “You’re a pawn, legionnaire. That’s all you are. That’s what we all are.” “And what makes you say that?” “I killed the Emperor for reasons I thought were my own. But I was wrong. I was used, a mere piece in a larger game. I’m a loose end.” “Why are you telling me this?” “Because if I die I’m bringing those who sealed my fate with me!” “You sealed your own fate when you killed the man you swore to protect!” Liam charged at the guard. No longer on the defensive, he struck and slashed and stabbed with precision. The Praetorian attempted to keep up and, though a great swordsman, could not match his opposition. In a final attempt to save his life the Praetorian drew his wrist blade for a strike. He outstretched his palm so the blade could bury itself in the throat of the hunter. But before this happened, the Praetorian saw the point of a dagger looking at him through his own hand. He then felt the blade of the other’s sword in his stomach. He looked down as it was withdrawn. He fell down in the mud. Water and blood mingled as both spilled onto his breastplate. The dying man looked up to his assailant, he saw no pleasure or satisfaction from the other. Just indifference. “You have a chance to bring justice to those who conspired with you.” Liam said as he knelt down in the mud with the Praetorian. “Who sent you to kill the Emperor?” The Praetorian was coughing up blood, struggling to speak. “The same men who sent you...” Liam grabbed one of the shoulder straps on the assassin’s armor. “You lie!” The Praetorian grew increasingly pale. He was close to death, barely able even to say these last words. “Does a dead man have any reason to lie?” With his final words spoken, he gave way to his eternal sleep. Liam could see any life the man had left leave his eyes. They looked up to the dark sky, cold and empty. Liam closed them and prayed over the Praetorian’s soul before he rose from the mud. Before he could leave he had to have the body dressed if he were to show it before the Senate. He brought it to the town’s mortician and while the body was prepared for his departure, Liam considered what he had been told by the now dead guard. What reason would the Senate have for killing their own Emperor? If the Praetorian was right, then Liam too was conspiring in the Emperor’s assassination. “I must know the truth,” he thought, “even if I helped bury it.”