Fear.Death.by.Sword

As they walked solemnly, two by two, the iron black casket drifted between them, carried by six strangers. Anyone who had known the deceased didn’t have the resolve to carry him to his final resting place. It would take hours before they all reached the burial plot. Every member of Fratello della Spada in the country came home to witness the funeral. A grand display like this was reserved only for those who died in combat, something that had not happened in a long time.

The cause of death was anything but natural. Two days ago they found Bulo’s decapitated body propped up against a wall like a puppet with cut strings. His head was nowhere to be found, those that were closest to him had to identify the body. Despite the entire incident being caught on video, no one could see who killed him. The assassin’s face was obscured the whole time, as if he knew where each camera was positioned. A murder within the walls of the Citadel was unprecedented. As one of the oldest buildings of Fratello della Spada it was true fortress, designed to protect against intruders and withstand sieges. Over the years many renovations were made, but it was never meant to withstand a threat from the inside. Few people knew the locations of the cameras in the Citadel. Even fewer had the skills to avoid them while murdering a man like Bulo. Still, no one was being ruled out. Everyone there was a suspect. Sadness and suspicion settled through the crowd like thick fog. They all knew that the killer was there with them, secretly gloating behind a guise of grief. That fact had everyone in attendance on edge.

“Neith, Bulo was one of your good friends, right?” Champ whispered as he walked beside Neith in the procession line. “Yes” was all Neith could manage to say as memories of Bulo flashed through her mind. Champ wanted to ask how she was feeling after everything that had happened, but he already knew the answer and thought it best to leave her alone for now. She looked as if grief had taken hold of her soul. However, it wasn’t grief that kept Neith from speaking, it was rage. The only thoughts that seemed to satisfy her were finding the bastard that killed Bulo, and what she planned on doing to him once she found him.

“Well, I’m here if you need anything.” Champ said not expecting a reply.

The last funeral Champ could remember was at least five years ago, and the guy was in his nineties when he died. Everyone’s mood was different now. It wasn’t often one of them died so young. Anyone worth their salt that could call themselves a member of Fratello della Spada didn’t die easily. It wasn’t exactly an organization that welcomed people with open arms. Dedicated to preserving the art of the sword, masters of any style of swordsmanship were permitted to join, if they were good enough. They were all guided by the principle, “Let every man choose his own fate”. All that mattered was preserving and passing on the knowledge so that it was not lost to history. Still, there were rules. Killing another member was strictly prohibited, especially within the walls of the Citadel. Whoever did this wanted to send a message to everyone. He wasn’t playing by the rules, and no one was safe.

It had been thirty minutes since Champ last spoke to Neith. Everyone in the front of the line had taken their seats already. The back was still slowly filing in, but Champ felt now was as good a time as any to try and start a conversation again. “Neith, I know how you must be feeling—”

“Just shut up” Neith said in a quiet yet serious tone. “Nothing you say can make this day any better, so you might as well save your breath.” Champ fumbled his words as tried to respond. He desperately wanted to say something that would comfort her, but as hard as he tried his mind was blank. She was right. Nothing he said would change anything. All that was left to do was watch as the iron black casket, Bulo’s casket, was slowly lowered into the ground.