An Old Mercenary's Regret

As the morning sun climbed toward its highest point in the sky.

December sunlight, undeterred by the chill, bathed the city in warmth, and Renzo entered the tavern with the light at his back.

He headed straight for his usual seat by the window and said,

“I don't think you'll be pursued for a while.”

Renzo, of all things, had a bandage wrapped around his head.

The regulars and his acquaintances hurried over in surprise to ask how he was. The white-haired mercenary answered briefly and exchanged greetings with them.

He rested a hand on the bandage slanting across his forehead, then sat across from them with a tired expression.

“I took care to handle things several times over... So why do you look like that?”

Renzo was about to get down to business, as if in a hurry, when he gave a start and looked at the people across from him.

A man and a woman sat there, so exhausted they could barely eat...