Cold as Death

Chapter 1 -- Retirement

"There he goes, spouting off the same desperate dribble like all the others..."

He'd seen it all before, every single time he's taken these kinds of jobs. Some fresh-faced noble is abusing his money and influence, even hiring some half-baked bodyguards to keep authorities off his back and to reinforce his power. Nothing too special, they're always just strong or skilled enough in some way to hold off any threats until someone more professional comes in to put an end to it all.

That someone just so happened to be Winter a lot of the time.

Low-class nobles, typically ones who were only counted as nobility through their money, would often get too hot on themselves to realize that every slight they inflicted was just more pressure being added to their throats as they strangled themselves with their illusion of strength. In their last moments, they'd say something along the lines of 'What are they paying you? I can double it, I swear!' or 'If you so much as lay a finger on me, you're reputation will be torn to pieces!' and other such crap, never understanding just the situation that put themselves in. Always deluding themselves until the very last moment, to the very last breath, and the very last beat of their rotten hearts.

"Wait, come on now, I'm sure if you just spare me, we can come to some sort of agreement!" The sniveling wretch this time around wasn't worth description, nor were any of them, to be honest. Looking back on it, Winter couldn't even tell you what he looked like, even if he wanted to. Any memory of these targets just blended in with one another into what could only be thought of as some amalgamation of all of them. "I can hire you as a bodyguard and give you payments beyond what you could even imagine! You deserve double, no, triple what I was paying those idiots at the door!"

And of course there was the despicable disregard for the hired hands that Winter had slaughtered in order to reach this whimpering mess in fancy clothes before him. If there was one thing he couldn't stand, it was how quickly these cowardly bastards would spit on the freshly made graves of the very people he hired. It was something he fully expected out of every noble like that, hell it was something he expected from his own employers if ever he kicked the bucket. The only difference between Winter's employers and the pathetic mess at his feet was that they hired the right person for the job, and not some third-rate thug for hire or some overpriced professional.

He raised the cold extension of his hand in the air in complete silence, a truly grim answer to the fool's offer, before swinging it down firmly and precisely, the blade of ice gliding smoothly through the noble's flesh and staining the floor and his weapon with his disgusting blood.

---

Winter awoke from his rest, his back against a tree just far enough from the road for him to not be seen by anyone who might make a stop and disturb his slumber. He rose to a firm stand, using the trunk of the tree as support, patting the back of his leggings to clear most of the dirt off before swinging a pack over his shoulder and resuming his travels. The final change of location he'd ever make that would result from his history, he would hope.

His last job as a mercenary made good on that, willingly lowering the price of his service if his employer spreads word that Skadi was retiring from paid bloodshed. Since his completion of the job, he's made stops from town to village to city to make sure his employer made good on his word, of which he was pleased to find rumors drifting every now and then about that very fact. Now all that was left was to reach his new home, very unassuming from what he's heard, and absolutely perfect to lay low in and let the talk of Skadi die out.

Let some other bounty hunters and mercenaries have some fame and fortune, he was sure they'd be happy with him stepping down anyways. Unless they were the kind to want to hunt him down under the pay of some vengeance seekers, that is. All the more reason to keep a very low profile and not draw himself a lot of attention. Perhaps he could take up a hobby or a job in the service industry, something none would truly expect from a formerly infamous mercenary. Knitting... cooking... waiting tables... even something so mundane as weaving baskets or learning to make decorations.

Just a matter of time before he arrives at town...

If it really comes down to it, he might have to intentionally grab a job with poor management or shoddy pay. Although, if he happens to go down that route, he'd also have to have his home and attire reflect that in order to make it convincing. Acting like a hermit would only raise suspicions, so there's no way he could avoid people stopping by to say hi to a new neighbor, let alone the friends he'd likely make over the course of his stay.

The common noises of society were beginning to drift through the air...

A more middle-of-the-road career seemed best, at least for the first couple years. He fancied himself a good cook, so he could likely land himself a well-paying job at a diner afterwards. For those first two years, however, he'd be enduring something quite mundane and commonplace. Then, of course, he'd also have a story to tell the more curious ones, in regards to the places he's been before coming here. He was prepared already, so that wasn't too much of an issue, though, so it needed no further consideration aside from the occasional reminder so as to never forget it.

It was getting abundantly clear that there was some commotion being raised the closer he got...

He wasn't worried about his physical appearance, clothing, or even powers being a tell of his true identity. His clothes during jobs were always heavily concealing, hiding away his hair, exact facial features, and even physique and scars he'd acquired through his career, though the few he did have of that latter tell were easily concealed by normal clothing, so nothing to be concerned about there. And now that he was assuming a normal life, he'd be using more average outfits as opposed to the aforementioned conservative wear. Finally, there were just too many people in the world, both human, non-human, and Midara that had command over ice like he did, so using that to try and figure him out wouldn't be nearly enough.

There were a few more things to consider when planning out his new life, but they were mostly matters he could settle on along the way or even potentially keep vague. For now though, he was just ready to arrive at his new home, settle in, and begin establish mundane routines. The only possible way he could have a better time lying low than his elaborate plans were if--

A small burst of fire impacted the ground, stopping a man from fleeing further away from a collapsed mother with her purse. Following the path of the fireball on instinct, he saw a figure standing atop a smith's shop. He could tell it was a female, probably in her late teens from the height and frame of her body. She wore a series of attire pieces that collectively hid her more discernible features from the world. A hooded top that stops at her midriff, disguising the exact color, length, and style of her hair. A smith's apron firmly tied with a dark top underneath, with tight gloves of leather, fitted leggings, and black boots. The final piece was an odd iron mask she wore over her face that had a visor dark enough to hide her eye shape and color.

As the young lady leaped from the roof of the building, rolling along the ground to minimize the impact to her legs, Winter made an adjustment to his thoughts. This town had something he'd considered preferable, yet optional:

A bigger attraction than him.