The rest of the world had faded away.

The sliver of starlight pointed at the tender flesh of the man's throat, her eyes fixed upon him as her fingers wrapped tight on the hilt of her blade.

Robin's heart, long since having adjusted to combat, was hammering.

Edren.

Captain.

She fought like their captain.

These were robbers, highwaymen, and yet they claimed that she fought just like their captain.

Her hand wavered only slightly, and yet the tip of her blade was nearly piercing the foremost of the robbers' throats.

What did it mean?

That question repeated itself in her mind over and over again, bouncing back and forth against the confines of her skull. There was absolutely no doubt in her mind that their fighting style was the very same as her own, however degraded it may be in their hands. And they, too, had recognized it.

There wasn't a thought of theatrics in her mind.

Her Old Man couldn't have taught these people, so who? There was no way such a thing could happen.

So who?

Who was tainting the style her Old Man had taught her by teaching it to the sort of people who would rob, and steal, and hurt innocents?

Who would do such a thing?

"Who is your captain?" she asked.

"where is he? When did he teach you?"

The edge on Robin's voice was practically enough to slice the man's throat on its own.

[@Psyker Landshark][@vietmyke][@HereComesTheSnow]