The assassin looked somewhat shaken, although only his eyes showed through the mask, and Kensaki couldn't blame him. The four who had attacked him so brazenly had been confident at first, moving to surround their opponent. They obviously had known something of him, as the song had not unnerved them in the least. Such overconfidence was almost amusing. When the first man fell, the others barely faltered. The second death put the remaining pair on the defensive. The third man to fall still lived; his screams still washed over Kensaki's ears, seeming a perfect complement to Darkstar's dark melody. His legs ended at the knees, having been sheared off moments ago.
The last man, to his credit, did not try to run. Perhaps he knew that it would not be allowed, and perhaps not. He lunged in an overhand strike, a bold move, but one born of desperation. His life ended relatively painlessly. Kensaki stepped toward the legless assassin, still writhing on the ground, and ended his screams before deftly flicking the scarlet blood from his blade and sheathing it. In less than half a minute, four men lay dead. In the depths of his mind, a childish voice positively chortled with glee.
Who would have sent assassins after him? He made a brief search of their bodies, and found a drawing that was a fairly good likeness of him tucked beneath one man's belt. Interesting. Kensaki wondered briefly where they had gotten such a thing; few who knew him for what he was survived. He pocketed the drawing and began to stow his gear into his pack. It would be light soon, and he might as well get an early start.