days he tried to remain vigilant during the night. He burned with the desire to meet the one who had saved his honour. It wasn't long after that, one night, he heard the sound of the third bag falling down making the classic tinkling noise of coins. When the blacksmith spotted a silhouette that was fleeing quickly, he started chasing it and once he reached it he recognized it instantly. But he made him solemnly promise not to reveal it to anyone. Do you see what kind of man he is now?"
"Yes, yes, admirable... although I suppose the blacksmith's promise wasn't kept, otherwise it doesn't explain how you know about it, but surely you had to make a similar promise, didn't you?"
"Details, details... now, hurry up, we're almost there!"
The holy man was kneeling before the altar, immersed in the silence of prayer.
Although he was genuflected, his great size was evident: much taller and stronger than average, it seemed that his muscles were used to work hard, rather than prayer. The well-groomed blonde beard and long wavy hair, together with his ice-blue eyes, made him look more like a northern barbarian than a citizen of the Empire.
The haste that had guided them until then seemed mystically disappeared in the face of the solemnity of the moment, or more simply, neither of them was so bold as to interrupt it, especially because its enormous bulk, accompanied by the fame of those who know how to use their hands well, aroused fear even before respect.
After what seemed like endless minutes, one of the two sketched a simple cough, just to discreetly notify their presence, but the attempt did not bring the desired results.
The two of them, exchanging glances in agreement, gestured to encourage each other to try again with more emphasis. Thus they delivered ever more violent blows, until the Bishop was obliged to pay them attention.
"Brothers, do you need warm milk and honey, or did you want to tell me something important?"
The one who had addressed the needy lowered his head and clutching his hat tightly in his hands began to babble awkwardly.
"Yes, Excellency, it's like you say... I mean no, we don't need honey, although I agree that milk with honey is a great remedy for coughs and that's why I always keep some in the pantry... honey I mean, because milk after a while becomes sour and it's not good for cheese either, while honey..."
The other, seeing that his friend had become bogged down, decided to intervene to stop the river of absurdity that, overflowing, was uselessly flooding the ears of the holy man.
"I need your help! Last night, demons broke into my house, plundered everything, and before they left, they took the souls of my three children!"
The giant, grasping his eyes so much that it almost seemed as if his orbits were about to come out, rose up and, grasping the heavy bishop's staff with one hand, swirled him whirling in the air, thundering his disappointment.
"What? What were you waiting to tell me? Come on, lead me in haste to those children, and on the journey pray to God that he will come in time to save them, or I will vent my wrath upon your empty and useless heads with this stick!"
In a hurry the three of them left the temple, while the Bishop, still incredulous of the stupidity of the two peasants, grumbled with narrow teeth.
"Unconscious lunatics! There are children in mortal danger and they get lost in useless shacks!"
When they reached their destination, signs of devastation from the raid were clearly visible. The hiccups of the mother of the children could be heard distinctly, bent over their bodies lying in thatched beds and immersed in a deep sleep.
"Here they are, Your Excellency. They are wrapped in an endless sleep..."
The Bishop bent over the children and, as he did, unfortunately, those who had already seen such symptoms began to examine them.
"It's just as I thought... the souls of the boys are relegated to limbo halfway between life and death, we must act soon or... the worst will prevail."
The door suddenly opened wide and sneering monstrosities appeared on the threshold, maliciously peering at them.
"Oh my God, the demons! They're back!" cried the man.
Everyone gasped and fled back in terror. All except the holy man, furious at the mere sight of intruders. Foreboding what was going to happen, he grabbed his stick and prepared himself for the fight.
The monsters, whose leader of the pack was supposed to be the biggest, came boldly and showed the worst intentions.
"Nicholas! You finally fell into the trap! The time has come for you to pay your debts to our master, with your blood!"
The other hideous creatures, snickering, foolishly echoed their leader's last words.
"Eh! Eh! Trap! Trap!"
"Your blood... your blood!"
Nicholas, revealing his perplexities, frowned upon his forehead.
"And you think a shabby bunch of Krampus can really bother me?"
"You're a regular loudmouth! However, while we will tear you to pieces, the souls of the little angels you wanted to save will fly straight to the lands of my Lord, slaves for eternity, and you will not be able to avoid it!"
Anger took hold of Nicholas and the hand guided her.
"No more words!"
Swirling the stick in the air, he struck a violent blow on the muzzle of the first Krampus, who, unfortunately, had inadvertently crossed the threshold of safety distance. The jaw, broken on impact, distorted the creature's face in a comical grimace. The creature, pirouetting on itself, headed at great speed on the opposite wall. The others, without further delay, threw themselves screaming at the enemy trying to knock him down, those with nailed clubs, those with spears or sharp sickles. Every attempt to hit him generated skilful parades and quick responses that at first disarmed and then inflicted painful blows. Nicholas alternated the use of the crosier with his fists and slaps, settling them with great satisfaction and with all the power that his enormous bulk made available to him. Whenever one of the evil creatures was put out of action for good, it would dissolve, leaving a greyish dust and disappear forever into the limbo of evil. Much of the furniture was destroyed in the fight, used mainly by Nicholas both to defend himself and to put the enemy out of the game. During the clash, the Bishop had the impression that this group of Krampus was not particularly trained for battle, given their lack of ability to coordinate with each other, and it did not add up. This was also confirmed by the ease with which he disengaged from attacks and how easily he managed to bring them down. One after the other all eleven demons were sent into the underworld, leaving only their wounded and crawling head in the corner of the room under the threat of the giant's coup de grace.
"You think you've won, don't you?" the Krampus insisted.
"Correct me if I'm wrong: you're alone, unarmed and on the ground, what do you think?" replied the man with the confidence of the winner.
Panting despite his condition and panting for his wounds, the creature spat a blackish mush into the ground.
"I may disappear from this world to the underworld, but you, dream man, will never find the way to bring the children back in time!"
The Bishop bent over the demon, grabbed
