He slammed his broad blade into the doorjamb, splintering it's edge and knocking a piece of wood out. Another slam brought the widening hole in the door to a point at which he could manually deactivate the deadbolt. With it out of the way, he quietly slid the door open, laughing to himself at his caution after having bludgeoned the door open. He walked inside the house, the soft dusk light filtering through the fancy blinds, oblivious to the carnage the door had borne witness to. He slammed the hilt of his blade into the tall glass cabinet near the door, picking out a few expensive looking trinkets and shoving them deep in his pockets, and walked into the kitchen and stole a loaf of bread. He exited the Langley residence, the bread in one hand and the blade in the other. He sat down on the front stoop, the destroyed door dangling from it's hinges still left open behind him. Eventually, the Langleys came home. He stood to greet them.
"I've broken into your home, I stole some of your bread, and your most precious heirlooms. Deliver me to your king." He demanded, and when Sir Langley realized the door had been hacked open, the man attacked him. He didn't resist, and he was knocked unconscious.
He awoke in a dungeon in the kings castle. He recognized the pungent stench of the inside of the dungeon. A stinging, prurulent wound throbbed on the back of his head. The guard at the end of the hallway noticed his lethargic awakening and alerted another at the top of a stairwell. A few minutes later, he was dragged out of the dungeon and into a square. He recognized the faces of the Langleys in the crowd, along with a group of expectant onlookers.
"You have been charged with the violation of the sanctity of the home of the Langleys, the theft of their valuables, and bread. You have been sentenced to death. Have you any last words, prisoner?" He took a deep breath and smiled before saying
"With open arms I awaited thee, my demise ironically the drive for my actions, I stand here before you and ask you to show me no mercy."
The executioner raised his rifle, putting the butt into the curve of his shoulder in an easy and practiced motion of a professional marksman. He pulled the trigger, a loud crack was heard as a small round piece of lead was discharged from the end of the gun. It slammed through his heart, and he fell backward. He fell into death's sweet embrace in seconds, and never lived to regret it.