Ba Gấu felt a familiar heat rise in his throat, the Riptooth pulsing a feral rhythm against his ribs. He wanted to lash out, to snarl and snap, to rip the smug grin from the man's face. But Elder Ironclaw's dinner, his chance at reclaiming his life, hung precariously in the balance.
He swallowed his anger, forcing a semblance of composure. "I'm going to meet with Elder Ironclaw," he growled, his voice rough but firm. "And I suggest you get out of my way."
Mai, her eyes briefly flickering with something akin to pity, opened her mouth to speak, but the male cut her off with a curt gesture. "Not so fast, mutt. Elder Ironclaw doesn't keep company with… strays."
His words were like a slap, a reminder of Ba Gấu's current state, a wolf stripped bare by the storm, his fangs dulled, his claws clipped. He glanced down at his worn clothes, the grime clinging to him like a second skin, a stark contrast to the polished opulence of his past life.
Shame gnawed at him, but he refused to let it cripple him. "Mai," he rasped, the word catching in his dust-parched throat. "What brings you here... with him?" His gaze flickered to the Cẩu Binh, taking in his well-fed frame and smug grin.
Mai, her eyes clouded with a mix of pity and defiance, opened her mouth, but the Cẩu Binh cut her off with a condescending chuckle. "Hold on, mutt. Not everyone entertains strays."
Ba Gau's chest tightened. The word struck a raw nerve, echoing the whispers that had chased him since his fall from grace. He glanced down at his worn pelt, the grime a testament to his current struggles. Shame flickered, but he quelled it with a snarl.
"And who," he met the Cẩu Binh's gaze, his own fierce and unwavering, "might you be, lounging on another dog's doorstep?"
"Nam Long," the Cẩu Binh preened, "heir to the illustrious Golden Paw Trading Company." He threw an arm around Mai, a possessive gesture that made Ba Gau's claws itch.
Ba Gau scoffed. "Seems even heirs need someone to guard their bones while they play."
Nam Long's smile faltered. "Unlike some," he retorted, his voice dripping with disdain, "I don't rely on pity handouts to survive."
Ba Gau's eyes narrowed. Pity? From this self-proclaimed heir? He let out a humorless bark. "Tell me, Nam Long," he drawled, each word laced with challenge, "how many teeth have you lost in your luxurious life? How many scars do you bear from protecting those you claim to serve?"
Nam Long faltered, his bravado wavering under Ba Gau's scrutiny. He had never fought for survival, his battles confined to boardrooms and negotiations.
Sensing his advantage, Ba Gau pressed on. "A wolf doesn't need a pack to hunt," he growled, his voice low and dangerous. "Sometimes, the lone wolf brings down the biggest prey."
He pushed past them, his head held high despite the gnawing emptiness in his belly. His past might haunt him, but he wouldn't be defined by it. He was Ba Gấu, the Butcher reborn, and he would carve his own path, one bite, one victory at a time.
As he stalked away, he heard Nam Long mutter something about strays and troublemakers. Ba Gau didn't care. He knew the truth – not all gold gleamed, and sometimes, the lone wolf's howl was louder than the bray of a pampered lapdog. He had to reclaim his identity, and Nam Long, with his gilded paws and empty threats, wouldn't stand in his way.
The meeting with Elder Ironclaw had concluded, their bribe of a lavish stall secured, and permission granted for Nam Long to finally expand his business interests into Diba upon their formal marriage. As they left the opulent mansion, twilight painting the sky in hues of crimson and gold, the air around them buzzed with unspoken tension.
Nam Long, still smarting from Ba Gấu's defiance, harbored a simmering resentment that Mai, despite her veiled warnings, hadn't been able to fully extinguish. His gaze kept darting towards the bustling streets, searching for any sign of the "Butcher Fang."
"He seems... troubled," Nam Long finally remarked, his voice laced with thinly veiled disdain. "That Ba Gấu."
Mai, her heart a tangled mess of guilt and apprehension, offered a tight smile. "He is. Lost, perhaps, clinging to shadows."
Her cryptic words, intended to appease Nam Long's growing suspicion, did little to soothe his unease. The image of Ba Gấu's defiant stance, his words about the lone wolf hunting the biggest prey, replayed in his mind, casting a long shadow over their impending nuptials.
They reached their opulent carriage, a lacquered marvel drawn by two majestic snow bears. As they settled inside, the rhythmic clopping of hooves echoing on the cobblestones, Nam Long's thoughts drifted to the upcoming dinner with Elder Ironclaw.
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"Do you think he'll be swayed by this Butcher Fang's pleas?" he asked, his voice laced with doubt.
Mai shrugged, her expression carefully neutral. "Elder Ironclaw is... a creature of habit. Change disrupts his comfort."
Her words were laced with truth, but also with a subtle warning. Elder Ironclaw, notorious for his greed and indifference to the plight of the common dog, wouldn't easily be swayed by Ba Gấu's pleas for support against the Bureau of Living and Breathing. The road ahead for Ba Gấu, she knew, would be fraught with difficulty, paved not just by his past mistakes but also by the entrenched power and apathy of those who held the city's fate in their hands.
As the carriage rolled through the bustling streets, a sense of foreboding settled over both of them. The encounter with Ba Gấu had cast a long shadow, foreshadowing a future where secrets, ambitions, and hidden agendas would collide in a dangerous symphony of chaos. Little did they know, the dinner at Elder Ironclaw's mansion would be a mere prelude to the storm brewing on the horizon, a storm that threatened to sweep away not just Ba Gấu's hopes, but the fragile peace and prosperity of Diba itself.
part 3
Ba Gấu stood before Elder Ironclaw, a towering Cẩu Binh with fur the color of aged iron and eyes that held the weight of a thousand untold stories. The opulent study, filled with the scent of polished wood and aged parchment, felt suffocatingly opulent compared to his own threadbare existence.
He had come with a desperate plea, a petition for a letter of recommendation that could change the course of his life. He needed Elder Ironclaw's support to fight the Bureau of Living and Breathing, an entity that choked the lifeblood from the city’s underbelly.
Ba Gấu presented his case with quiet dignity, his voice roughened by hardship but his words measured and heartfelt. He spoke of the injustices witnessed, the lives crushed, the dreams extinguished by the Bureau's iron fist. He spoke of his own past, a tapestry woven with both darkness and redemption, but ultimately driven by a burning desire to protect the vulnerable.
Elder Ironclaw listened with stoic silence, his face an unreadable mask. Ba Gấu could feel the weight of the Elder's judgment, the scrutiny of a powerful canine who had seen the world's grimy underbelly far too often.
Finally, when Ba Gấu had finished, the Elder sighed, a deep rumble that echoed through the chamber. "Your words are passionate, Fang," he rumbled, his voice heavy with regret. "And your cause, noble in its own right. But..." He paused, his gaze flickering to the opulent furnishings surrounding them, a silent reminder of the wealth and power he embodied. "My influence, as you know, comes with certain… obligations."
He spoke of the Guilds, the power players who held the city's purse strings, of the delicate dance he played to maintain their support. Siding with Ba Gấu, a butcher with a checkered past, could disrupt that fragile balance, jeopardize the very stability he strived to maintain.
Ba Gấu understood. He saw the conflict etched on the Elder's face, the war between compassion and pragmatism. He saw the burden of responsibility, the weight of a thousand lives resting on a single pair of wise old eyes.
"I see," he replied, his voice devoid of bitterness. "Then your answer is no."
It was not the answer he had hoped for, but it was one he expected. He had gambled, knowing the odds were stacked against him. Yet, there was a flicker of something like respect in the Elder's eyes, a grudging acknowledgment of his courage.
"No," the Elder confirmed, his voice softer now. "But it is not a refusal born of malice, Fang. It is the heavy hand of circumstance." My own paws are tied. The Guilds, you understand..."
The scent of jasmine and warm bread wafted into the room before the petite Cẩu Binh appeared. "Uncle, I thought I heard your voice," she said, her lilac eyes widening in surprise at the sight of Ba Gấu. This was Mai, Elder Ironclaw's niece, a vision of grace and elegance, her silks whispering of wealth and privilege.
"Ah, Mai," the Elder boomed, gesturing for her to join them. "Meet Ba Gấu, a Cẩu Binh with a noble cause but unfortunately, one that runs counter to… certain interests."
Mai dipped her head respectfully, her gaze lingering on Ba Gấu's ragged attire and scarred features. A flicker of curiosity flitted across her eyes, momentarily replacing the usual guardedness.
The conversation shifted, meandering down the winding paths of power and responsibility. Ba Gấu, sensing the Elder's unspoken desire to soften the blow, spoke about his own path, the "Riptooth" way, as they called it.
"It's a lonely path," he admitted, his voice gravelly. "But also one of unyielding strength. We rely on raw instinct, honed senses, and the power within."
Elder Ironclaw, his gaze distant, nodded grimly. "Indeed. The Riptooth requires a unique set of skills, a blend of cunning and ferocity."
He listed them, his voice echoing in the hushed study:
Skills:
Keen Observation: The ability to read subtle cues, anticipate movements, and exploit even the smallest weakness.
Shadow Stride: Moving unseen, melting into the darkness, becoming a whisper in the night.
Iron Resolve: Resisting pain, fear, and despair, pushing through adversity with unwavering determination.
Battle Moves:
Ripping Fang: A lightning-fast attack, tearing through flesh and bone with brutal efficiency.
Gutting Claw: A swift, vicious strike aimed at the vulnerable underbelly, disarming and disabling an opponent.
Maneuver:
Blood Shadow: A deceptive feint, vanishing from sight in a burst of speed and reappearing behind the enemy, striking when least expected.
As Mai listened, her initial curiosity morphed into fascination. The Riptooth path, though arduous and unforgiving, held a raw poetry, a primal beauty that resonated with something deep within her.