Rose struggled to comprehend the young man’s words. Was he serious? Her blue eyes flicked towards Otai, who wore a self-satisfied smirk on his face, his white face tattoo glowing.
Opalstein arrived at that moment, almost completing a sage symbol while running. His magic misfired, burst into sparks that blinded him and caused him to stumble into the dirt when he witnessed the strange scene.
“What’s happening?” the square-jawed alchemist asked, spitting out dirt and leaves.
“More trouble,” was all Rose could reply.
The young man, the kickboxer, shimmered in golden light and asked Rose, “So, what’s it going to be?”
“Do you know what you’re doing, good sir?” Rose asked gravely. “The man you’re standing with is a Badlander.”
“I come from a bad place too, sister. Some of us aren’t born with everything,” the kickboxer said with reproach, staring at Rose’s silver armor that cast a silvery glow on her beautiful face.
“What do you mean by that?” she responded in a low tone. He had hit a sensitive spot within her. She had worked hard to earn her place in the Hunter's Guild, relying solely on her own merits rather than any family connections or support. In fact, she had even saved up to purchase her armor, determined to show that she was more than just someone from a powerful family.
“You don’t have it,” the kickboxer retorted, meeting her gaze.
“Have what?”
“The scars of life,” Battle Lord Otai chose to answer, his gravelly voice resonating. “You’ve only lived for so long, so I don’t hold it against you, but it’s obvious. Even my young friend here, with his dull mind, can see the soft noble in you, a soft noble that has never known struggle.” His face tattoo blazed. “You aren’t like those of us who had to live in dirt and squalor, fighting just to survive. You aren’t like us.”
“Neither of you know anything about me,” Rose glowered.
“Lady Verdinant!” an aged voice called out, prompting a deep sigh from Rose. An old warrior in high-quality armor approached her side. It was Dawrite, with lips slightly stained red from drinking one of Polopp’s health potions.
Otai's voice quivered as he asked, "Verdinant? You're the daughter?" The name alone carried weight, even in the lawless Badlands where reputations preceded people. Everyone knew the Verdinant family's immense wealth and power.
"Indeed, she is," confirmed Opalstein. "The Verdinant family, known as the most powerful in the land, holds her as their beloved daughter." Opalstein's tone held a warning, making it clear that any harm coming to Rose would not be taken lightly by the Verdinant family, who had the capability to unleash destruction upon the Lorn Badlands.
The kickboxer scratched his head. "Verdinant? You mean those dudes who ride around in them sick symbol carriages?" he asked, his tone tinged with awe and a hint of envy.
A memory surfaced: "Verdinant is like the sun," Red’s mother had said, "dazzling and unreachable for folks like us."
Rose could see the kickboxer's expression shift as he realized the vast divide between their worlds.
"You aren’t like us," he observed, eyeing Rose with a mix of admiration and disbelief. It was as if they hailed from different planets, such was the stark contrast between their lives.
"See that?" Battle Lord Otai gestured toward Rose. "She's the real face of that debaucherous place. I bet she's never even set foot on your side of the Jewel City," he said to the kickboxer, his tone dripping with contempt.
The kickboxer wanted to ask Rose how she viewed the slums, but Dawrite spoke first. “Lady Verdinant is the child of the head of the Verdinant household. You lower folk should show some respect.”
Battle Lord Otai caught the kickboxer's eye and gave him a pointed look, causing the kickboxer to scowl at Dawrite.
“Stop speaking for me,” Rose scolded the aged warrior.
“I apologize,” Dawrite said, bowing at the waist. He was the head servant of the Verdinant House. How could he not speak up for her honor? It was his duty.
An archer with a lackadaisical expression appeared above them on a tree branch. “What are you all doing down there?” He asked, “Why aren’t we tearing that Badlander apart yet?”
“Loderans lack skill but still have so many words to say,” Otai grumbled.
“Come down here, Welsen,” Opalstein said, waving the archer down, “I believe we have entered a negotiation phase.”
“Have you been to the slums?” the kickboxer asked Rose.
“No,” Rose answered truthfully. Her parents had prohibited her from stepping foot out of the upper districts her entire life.
“Have you ever thought about it or do any of you in the upper districts ever think of us?”
“Yea, we think about how much you lot smell,” Welsen smirked. He did not like the kickboxer. The archer saw a show off in him and he hated show offs, especially if they could show him up.
“Why are so many people speaking for me today?” Rose snapped, glaring at Welsen’s lazy expression.
The kickboxer's voice rumbled with a fierce intensity, his eyes blazing with an indomitable spirit. "We may be poor, our homes may be broken, and our streets may be filled with the stench of poverty, but we are still human beings, man!" His words were a challenge to anyone who dared to underestimate his worth, and he stood tall, unflinching in the face of those born with more.
"Save your breath, boy," Otai scoffed, shaking his head, “All they hear is barking or the mewing of an animal.”
Welsen sneered, his eyes narrowing with disdain. "Couldn't have said it better myself," he spat with venom. "The slums are nothing but a festering sore on the city. I wish the City Lord would just wipe them off the map already."
"Welsen!" Rose's voice was sharp, her eyes ablaze.
"They're our enemies, my lady. What do words matter now?" he argued. "We should stay ready to fight them." An eyebrow rose on his forehead when he saw Opalstein shaking his head.
“That young man with the golden energy is not to be trifled with,” Opalstein whispered to him. Welsen didn’t believe him, but he also didn’t want to stir up the fury of a potential dangerous foe, so he quieted.
A few minutes later, Hawl, the man in religious clothes, approached.
“Now that we’re all here,” Rose said, turning to Otai, “Speak your piece.”
“I want the necromancer, Loderans. I have been forced into his service by ancient magic,” Battle Lord Otai started, looking each of Rose’s team in the face as he spoke. “Seeing as you all are here for his head, you can help me, or we can do battle again.” His massive head tilted toward the kickboxer’s direction. “But be warned, against the two of us, you lot will be crushed into dust.”
The kickboxer’s glow brightened, the promise of a fight igniting his spirit and exciting him. He’d prove to them that people from the Reeking Valley were people too, people that they deserved dignity and respect as well, people like Red’s mama.
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Rose’s team was wary but their leader spoke, “Good sir,” she said to the kickboxer, “Are you sure about this?”
The kickboxer replied, “We could never vibe together, Verdinant.”
Rose bit her lip in frustration. She could never escape the name. All she wanted to do was to prove herself beyond the name of Verdinant.
“Well?” Battle Lord Otai prompted, waiting for their answer.
Though hesitant by the Badlander and the kickboxer joining forces, Rose’s team remained steadfast and resolute. However, their leader knew they needed to make the best possible choice.
"Very well," Rose relented. "Let us find the necromancer and part ways as soon as possible." She knew that prioritizing the survival of her team was the only sensible choice.
Despite moving together, Rose's team and the duo of the kickboxer and Otai traveled in separate groups, each headed back to the location of their initial confrontation together.
“He’s not here,” Otai muttered, looking around once they arrived.
“Where’d the necromancer go?” Opalstein asked, “I saw him pass out right here when we arrived.”
Hawl grabbed everyone's attention. "He must be dying," he guessed. "Summoning that skeleton army couldn't have been easy. He must have depleted his mana beyond what he could afford." Though Hawl was a healer in the Church of Produryte, he had a keen interest in magic that often went beyond what the elder clergy found tolerable.
“Then how’d he walk off by himself?” Welsen sighed impatiently, rolling his eyes.
“Other tracks,” Otai said, his thick finger pointing at footprints leading away from the spot the necromancer had once been.
“Let’s move,” Rose said, “And be prepared. There are more than a few sets of footprints.”
Otai frowned, knowing who had taken the necromancer but kept his silence. They would have to deal with this problem soon enough.
The Badlander was the first to move in direction of the tracks with everyone following right after, Rose managing to get close to the kickboxer as they moved.
“Hello,” she said, walking up to the tall young man.
The kickboxer gave her momentary glance and said curtly, “Aloha.” She became confused. “Hola. Nǐ hǎo. Namaste. Wudup.” He remained facing forward, walking without expression.
“I can see that you are upset but know that I do not hold the same views as my servant Dawrite or our archer Welsen.”
“What do you want, dude?”
“…what’s a dude?” she had to ask.
“A noun.”
“Never mind that. I just want to tell you that the Badlands is a land ravished by endless wars. Nothing good can be found there. You have potential. In fact, I believe you can become a Hunter.”
The kickboxer’s hand rustled in his pocket before holding up a shiny badge for her to see, still walking forward and still not looking at her.
“That slum rat is a Base Rank 10 Hunter?!” Welsen sputtered loudly, his voice echoing in the forest. He’d been walking closely to Rose in case the young man from the slums tried something untoward toward her when he saw the Hunter badge appear.
The other members of Rose’s team immediately focused in on the badge the kickboxer held up and let out a collective, “What?!”
At first Rose had no words and when she could speak, she asked the kickboxer, “How have I never seen you at the guild? I keep track of all the Base Rank 10 Hunters in case I need extra members for a quest.”
The kickboxer answered, “Big bro Euness hooked me up with the dime sack ranking just recently, bra. Then he broke down that I needed to go today to where the white rabbit frolics and be as one with the branch guild there.”
Rose parsed the kickboxer’s words and found meaning. “You’re saying that you were supposed to go to the White Rabbit district today?”
“Bingo, bango. The chick has brains as well as riches. Hip hip hooray.”
“Are you mocking me?” Rose couldn’t understand the kickboxer’s slang, but she didn’t need to with the apparent distaste in his expression.
“I don’t go where I don’t belong,” the kickboxer said. “I won’t let you people look down on Red.”
“Who’s Red?”
The kickboxer sped up to get away from her, but as he did so, his hand fell back down and released the Hunter’s badge at the same time. Rose wanted to snap at him for ignoring her but seeing the dropped badge caused her to stop to pick it up with care.
“Why did you drop this?” Rose asked, looking at the exact replica of what she had in her pocket. When she received the same Base Rank 10 badge, she couldn’t stop smiling and even cried. She had put all her effort in achieving her current rank as a Hunter.
“The Badlands is probably Hunter Guild free,” the kickboxer answered, walking away. “I won’t be needing that any longer.”
“But the Hunter’s Guild is the guild of heroes,” Rose muttered, confusion setting in, staring at the badge of black and gold. “Their legacy spans thousands of years. Even after so long, the guild still values skill over bloodline, heroism over nepotism, results over possible favors. You throw away hope of people who need protection. You throw away the promise of heroes showing up when all seems bleak.” Her eyes rose to look at the kickboxer’s back. “You throw away what I’ve been dreaming of my entire life.”
“Leave that slum rat be,” Welsen sneered, looking at the young man glowing gold.
“Welsen is right,” Dawrite added, “Some are not born to be great, especially slum trash.”
“A slum dweller making it as a Base Rank 10 Hunter,” Hawl awed, “That is a rare feat.”
“I can’t believe he’s the same Hunter ranking as us,” Welsen grumbled.
“I told you,” Opalstein said with a knowing look at the archer, “That young man is not normal.”
They all arrived at the blown out entry of the underground laboratory not knowing what to expect. When they stepped through the rubble, they were met with around forty people standing in the middle of the cave, armed with sticks and rocks, ready to fight. They wore gray clothes meant for workers and their disposition was that of hard resolve and their eyes were filled with purpose.
“Leave Mister Zini alone!” a young woman screamed, stepping forward.
“Get back,” a man at the head of the group yelled at her hurriedly. The young woman hopped back into place. The man then looked to the Badlander and shouted, “You there, Mister Zini’s servant. Turn around and protect Mister Zini from these intruders.”
Battle Lord Otai flinched, expecting his body to react to the man’s words, but he soon smiled widely as his face tattoo glowed white. “The magic controlling me has lost strength. It seems Mister Necromancer’s life is failing.”
Fear and anxiety filled the faces of the people in gray.
“What are we going to do?” one asked, worry etched in their face.
Another cried out, “We’re doomed!”
“You’ll never take us alive, Badlander!” roared the man who seemed to be the leader.
Before anyone could act, Rose stepped forward and called out, “Halt! All of you, halt! What is going on here? Are you captives of the necromancer?”
“Mister Zini would never harm us,” the young woman in gray denied.
“No one will make a slave out of me,” the leader declared, “I’d die first!”
Opalstein spoke in astonishment, “You all are slaves?”
“We were smuggled out of Soalde by a Loderan,” the leader spat with distaste at Opalstein, “And it looks like more Loderans are here to help the Badlanders. You sell out your own kind.”
“What is the meaning of this?” Rose asked, her blue eyes narrowing at Otai.
“Do I have to explain my business to you, Loderan?” the Badlander scoffed, “This is between me and my property.”
“We’re people, not property!” the young woman in gray screeched.
“Slaves? Here in Loderan?” Hawl said, surprised.
“Can you see it now?” Rose asked, turning to face the kickboxer, “This is a part of what they do in the Badlands.”
Otai glanced at the kickboxer and noticed his unease. “Not cool, bra,” the kickboxer said to him.
Rose turned back the slaves and announced, “We’re Hunters of the Hunter’s Guild. Come with us. We will free you from the Badlander and the necromancer.”
“The necromancer helped us,” the slave woman argued, “He freed us from the Badlander, fed us and kept us safe.”
Rose didn’t know what to say. They had been requested to come to this forest, Vitelwood, to eliminate a necromancer. “Are you sure it was him that saved you?” Rose inquired.
“Yes! He’s kind hearted. He even saved the Badlanders who had tried taking us.”
“Clearly he should’ve killed these savages,” the slave leader muttered through gritted teeth, eyeing the hulking figure of Otai whose glowing face tattoo accentuated his wide smile.
“What will you do?” Rose asked, turning back to the kickboxer. “You can see the Badlander’s true nature. Will you still stand by him?”
“Slavery is for squares, bra,” the kickboxer said to Otai solemnly. “This is not the kind of vibe I can be down with, hombre.”
Battle Lord Otai had paid a high price for these slaves, even losing both of his brothers who were also Battle Lords, resulting in a significant weakening of his tribe. As he watched the kickboxer, he couldn't help but notice how relaxed the young man appeared, yet coiled and ready to fight at a moment's notice, possessing all the qualities of a true Badlander. The kickboxer possessed the very traits that Otai valued in a son—potential that exceeded anything he or his brothers had shown at such a young age.
In truth, Otai would have given up everything for a son with such promise.
“You don’t like slavery?” Otai asked the kickboxer.
“Not for me, bra,” the kickboxer answered.
“Then let’s leave these slaves. We’ll take my people and let us depart from this worthless place.”
“Now you’re talking like a big bro, big bro. Let’s skedaddle.”
“But first, let me free myself from the confines of the necromancer’s magic,” Otai said.
Without hesitation, Otai lunged forward like a force of nature, barreling through the slave group with a ferocity that left them scattered like autumn leaves in the wind.
“Stop him!” the young slave woman cried out.
As blood trickled down the slave leader's forehead from a deep gash, he bellowed, "Keep that brute away from Mister Zini!"
With a single hand, Otai exerted force to push open the door at the back of the cave, revealing a sight that both relieved and angered him. His fellow Badlanders were frozen in place by magic, bound by ropes like prisoners, just as he had last seen them before being forced to leave them behind. Otai's gaze swept over the room, flicking back and forth until it landed on his target - the necromancer, lying on a rough bed of straw. But Otai wasn't the only one conscious in the room. A gnome, clutching a vial of crimson liquid, huddled beside the necromancer.
"Oh, drats. They were supposed to keep you busy for longer," the gnome sputtered as soon as he spotted Otai.