Ahhhh, I still remember the day. It was a chilling morning, winter’s parting gift before giving way to spring. The rising sun illuminated  the freshly re-flooded rice paddies with a golden hue as the hazy morning mist began to drift away.  The cries of birds echoed alongside the clattering of cart wheels, shrills of children; all sounds of the village stirring, and coming to life. This lonely farming village, Vy, could hardly have been called a grand city back then. But I had plans, oh did I have plans.  Not all of them worked out of course,but the  first one  worked even better than expected.  

I gave the signal, and my men moved out, a slow trot at first, our horses hooves nearly silent on the soft dew-laced grass.when we broke the tree line,  we broke into full gallop, all 70 of the Zenry Clan bandits rushing into the village at once. Most bandits would raze the village to the ground, kill  the men, rape the women, sell the children. But we weren't most bandits, not anymore, not since I was in charge.

“Village Chief, Come out! Your people need your guidance!” I shouted, parroting words I had heard only once before. The man I assumed to be  village chief came out from the growing crowd of frightened  peasants. He was a portly man, but the fat of his belly was equaled by the muscle in his arms. A hard worker in his day, I would guess, but age and drink had caught up to him. He came surrounded by a small group, not even a dozen, men with spears and loose scale mail. Town guard if I were to hazard a guess.

“What’s your business here, bandit!” The chief said, attempting to hide the fear in his voice. He was doing an excellent job, really. He stood straight, looked me in the eye, did almost everything right. But he was trying to keep his voice from going high so he ended up forcing it unnaturally deep.  His crossed arms were bound so tight by his hands, his knuckles were turning white. He began to sweat, despite cold morning. Yes, this man was good at hiding it, but few men know fear better than a bandit, and he was afraid. Good.

“Now now, no reason we can't be civil, we're going to be going to be working together.” I chuckled at his baffled expression for a moment before raising my voice so that the whole of the crowd could hear me.

“From now on, this village belong to the Zenry clan! You all work for us now, not Ealing. So there won't be any need to send off the winter taxes!” The villagers  began to discuss amongst themselves in hushed conversation, my words stirring mixed reactions among them. Ever since the City-state of Ealing started attempting to solidify their power in the region, they had been taxing the villages heavily for “protection”.  It was said they were attempting to build a tower and a palac  in order to contend with the more established city-states.  Foolishness. Perhaps if they had produced soldiers and enforced their supposed protection instead of their useless fineries, I wouldn't have been taking this village.  But those were all what ifs. All that matters is what is.

“Ain't up for discussion! We're in charge now, Isn't that right chief?” I asked. This was the critical moment. I practiced this whole thing so many times in my head, but this is where it really could go bad. Well, then again, it also would have been bad if they attacked on sight… or if everyone had fled.  Bah, more what ifs.  The village chief met my glare, and held it for a while. But he was the first to look away.

“Everyone, for now, the bandits are in charge, so we have to do what they say. If we do, they won't hurt any of us.” He threw a pointed look in my direction. Meh, I let it slide.

“Of course not, if we did, who could make us the finest rice wine in the province?!” My comment drew a laugh from my men, and surprisingly some of the villagers. What I hadn't known at the time was that little villages  like these changed hands all the time, so they didn't really care that much. The boot might change, but they were no strangers to being stepped on.   

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

As the villagers awkwardly broke up the crowd, heading back into their same old daily tasks, I met the eyes of a boy. Well, I say boy, but at his age, I was already a man. But his eyes, they held a spectrum of emotion, anger, confusion, but most of all, frustration. They reminded me of my own from back then.

When I was a brat younger than he, ten years ago, the Zenry raided my village. This was a proper raid though, with all the death and violence, blood and fire.  My father had been a bowman,  a hunter most of the time, town guard when he was home from the hunt.  He was home when the Zenry attacked in broad daylight,  sneaking up on the lax guards,  destroying any who dared oppose them.

My father was patrolling the town. I say patrolling, but it was more like strolling around, exchanging gossip with the other older men about who was cheating on whom. He was among the first to die, not taking a single man with him. I knew this, because the Zenry only lost  one man that day.

My mother, hearing the sounds of carnage, did what most mothers would do. She called me and my brothers into the house so she could hold us and keep us safe. As though the safest place in the world was in her arms.

Luckily, our house was on the outskirts of town. We were somewhat shunned for a few years, you see.  I was born dark of skin but red of hair, inheriting the skin of my father and hair of my mother. Such a thing was considered unnatural, an omen. They advised my parents to kill  their demon child at birth, which they refused, thank the heavens. Luckily my siblings all came out normal, or we definitely would have been  lynched by the town, but that's another matter.

Since our house was on the edge of town, by the time they had  gotten towards our area, they were somewhat tired. I escaped my mother's grasp to peek out the window,  hearing the screams getting closer.

“Jatendra, come away from there!” She had screamed, but I didn't obey. I could already see men approaching the area, one heading straight for our home. I knew what was coming. I had never actually seen the horrors of the world before then, but somehow, I knew. If that man made it past the door of our home, what awaited us was a fate worse than death.  So I grabbed my father’s favorite, sharpest knife, and waited. Seconds later, the man kicked in the door, scaring my mother as she held my brothers closer. He looked at her, almost the same way as my father did when he came home from a long hunt. But there was no goodness in it.

Before he could take  one foot inside my home,  I ran at him, catching him in the side with the knife as he howled  in pain. That noise would haunt my dreams for years, until I had caused so many screams that I could no longer tell which from which. I pulled the knife out and tackled him trying again. And again and again and again, forgetting everything my father taught me in my fervor, just stabbing until there was no more howling.   By the time I looked up, there were more bandits. They all surrounded our home, laden with treasures from the village, reeking of blood and rice wine. One big one,  sporting the village chief’s favorite necklace around his neck, stepped forward, his scarred face split in a grin as he brandished his sword at me.

“You just costed me a man, boy. A life can only be replaced by a life,” he said. I looked around at the other smirking men, waiting to see me die. I glanced back at my mother and brothers, crying, awaiting their own deaths. Then I stared back at the man. There was no anger in his eyes, only  amusement. At the time, I didn't quite understand, but I knew my best chance at living was doing the most unexpected thing I could think of to impress the man.

“I will replace him.” I said. The man flashed  a look of shock, then he grinned even further. I would never see him grin like that again in my life. Sometimes I wonder why he didn't just cut me down on sight, it certainly wasn't out of his character. I’d soon learn how terrifying this man could be, how wrathful, and cruel. A painful lesson, as most necessary ones are.

“I am Roark Zenry. Speak your name, boy.”

“Jatendra.”

That day, I left my village and never looked back. I was angry, confused, and frustrated. But, just like the boy  currently in front of me, the target of my emotions wasn't my oppressors. It was confused by my village, how could they not fight harder? How could they, a village full of hunters, let this happen? I was angry with my father for not protecting his family, forcing me to have to do it.

Yes, this village brought back many memories.