Chapter 4: Fighter
Zan awoke from his restful, filling slumber. Bread crumbs still on his mouth as he calmly assessed himself.
Last night, the bread bandit himself stole around…ten?...twenty? About forty pieces of bread, and gorged himself on them in a voracious, gluttonous blur.
That was just before swaying left, then right, as he passed out onto the ground in a food coma.
Later that morning many ghost stories circulated through the slave community. Many were frightened, some felt wronged and incensed, though some others prayed to the ghost in gratitude, thanking him for only taking their bread and not their lives.
The red haired ghost mentioned however, had more pressing matters to take care of.
Zan awoke early this morning, and he knew it was early despite his unchanging lightless surroundings, for his instincts warned him of the coming danger. Five unknown men had walked into his cave abode.
“This place is basically pitch darkness.”
“Only a rat could find its way here.”
“A rat’s what we're looking for. Just find the fucking boy, his friend already told us he'd be deeper in this shithole.”
Zan pondered on his situation, thinking about what they said, and what actions to take best.
To talk things out peacefully? To leave cowardly and quietly but without conflict?
Resolutely, he made a decision.
A haunting voice resonated through the entire cave, suddenly appearing from the darkness.
“Why are you looking for me?”
The simple but seemingly ominous question echoed through time and space like a stray voice from the underworld.
The men secretly became apprehensive, but took comfort in their numbers against the prepubescent boy.
“We're here to teach you a lesson, kid.”
“You probably don’t even know what you did.”
“We’re gonna string you up and be—”
BAM!
One of the men talking was hit on the temple, Zan’s small but muscular body activated his muscles in flowing fashion.
Taking a slight step forward, he shifted the weight from his legs, turned his hips, and winded a punch with the combined muscles of his abs, back, shoulders and arms,
SWOOSH!
The wind broke as Zan delivered another punch towards the same spot. The man’s head swung to the left at breakneck speeds as he collapsed to the ground.
The men turned to the sounds of flesh being pummeled, before hearing a dull thud as something hit the ground.
It was still pitch black darkness, they could not see a thing.
Zan shifted in the shadows silently but swiftly, moving onto his next target. As if playing with the poor fools, the mass of darkness jabbed at one of the men.
The swift strike bore no force, but it did not mean to. Before Zan’s hand reached the man, he opened his fist into an ironic peace sign, before jamming his two fingers into two eyeballs.
The man screamed in pain but an airbreaking kick to the face silenced him once more.
With two men down and only three left, the men felt fear of the darkness once again. The messy situation had become chaotic, and was now out of their hands.
Zan moved again. Wreaking havoc and trauma on his foes…
Four men laid on the ground unconscious, the last one ran away into a wall before scrambling weakly to find the exit. Zan did not care, it was less work to take care of after all.
In the pitch black darkness, he stood tall, fists clenched, chest heaving, though inhaling and exhaling steadily.
He stood in place, admiring his work and…admiring himself.
Zan knew he had a talent for fighting, he knew ever since a gang of hungry miscreants jumped him for his food and spare coins. Albeit, they beat the shit out of him with their numbers…but Zan never forgot the debt.
The indignant and prideful boy trained like a madman, carrying rocks up and down the mountain, buckets of water along a carrying pole, and the usual pull-ups along a tree branch and push-ups in his small wooden shack.
He ate meat and drank liquor, stealing from the nearby butcher shop and his alcoholic in-laws.
The combination of protein and poison made him stronger and bolder, though he found himself a bit too wasted, and dropped his drinking problem for more clarity during his steali— borrowing endeavors.
Clutching the area above his left eye, he still remembered the event to this day. It was a moonlit night, and he had wine, but not enough meat! So resolutely, he went to fetch some.
He expertly snuck into the butcher’s shop during the hours between midnight and dawn, but his young body and generous alcoholic consumption left him too wobbly.
You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.
After Zan drunkenly stumbled and knocked off some meat during the supposedly silent hours, he saw the butcher’s wife run out into the stock room with a large butcher knife, gleaming and shining with a sinister light.
His eyes widened, and in the next moment he heard a set of light footsteps behind him. He turned around to see that the butcher’s twelve year old and six year old daughters were carrying butcher knives as well, one in each hand…
The older one threw her cleaver at him, and narrowly dodging to the left, the large knife buried itself in the wooden wall next to Zan.
They swung at him but Zan was luckily quite talented and used the ancient drunken style, to barely dodge all of their attacks. Though, he tripped on what looked like a severed human hand…and in the next moment, the six year old girl cut a stylish eyebrow slit on his face.
Blood gushing from near his left eye, he dodged again while skillfully maneuvering towards his exit. Breaking the window by misdirecting a bloodletting strike aimed for his throat, he narrowly escaped cannibalism and vowed to never drink alcohol again, for the sake of his life.
And for the sake of his training too! Zan’s training efficiency skyrocketed once again after dropping the rum bottle and a near brush against death. The clarity that was destroyed through the devil’s poison had come back, much stronger and clearer.
After all, it takes absence to really appreciate what you have. The world seemed to flow slower and Zan could see new modes and patterns throughout combat, and throughout the beauty of life in general. It was a type of clarity, revelation, and enlightenment, that seemed to give him the ability to further grasp the world in front of him.
Exiting his small shack after a six month training montage, it was time to train himself through live, hopefully non-lethal, combat. Hopefully combat not concerning butcher knives!
The impudent youth looked for the hungry miscreants that beat him— he had already seared each of their faces into his memory.
Zan found them each individually, alone and without support this time. And each time he found one of them he asked the same question, and always, he got the same answer.
“Do you remember who I am?”
“...Who the fuck are you???”
“...”
“RAAAH!!”
Zan proceeded to wail on the poor boy, and the poor boy that came next, and the poor boy that came after. His subsequent beatings of the miscreants made him quite famous, or more infamous, near his surroundings.
Eventually they would come back for revenge, if two could not do the job, then three, then four. Zan found himself frequently in fights with random people he did not even know, as more came to challenge him because of his strength.
Unfortunately, these fights were not always fair, be it height and weight, be it an advantage in more people, or be it the usage of blunt weapons, Zan would either fight or run. Fists swinging, flesh battered and lungs gasping for air so many times until he lost count. The insolent boy became locked in a vicious cycle, and he refused to back down until he came out on top.
At the valiant age of thirteen, he had conquered the surrounding miscreants with sheer will, cleverness, and skill. His body was strong and tough, sporting chiseled muscles unlike the malnourished bones of the present.
Snapping out of his reverie, he walked out of the exit.
Zan navigated the cave with skillful mastery, taking the shortest route possible to reach the mouth of the cave while avoiding all of its dead ends and ditches. As he got closer, the surroundings started to get brighter and brighter, until it was no longer pitch black, but simply dim.
Zan hopped over a metal fence, looking back to glance at the signboard that simply stated, “Forbidden Zone.”
He turned his head and continued on his way.
The bell that called the slaves towards the entrance had not rung yet. It was the only way the slavers could call their property, as they would not explore the cave themselves.
Correspondingly, the slaves would not go too far into the darkness where they could not hear the sound of the bell anymore, and thus not be able to find their way.
This sounded like a good way to avoid slavery, until you had to find a way to eat. Unless you were particularly skillful in sneaking and thievery, most would end up caught, mobbed, and then thrown at the guards for disciplinary action. Guess what happened to two-armed Tyr?
Zan came closer and closer but he did not go towards the entrance. No…he would visit his only friend, Cole, first.
The geeky and reserved young man came from the same village as Zan did, though back then Zan was trouble. Cole avoided trouble like the plague. Their friendship only kindled by Cole’s timidness, and Zan’s depression of his parent’s death and burning of his home.
Cole helped the young boy to go from suicidal rage to senseless and unfeeling apathy, which at least kept him living on.
“Cole…”
“Did you tell them, Cole?...”
‘Who the hell even were those guys?’
Zan turned the corner, but it was not the blonde skinny youth that met him, but ten adult men. They looked at him like a boy who had lost his pet, just to see the dog come running home.
The youth assessed his situation, his face remaining stoic despite the circumstances. Zan tightened his fists, and he ran.
The ten adult men came chasing after him.
“Come on boy, we just want to talk!”
“We won’t hurt you! As long as you stop running!”
“No! I’ll hurt you for making me chase you, you runt!”
Zan speeded left and right, right then left, left and left again. Slowly the corridors started to narrow until it could only fit one individual at a time.
Zan skidded to a halt, before turning towards the man running forward, the man could not respond in time to stop as gracefully. As he tried to stop, those coming from behind him pushed him forward and out of balance.
The runt in front of him moved forward at the same time. He ducked while shifting his body with his left foot, cocking his right arm, he drove his body upwards and thrusted his fist straight towards the man’s chin.
The man felt his chin fracture and Zan felt the pain in his fist. Thankfully he spent time punching and squeezing rice during his training.
The man stumbled and fell on his friends, the strike made him dizzy to the point he was seeing double. It took a few moments, but he then finally passed out.
Zan heard the bell ringing and he rushed towards the entrance. Today, Nel The Nice was in charge of them, and his disposition would very likely stop the conflict, to which Zan could come back later for revenge.
Zan still did not know the reason for the conflict, nor had any idea as to what he did, or who had problems with him.
He thought of the antics he had done yesterday. Had someone caught him stealing? Did those two water-bowl thieves, have more support in this place than he thought? Those slaves seemed to be following orders, so who could have ordered them?
In the end of it all, it mattered not to Zan all the same. Violence would be met with violence, and any grievances would be met with payback.
He rushed out the entrance but what he found first was not Nel, but twenty slaves in front of a man and a woman.
That man was dressed in ordinary slaver attire, while the beautiful mature woman next to him was dressed in whatever cheap silks the man had bought her.
Zan knew who she was. Vivian, a slut and known whore, already found a new, higher ranking slaver to cozy up to.
It seemed the young man would soon find out why he was being chased, and he would also find out the sheer nonsense, and absurdity of the reason for it all.
“You’re the boy who said he’d take my daughter's food?” said Vivian.
Then, a little girl came running out from the cave. It was the older girl who he had helped from the water-bowl thieves.
“Mom that's not what I said!”
Out of everyone who could have been the reason, it was the two girls' mother that was the reason for it all.
Droves of slaves started coming out of the cave, hearing the bell and the ensuing commotion. There, the bald man came out, along with the band of youths and the beautiful red haired girl.
The slaver next to Vivian looked at Zan, before he brandished his whip towards the boy.
The wind stirred out of place as the tail of the dragon lashed…yet the outcome surprised all of them.
Zan caught the whip with a single arm. It snaked along his limb as he started to bleed, his eyes showing his fearlessness and unyielding temperament. He pulled the whip towards himself and watched in cold amusement as the slaver floundered out of balance towards him.
Humiliated and enraged, the slaver furiously shouted,
“Nel!”
Zan turned his head to look behind him, as a man with an aggrieved expression hesitated, but proceeded nonetheless to brandish his whip. Zan chose not to dodge.
The whip hit his still fresh, skin and muscle torn back. Zan shook, but he stood tall.
The whip was brandished again. Then again, and again. Zan refused to kneel.
The slaves watched on, first in amusement, then in stupor and astonishment before wincing their heads away from the gruesome sight.
The little girl started to cry.
Nel stopped the whip as he started to get sick.
The other slaver motioned his lackeys to circle Zan. Twenty men surrounded the spiky haired boy but he still showed no fear.
‘Looks like I’m going to die.’
And in the next moment,
“Beat him to death.”
The twenty slaves were apprehensive but they approached him all the same.
Zan got into fighting stance, his usual ragtag style made of whatever he saw and felt worthy of incorporating. The pain in his back long went away, adrenaline pumping through his body as he prepared to take his last stand.
“MOM STOP THEM!!!”
The little girl pleaded.
Vivian also looked hesitant at the thought of killing the poor ragged boy. As venomous as she was, even snakes had hearts. What's the worth of bad bread compared to a life? Thankfully, she could discern that a life was indeed worth more.
Besides, the boy’s back…it looked completely destroyed. The sight was sickening. This was more than enough punishment for bullying her daughter.
She turned to her new gold mine and gave the hardest puppy eyes she could at her new lover…
Nel too, came forward.
“Let's stop it here Delon, he doesn't need to die.”
Delon scoffed, but he looked at Valerie once again, enjoying his new toy.
He gave a bored look, rolled his eyes but gave in.
“Don't kill him.”
The slaver grinned wickedly.
“But beat him to an inch of his life.”