Travis rose from his bed, his body still sore from the relentless training he’d endured over the past week. His feet dragged slightly as he made his way to the water jug by the corner, pouring himself a cup to calm his nerves. He took slow, deliberate sips, his gaze fixed on the horses in the stable, their eyes following his every movement. They were silent witnesses to his restless pacing, the tension rolling off him like a storm.

He hadn’t gone to work for over a week now, and the thought of explaining that to Mr. Logan made his stomach churn. The man wasn’t known for his patience, but Travis tried to brush off the guilt. He had a reason—a damn good one—and for once, he didn’t feel bad about putting this above everything else.

He sighed, setting the cup down as he leaned against the wooden post. Today was the day. The day he’d get his sword back.

He tightened his fists, feeling the raw edges of his palms, a painful reminder of the training he’d endured. Images flashed in his mind—splintered bark beneath his fists, branches breaking under his kicks, and dirt kicked up from hours of footwork. He’d prepared, even if his body wasn’t as strong as theirs. He didn’t think he was ready—not yet—but he wasn’t walking into this blindly. Not this time.

'If there’s a will, there’s a way,' he reminded himself, exhaling deeply as he straightened up.

He dressed quickly, pulling on his worn boots and throwing on his coat, the weight of the day already bearing down on his shoulders. Leaving the stable, he found a nearby restaurant and sat down for a quick meal. His eyes scanned the room as he picked at his food, his mind racing with thoughts of what was about to happen.

He began mapping out scenarios in his head, running through every possible outcome. He remembered the cramped alleyways of the district—tight spaces, uneven ground, sharp edges of stone walls. He thought about how to control the space, how to use the environment to his advantage. No matter how he played it, the results were grim. In every scenario, he either ended up severely injured or worse.

'But at least I’ll have done something instead of nothing,' he thought, his resolve hardening as he forced down the rest of his meal.

After paying the bill, Travis stepped out into the street. The sunlight felt heavy on his skin, and as he stood there, it hit him—he didn’t even know where they lived.

'Fuck,' he thought, shaking his head. 'Guess I’ll have to look around.'

---

An hour of searching later, he spotted them. Bob and Hobbs were strolling down the street like they owned the place, laughing obnoxiously as they went. What caught his eye most was his sword, now slung casually over Hobbs’s shoulder as if it were a trophy. The sight of it made Travis’s blood boil.

Gritting his teeth, he marched toward them, his heart pounding harder with every step.

“Yo!” he called out, his voice sharp and deliberate.

The two turned in perfect sync, their smug grins widening as they recognized him.

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“Well, if it isn’t our favorite customer,” Hobbs said, tapping the blade against the ground like a cane. “How you been? Spent all that money already? You’re glowing. Don’t tell me—you hit up the brothels with it, huh?” He laughed, the sound grating on Travis’s nerves.

Beside him, Bob snickered like a fool, his laughter high-pitched and irritating. The sound fueled Travis’s anger, his fists clenching involuntarily at his sides.

“Yeah, about that,” Travis said, his voice cold. “I’ve got a complaint. Let’s talk about it in that alley over there.” He jerked his head toward a narrow passage between two tall buildings.

The two exchanged amused glances before Hobbs replied, his tone dripping with mock courtesy. “Of course. What kind of gentlemen would we be if we didn’t listen to our favorite customer?”

Bob chuckled again. “Lead the way, boss.”

They turned and began walking toward the alley, their movements casual and unhurried. Travis followed a few steps behind, his eyes burning holes into their backs as he clenched his jaw.

As they stepped into the shadowed alley, the air seemed to grow heavier. Bob and Hobbs moved ahead of him, their posture relaxed, their confidence oozing out of them. Travis slowed his pace, glancing briefly at the scuff marks along the walls and the uneven cobblestones beneath their feet.

He imagined every possible move he could make, every strike he’d need to land. The narrow alley forced them into a line, limiting how they could move.

'I have no reason to be honorable,' he thought, shifting his stance slightly. 'Especially not in a fight where I could die before I even get the chance to fight back. Let’s just get this over with.'

He exhaled, steadying himself as his steps echoed softly against the cobblestones. The time for thinking was over. Now, it was time to act.

The moment they entered the alley, Travis slowed his steps, watching Bob and Hobbs turn to face him. The sword rested lazily on Hobbs’s shoulder, the smug grin on his face making Travis’s blood boil.

“So, what’s your complaint, huh? Not enough coin for your liking?” Hobbs said, tilting his head mockingly.

Travis didn’t answer. Instead, he reached into his coat pocket, feeling the small pouch he’d prepared earlier. His breathing slowed, steady and deliberate. This wasn’t about brute strength. He couldn’t win that way—not against them.

“Well, come on, speak up,” Hobbs continued, stepping closer, his boots crunching against the cobblestones.

Travis waited until Hobbs was within arm’s reach before flicking his wrist, tossing a handful of crushed red pepper into the man’s face. Hobbs let out a guttural yell, stumbling back as his hands flew to his burning eyes.

Bob reacted immediately, lunging forward. Travis dodged to the side, his movements sharp. Bob’s fist missed, slamming into the alley wall instead. Before Bob could recover, Travis ducked low and swept his leg across the man’s shins. Bob fell hard onto his back with a pained grunt.

Not giving him time to recover, Travis grabbed a sharpened stick from his belt. He jabbed it toward Bob’s shoulder, stopping just short of making contact. Bob flinched, instinctively rolling to the side and exposing his ribs. Travis took the opening, slamming his foot into Bob’s side.

Hobbs, meanwhile, had wiped his face enough to see and charged with a roar. Travis darted toward the alley wall, leaping up and using it to propel himself over Hobbs’s swing. He landed behind him and struck the back of Hobbs’s knee with the flat of the stick, sending the larger man stumbling forward.

Hobbs spun around, his face twisted in fury, and lunged again. This time, Travis sidestepped, maneuvering him toward a small patch of loose ground he’d prepared earlier. As Hobbs’s boot hit the uneven surface, his ankle twisted, and he fell to one knee.

“Damn it!” Hobbs cursed, trying to push himself up.

Travis didn’t hesitate. He grabbed a hanging vine he’d tied to the side of the building earlier and swung it toward Hobbs’s face. The thick rope smacked into the man’s nose, drawing a pained yell and forcing him back down.

Bob, now recovered, rushed at Travis from behind. Travis turned just in time, ducking under the wild punch and driving his shoulder into Bob’s chest. The force sent Bob stumbling into Hobbs, the two crashing into a heap on the ground.

Breathing hard, Travis grabbed his sword where it had fallen during the scuffle. He gripped it tightly, his knuckles white, and pointed the blade toward them.

“Still think this is funny?” Travis said, his voice cold and steady despite the burn in his lungs.

The two men hesitated. Bob was clutching his side, and Hobbs’s face was a mess of sweat, dirt, and blood. They glanced at each other, the confidence in their eyes replaced with unease.

“Fine, fine,” Hobbs muttered, raising his hands. “You win, kid. Take your damn sword.”

Bob muttered something under his breath, but Hobbs grabbed his arm and hauled him to his feet. Without another word, they staggered out of the alley, their bruised pride evident in every step.

Travis leaned against the wall, his legs trembling. His body ached from the effort, but he’d done it. Everything he’d trained for, all the hours spent in the woods—it had paid off.

As he stared at the blade in his hand, a faint smile tugged at his lips. He’d fought smarter, not harder. For the first time in a long while, he felt like he’d earned this victory.

With the sword now secure, he straightened up and began the slow walk home, already planning what he’d need to improve on next.

TO BE CONTINUED