Chapter 3

Silver Knife

Jerry had only a little time left, about a week, and he decided to cheat fate and decided to take a risk. The dream of overseas life was very close. Almost at arm's length. Although bruises and pain increased, and hardly a day passed without a headache; he was limping and lost weight. At night he dreamed of nightmares and woke up in a cold sweat, with a feverish gleam in his eyes, frightening his siblings with screams in his sleep.

Fortunately for him. Alvaro was no longer allowed to "work" with him. Someone probably told Luke. This was a great relief to him. Alvaro could easily have killed him during a training session. And no one would have thought to blame him for anything. Just the "Straw-butts" became unusable. That's all.

Despite all that, Jerry made a deadly mistake and did not see the main danger coming, which was not coming from the Black Monastery at all. Perhaps if he were older, he would have noticed the signs of an approaching storm and preemptively avoided it. But Jerry was not particularly smart for his fifteen years.

Upon returning home one day after another "working day," Jerry did not find his family at home; although, he had been instructed multiple times not to stray far from the hut. Anne always strictly followed his orders, looking after Hose, and there was never an occasion when she let him down. Jerry's six-year-old sister was more thoughtful than her peers and Jerry relied on her completely, leaving them alone.

A half-hour of searching was unsuccessful.

As he walked down the street again, he noticed the baker's son, as always perched on the fence of his house. Jerry paid no attention to him and walked past, but suddenly something hit him. He stopped. The baker's son was acting strangely out of the ordinary way. He was silent. In another situation, he should have already told him nasty things, called him a beggar, and so on. But that time the boy was silent, like a fish.

Jerry approached him, trying to look him in the eye, and catch his gaze.

But the baker's son turned away and began to examine his fingers with an interest the adults would never understand.

Jerry grabbed his leg and snatched him off the fence.

"Where are they?"

Jerry's voice sounded gloomy, with immense hidden tension.

"And what, what are you harassing me for?! I don't know where they are!" the boy unexpectedly wailed loudly. Again completely out of his usual behavior.

Of course, Jerry did not believe him. The boy was not good at pretending and it was clear that he knew something. He shook the boy so hard that the boy's head started shaking intact.

"Tell me where they are! Do not test my patience!"

But the boy remained silent.

"If your father laid even a finger on them, I'll kill him..."

Jerry did not get to finish his last words. Something solid enough to cause a sudden burst of pain hit him in the head.

Releasing the boy, Jerry unsteadily retreated, half blinded by the pain. For a few seconds, he saw nothing but red stars flashing and then disappearing into the darkness.

Instinctively, he covered his head with his hands and this saved him from the second blow, which would have certainly been fatal.

Some wooden object, probably a board piece, hit him again, breaking two fingers on his left hand, and causing a new burst of pain. But Jerry didn't lose consciousness. Perhaps due to the terrible training in the Black Monastery, which taught him to endure strong pain. Or maybe it was due to an anger that overwhelmed him when through the darkness and pain he heard of the Baker's voice, the full threats and malice:

If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

"Try to touch my son again, scumbag!" Humiliated and offended by that unprecedented injustice, Jerry screamed. Furiously and wildly. And strangely enough, the scream helped. The darkness dissipated and he saw the vague silhouette of the fat and big healthy baker two steps away from him. For a moment he looked at him with inexpressible hatred, and then, as if with some enlightenment, the knowledge came to his mind, HOW IT SHOULD BE DONE! HOW THEY DO IT! He clearly imagined what needed to be done, as if someone was whispering into his ear right next to him. Each individual gathers a lot of negative emotions that unravel bit by bit throughout his lifetime. At that moment Jerry filled himself with all lifetime negative emotions at once! He was no more human, he was a bundle of energy, made out of anger, hatred, and sadness.

The body of the baker suddenly was thrown aside like a leaf torn by a fierce hurricane. Jerry straightened up and sent a fierce burst of pain, exactly as the inhabitants of the Black Monastery had done before his eyes. The baker bent over and screamed like a person whose entrails were being cut out alive. Terrified, his son screamed and ran down the street. Jerry took a step towards the baker. The baker's full and fleshy body convulsed in a new portion of pain. Feeling a sadistic satisfaction, Jerry continued the pain excitation unable to stop. The baker's eyes bulged, no longer able to cry out...

"Enough! You'll kill him!"

The commanding words broke through the all-consuming rage. Jerry stopped, turned around, and saw the source of the voice.

The voice belonged to a stranger in a dark brown cloak with absolutely white hair, caught in a dark ribbon bandana. The stranger had a strange wild contrast because his face was not the face of an old man or even a man in his prime. The guy looked to be twenty-five to thirty, though the wrinkles around his eyes and the shine of his piercing eyes made him look a lot older. He seemed both young and very old at the same time.

"Leave him," the stranger repeated, less sharply and with a more calming tone. "He has gotten what he deserved."

"Who are you?" Jerry asked, suddenly realizing that the enlightenment that had occurred a minute ago was somehow connected to this strange man. It was he who seemed to be whispering that devilish knowledge to him.

"Me? You can call me Knife Thrower or Silver Knife. It's fitting with my purpose in this world."

After saying that, Silver Knife approached Jerry, took his injured arm, and examined the wounds. "Let me bandage that up," the stranger offered, and without hesitation tore a lining from his cloak. As soon as the stranger mentioned his arm, Jerry felt pain again, horribly pain. His arm ached intolerably and he was surprised that he hadn't felt it a minute ago. The stranger seemed to read his thoughts: "Your cells have stopped producing adrenaline in the same quantities. That's why you're feeling pain now." Jerry didn't know what "adrenaline" was and wasn't sure that anyone in this city knew such a strange word.

"Adrenaline," he repeated to himself in his head. "Sounds like a royal name. Only it's missing a number. Adrenaline the First. Adrenaline the Second."

"I need to find my brother and sister," Jerry said to himself as the stranger bandaged his arm urging him to let his hand free.

"They're in the Black Monastery," Silver Knife said as he tightly wrapped the bandage around Jerry's arm.

"What do you mean, in the Black Monastery!?" Jerry shuddered in horror and tried to pull his arm away from the stranger's grip.

"Calm down," the stranger grabbed Jerry by the shoulder and, with a firm grip like iron tongs, forced him to stop.

"Don't rush. You can't help them right now. You know they don't kill kids there. Think first, then we'll decide what to do. Okay?"

Jerry didn't understand the last word. Another "royal" word: Okay First, Okay Second... He looked the stranger into the eyes. Suddenly, he had a suspicion:

"How do you know that they're in the Black Monastery? Are you from there?"

The stranger smiled ruefully and, with a direct gaze from his shiny eyes, replied:

"It's not necessary to be from the Black Monastery to know about that." And, changing the subject of the conversation, asked:

"What's your name?"

"Jerome Dimitris, Jerry for short," Jerry replied distractedly, but didn't let to change the subject: "Were you in my head a while ago?"

"Yes, if that's what you want to call it. You were emanating like a living volcano. I felt your mental distress even in a distance, while I was entering the town, two miles away from here."

"I don't understand..." Jerry began almost plaintively, but the stranger sharply interrupted him:

"Stop pretending! You understand everything perfectly well. You were trained in that damned monastery! Aren't you?"

Jerry stared at the stranger in confusion. And suddenly he realized that the man was taking him for someone else:

"I'm not a student at the Black Monastery! I'm "Straw-butts. They train on me."

The stranger's eyebrows raised in surprise. His jaw dropped from sudden understanding.

"Hell and blood!" he said quietly. "So you're their lab rat?"

…