The entire house was turning into a lugubrious cave as the sun was setting. There was no more money for candles or lamp oil. After Mark had spent all his savings in medicines, he turned to usurers and, after months of not paying back, it was time to return the interest with blood. “We know you here! Open the door!” shouted one of the knuckle men from behind the entrance.

Enric broke the silence of the living room with a shriek of the chair and grabbed a backpack he’d prepared the night before. It only had a change of clothes, a kitchen knife, and the last bits of bread and cheese worth eating.

As the door shaked loudly with repeated kicks, Mark moaned from the top floor. Without access to his drugs, the doctor was bedridden most of the time, and his waining and crying were sounds Enric had grown familiar with.

All the disgusting odours a human could create mixed strongly in that room. Mark, barely able to stand, bended towards his side table and pulled a small single-shot pistol from the drawer. “You exit from the kitchen window,” grunted the doctor between coughs. “I’ll handle those leeches. You have an important mission!”

Enric stared at his old caretaker with pettiness. He wasn’t going to handle anyone, he thought. But did not matter much, as he was almost dead anyway. “But I wan’go Asstreis. Join army. You said I-“

Mark slapped the small table and squeezed the letter before handing it to the boy. “This! You’ll bring this to David de Villiers in Mestra, unde-understand?” Enric shrugged and Mark tapped his head. “Good lad. Now go. Let me handle this.” Enric hated it when he pet him as a dog, but being the last time the dying man was going to do it, he did not move away as usual and rejoiced with the thought of not having to spend more time with him.

The door surrendered to kicking as soon as Enric reached the last step. On the other side of the foie, two corpulent men stopped dead at the sight of him. If he was a simple boy, they might have killed him. But they knew. He saw the fear in their eyes. As Enric stepped into the living room and pointed towards Mark’s room, the two rushed upstairs. When he jumped through the kitchen window, a shot echoed around the house walls. Then he sighed. Not because of any thought about Mark’s fate, but to the realisation he could easily have left the house using the main door.

He crossed Baskets street even knowing Silia was on the balcony. She’d not dare to throw any water at him anymore. She was terrified, as were all the village people. Same as Adriano and Ticco, who broke their chatting in the corner of Bakers to rush inside a house as he approached.

Once he believed them to be friends, but that was a lie. As many of Mark’s words. When he rapidly outgrew them, it became obvious the throwing of stones, and the shouts during the ball games were not a tantrum of losers, but deep hate towards who was different. The last time they dared to throw a stone at him, Enric caught it in flight and shoot it back with such force that even from a great distance it bursted Arosa’s lips and broke five of his teeth.

He was different, yes, but not in the sense Mark always made him believe. He was no masterpiece. Just a freak burning his lifespan faster than the others. A rarity with an unmatched physical power limited by the stupidity of a mediocre, slow-thinking mind.

The little square of the seaport was as small as the rest of the town. Nothing in Ventfort was of any worth, and yet, there were always other islands willing to conquer that corner of the world filled with coward dwellers.

For many years, the island had been part of the kingdom of Hilerica and for as long as Enric could remember, Hilerica was now part of Herjard. So, since Ventfort was an island of passage to the former colonies of Northislay, also a new addition to the vast Herjard Empire, the insignificant port of his town was always filled to the brim with merchants and sailors doing business with the new lands.

When he reached the docks, he took the letter from the pocket and made a ball of it. The flying barrel was to depart in the morning, and for once, Mark had the decency to pay for something else than drugs. The journey to Mestra was set, but Asstreis, where Herjard was recruiting soldiers to fight the war, was closer and on the same course, and he could easily request to stop midway.

With the arm raised to throw the paper ball into the sea, his memories brought the smell of chocolate and the warmth smile of that man from Mestra, Francois. He had a friend, after all. And maybe he could see him if he was willing to delay his dreams of war and deliver that letter first.

Enric lowered his arm and stared at the paper bulk. He then reluctantly flattened it again and put it in his pocket. “Give us that, boy!”

One of the men who visited Mark’s house had survived. It was expected. What surprised Enric was the absence of the other. After all, he thought, Mark had managed to deal with half of them. The Leg Breaker and his new four companions were standing at the beginning of the wooden peer, a few feet away from him. None were armed with guns, but all had blades. Each one of them, including the one who had already shown the appropriate respect in the form of fear back in the house , were brimming with the confidence of feeling at an advantage. Maybe it was the daggers. Maybe the assurance of numbers. Whichever it was, they were very wrong and when two of them approached with too much confidence, Enric pitied them.

He had never faced an armed man, but it didn’t matter. He was ready, and above all, he was not scared. He never was. “Check the bag and bring me that note. See what can we get back to Ossto,” shouted a man with blonde curly hair.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

When two of them reached his sides, Enric could see that under the security of their steps, there was still a certain doubt spurred on by fear. Or stupidity. “Don’t touch me,” the boy said.

A hand from the left slapped his head while another from the right pulled the backpack. “Got any coins inside there?” one asked reluctantly.

Enric answered with a crossing opened-hand over the man’s arm. It was soft and controlled, only to move his grip away. Otherwise, it would have hurt much more. A new slap shook his head. It didn’t hurt, but it bothered Enric greatly, so the next punch to the crouch unfolded with less restraint as it should. As the man on his left felt with a gasp and disappeared into the waters of the seaport, the other grabbed his shirt collar. Their hands could not hurt him, though knives were a real danger. The collector, believing himself to have the upper hand, took too much time to draw a weapon, and in the blink of an eye, the arm that he believed had the boy imprisoned, had become his catch point. He jerked away, to which Enric answered with a strong squeeze that shattered his bone.

With a groan of pain, he fell to his knees. “Ba-bastard, I gonna kill-” A new squeeze was enough to stop the worthless threats from the man at his mercy. The other tree drew their weapons, voicing more promises of death without caring about the merchant and sailors gathering around to see the spectacle.

“Stop immediately! That’s an order!” from the square of the Inns, a group of soldiers had arrived. Those did carry firearms. They were all dressed in the white and yellow pants of the Hilerican army and the green jacket of Herjard, except the one shouting orders, who was still wearing a dark blue top with the golden decorations of a Hilerican officer. “You are under arrest for murder, scum!”

The collector with golden hair snapped his teeth. “What you talkin’ bout? We got Godoy’s permission! We paid!”

The Hilerican officer was a slender man with the soft hands of someone who has never touched a weapon but the fierce stare of someone who has seen many battles. He grinned, and after ordering his soldiers to move with a wave, he put hands on his hips. “Godoy is a shame that I am happy to have gotten rid of!” His voice raised, aiming not only at the thugs being shackled but at everyone else who gathered in the square. “In the name of Governor Fernando and the Emperor of Herjard, I have taken command of the island of Ventford. And there will be no more corruption or abuse in this place under my rule!”

“Who’s our ruler, then? Hilerica or Herjard?” asked an angler with an obvious tone of mockery. The officer raised an eyebrow and approached the pier with firm steps. Answering insolence with contempt, he replied with a whisper between teeth. “I am, sailor. I … am.”

In a stoic pose, the officer pointed toward Enric’s grip on an arm that barely seemed straight. “Can my men take this piece of shit to the brig?”

Enric nodded and released. The man with a broken arm mumbled as he was dragged away by the soldiers. “You…you, Vega… you promise. It was you, not Godoy,”

“How dare you sully the impeccable reputation of my captain, you filthy scum!” roared one rounded man from behind. He was wearing a green jacket with silver shoulder plaques: A middle rank of Herjard. “All under control … Captain Vega.” He continued, taking a brief break to kick the prisoner with disdain.

Officer Vega crouched, lowering his blue, deep eyes at the same level as the boy’s stare. “Name?”

“Enric.” He answered, taking a stance of pride. “I didn’t wan’to fight them. They start. Aim arrested?”

“Would not call that a fight,” said the officer in Herjard’s uniform.

Capitan Vega turned over his shoulder. “Mister Garcie, is ‘Enric’ the stupid way of saying Erik by the Venfortian?”

“Ma’name is not Erik,” Enric said. Vega, waiting for Garcie’s delayed reply, ignored the boy’s complaint.

“No idea sir. Maybe comes from Henryk?” Garcie said, scratching his chin on a quest to find a better answer.

Vega returned his attention back to Enric and rolled his eyes. “Nevermind. I saw what you did, and it was impressive. Would you mind letting me see the paper those idiots were trying to steal?”

“No impressive. Just’easy stuff.” mumbled Enric as he handled Mark’s letter.

Vega ignored his words once more and deepened his frown while checking the papers. “Did you read this, Enrique?” the officer asked.

“Donno how to read. And it’s Enric!”

“Address lord Vega as my Lord, captain or Sir, whiting!” Garcie bellowed with an excessive aggressiveness only calmed down when Vega’s dismissive hand rushed from over his shoulder.

“You are a magnificent wonder of nature. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. Never!“ Vega said softly, while rising from his spot and shoving the letter into his jacket. “You are one of Doctor Wells’ kids, after all. “

Enric nodded, unable to hide a prideful grin. “Aiwanna join Herjard. Ai wanna fight bad men.”

Officer Vega rested his hand on Enric’s hair. An action he never liked when Mark did it, but one he now welcomed with great pleasure. This officer, Vega, was kind to him as once was the man from Mestra. And this one was not only a new friend, but a soldier.

“Well. The war here is over. We are all Herjard now.” Vega said. “But the Northislay new colonies are uprising and we will soon have more fun to deal with. Join me and I’ll make a proper soldier out of you. A rough diamond has to be polished in order to shine, after all. What do you say?”

Enric put his hand on the forehead and straightened. “Yes Ai’wan! … Ai’mean yes, ma’lor!”

Officer Vega slowly returned the salute of his recruit with a hint of satisfaction. “Good. We will teach you how to read and how to speak as a proper soldier, and when you are ready, we’ll teach you how to kill bad men.”