It is easy to tell the trash from the talent. Trash does a thing and thinks it is impressive. Talent does a thing and thinks about the flaws and how to improve.
~Dagda, the All-Father, Chief of the Gods
Crow’s life became a cycle. Fight, recover, train, and fight again. Other than the names, faces, and clans, they all ended the same—Otto carrying him out unconscious. The only difference was that he advanced his skills in each fight. His body became tougher—break a bone, and it mended back denser than before. Damage flesh or organs, and they healed tougher than they were previously.
After all his training with his father, Otto, and the Song sisters, he realized he was still soft. It was a softness that his endless parade of challengers slowly beat out of him. Crow was still himself, but his body was leaner, and his fighting skills were without mercy.
Every strike landed intending to harm or kill, knowing full well that the outcome would end with him getting hurt. It didn’t matter because he trained his mind and body to strike. So he did. He hammered every blow against his opponent and dodged when he couldn’t. Since he wasn’t as fast, he trained his body to respond before his mind. He reacted, struck, and retreated. Sometimes he felt he was the embodiment of his namesake—always seeking opportunity.
No matter who the opponent was, Crow refused to step back. Refused to a stepping stone. Every challenge he made them regret, and he forced them to stop him physically. Belittled them when they bragged, taunted them when they hesitated, and berated them for cowards. His words cut through opponents like no sword could. Worse still, his opponents learned from their predecessors and tried to end the fights quickly. The moment they did, the crowd turned on them because they came to see the legend known as Golden Mouth. The people would taunt, spit, boo, and kick those that tried to silence their hero without giving him a chance to speak.
Crow might have lost every fight, but his opponents left the arena as losers. The smarter ones went into closed-door cultivation directly afterward. Refusing to entertain anyone. The younger generation would all vacate the street the moment they saw Crow walking down it. None of them wanted to give their elders a reason to find a grievance because none of them wanted to face him. Crow single-handedly cowed an entire generation with his mouth.
Even now, as he walked down to the arena floor, the seats filled up quickly until people were elbowing forward in the standing-only platforms. Some dared to stand on the stairs leading downward. Every one of them was here to see what Crow would do next.
Rumors had already exposed the truth of Crow’s situation. They all knew that people were trying to force him to refuse a battle. Whatever the case was, the second he refused, they’d exile him under Druid Law. The moment he left Father Oak’s protection, the crowd knew Crow was dead.
“What has this place become? The most popular fighter has lost every fight, and he’s the only one these people come to see. That boy has turned our honor fights into a mockery?” An elder called out angrily.
“Shut up, you old fool, and open your rheumy dead eyes,” a younger man, about thirty, retorted. “That boy is crippled, and yet he’s forced to fight honor battle after honor battle back to back. You want to talk about dishonor? Damned fool.”
“I-I’m on the Druid Council. You can’t talk to me that way.”
“Oh? Hey everyone!” The younger man called out. “This clown is one of the bastards that forces our Golden Mouth to fight non-stop.” Ptooey! “I spit on you. Torturing a cripple. You shameless old dog.”
The crowd roared insults, and the elder’s face turned red in anger. He spluttered and tried to defend himself, but the people quickly turned against him. Other members of the Druid Council attempted to protect him but got pulled into the conflict. Not one of them escaped ridicule or an endless rain of spit. It spilled over until a brawl was brewing.
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They made so much noise that Crow and his opponent stopped fighting and turned to see what the commotion was about. Neither one of them could believe the things they were hearing. It wasn’t wrong, but Crow’s situation wasn’t natural, and everyone knew it. The council continued to let this farce happen. Crow had not realized how many people he had already won over, nor was he aware of how many people’s respect had reached near worship levels. His drive, fight, and unwillingness to bend sparked a fire that spread like wild through the Druid community.
Fathers brought their sons to teach them how a Druid should act. Get knocked down, stand back up. Face an unbeatable opponent, fight them until you can’t. Never flinch. Never hold back. Never take the knee. Druids are free. Unbound. Not beholden to god or man. Crow made them all remember the spirit and honor of a real Druid, who should only fear one person on in their entire life, their mother.
Unknowingly, he already beat those that plotted against him. Even the people who fought him stopped harboring ill will towards him. Their respect was no longer begrudging, but honestly given.
“Should we stop them?” The other boy asked.
Crow had long stopped paying attention to his opponent’s names. In his mind, they were just clowns putting on a show.
“Not sure how it’s our problem,” Crow shrugged.
“Maybe I am overstepping, but if you said something, they’d stop.”
Crow looked over at the guy in front of him—really looked this time. Even after all the taunting, there was no genuine anger in the other boy’s eyes. Instead, there was a glint of something that made Crow feel uneasy.
“What do you mean?”
“Those are your fans, and they came to see you.”
The last few months were a blur, and Crow usually left the arena unconscious, so he didn’t have a clue what was happening. A few words from his opponent and things became crystal clear once more. The fugue he’d put in himself in had dropped away. Did all this really start with him?
“You know what, my damned elders can go to hell too.” The other boy said quietly so only Crow could hear him. “Punch me on the chin.”
The older boy was smiling now. Not sure what was going on—Crow delivered a direct jab but didn’t use any Qi. It connected solidly with the boy’s chin but didn’t harm the guy.
“Ahhhh!” The kid shouted loud enough that everyone turned to look, and the boy fell over unconscious.
The entire arena went silent.
“Psst, call it. I lost.” The boy raised one eyelid and whispered, but most of these people were cultivators, and it was impossible for the old monsters not to hear him.
“Uh, Crow wins?” The moderator said, confused about what was happening. Not even Crow was sure what was happening. Out of all his fights, this was the strangest, and he’d done some peculiar and unforgettable things.
The crowd roared with laughter—mockery complete.
Not even the Druid Council members that were present knew what to say. All the elders under attack were from the clans targeting Crow, so to see one of their younger members blatantly throw a fight, they could only harrumph and clench their fists.
“You dare cheat?” One elder yelled out, accusing Crow immediately.
“You dare come down here and fight me, you piece of trash?” Crow shouted back, angrier than he’d ever been. The crowd roared its approval, and the elder lost all face. Crow’s challenge was a slap in the face, and the old monster could only pretend Crow hadn’t spoken. “If that rootless bastard speaks again, beat him down.”
Crow grinned, enjoying this new power of his. The comment stirred up the crowd once more, and now the old man backed away, fear in his eyes, refusing to speak or retaliate. Being called rootless was taboo. It was the worst thing to accuse a Druid of, and while some hissed in surprise, most cheered Crow’s words because it riled them up and—
“Enough!” A voice boomed like thunder, and the noisy crowd instantly fell silent. Eoghan, head of the Druid Council, finally made an appearance. “Crow, how many grievances have they laid on you?”
“I don’t know, I’ve been unconscious for most of the time—”
The crowd roared with laughter, but not a bit of it sounded condescending. It was the type of laughter given to a fellow soldier during or after a battle. It carried a sense of companionship and camaraderie. Crow realized this was the true nature of his people and exemplified the heart of a Druid. Brothers through thick and thin.
“Let’s say… twenty? Maybe more.” Provided he wasn’t heavily injured, Crow would duel the next day. He attempted to clear out all the challenges, but they just kept coming.
“What!?” Eoghan hadn’t really paid much attention to the Honor by Combat, and never had he expected them to pervert the process this way. Once he heard the number, all reservations about Mugna’s plan ended. These sons of bitches had to be taught a lesson.
*It is your call. Everything is ready, but you are the highest voice of the Druid Order. I won’t carry out the plan unless you say so.* Mugna sent to Eoghan.
*Do it. Break the dam and unleash hell.* Eoghan couldn’t hide his anger as he projected back to Mugna’s mind. He’d had enough of their games, and it was time to prune the rotting limbs of the Druid Order.