“Tighten up! Why aren’t you attacking?!” a familiar yelling attacks me. The same rugged yet well-meaning man’s tone strikes my head. I couldn’t see them, but I knew the voices well as they were the same as this morning but much clearer. “If you refuse to go on the offensive, then one of these days you’ll shatter ****.”

“Maybe it’s because you leave no room for him to retaliate, hence his respective response.” Another familiar voice chimes in. This one hiding malice beneath her voice, aimed at the other man like an overly protective guardian watching a child. “Go easy on the little ****.”

“No can do. If **** can’t find an opening, then he must learn to make his own. Enemies won’t hesitate. They won’t be merciful. And won’t wait for him to catch up, so get up ****.”

“Training and torture lie at a thin boundary and if you wish to continue when **** is far past his limit, then I will intervene. What you say is true, however, if **** does not have his core fully invested, then it’s pointless to continue.”

Their nonsensical bickering nostalgia. That unique sense of kindness was warm, just like it was yesterday. I could listen to them for days on end and not once tire of their playful back and forth, all the while our surroundings remained a wasteland. Yet in that wasteland felt more like home than any place I’ve traveled.

“****, surely you agree that resting is equally important?” The gentler voice deviously aims at his snide comment at me.

“We keep training, right ****?" says the rugged voice, slamming pressure onto my left shoulder, causing me to tip over.

“Rest!”

“Train!”

“REST!”

“TRAIN!”

“****!”

“****!”

I had to answer them. Childish as they are, it doesn’t mean that either were in the wrong. Rather, it was with full confidence in their belief that made them so passionate to the point of raising their voices.

“I think I should —.”

“WAKE UP!”

I jolt up and am met with an alley wall. The core in my chest reverberating like tremors all over my body and as I find out my surroundings despite my groggy daze, I realize I am in an alleyway near the outskirts of Èze.

“Finally.” I hear from my left and make sure my hood still covers my head; it is. I look over there stands a man made of green smoke inside scale like armor and a stone creature wielding a single four petal flower. “How are you holding up, champ?”

“Tings musta bin ruff for ya. Lyin’ inna place lika dat is mumble ova jumble mah friend.” says the stone creature.

I say nothing. What could I possibly say to the two guards who saved me from my miscalculation? It was just their job to help the less fortunate, and that’s all this interaction should ever amount to. One transaction to another. As such, I bow my head and turn to leave.

“Mah friend." The stone creature grabs me by the shoulders and turns me around in a single motion. “Yer soul be haunting the mind mah friend, takuh dis to ease dem worries.” He says, handing me a sack of refined rubies, a far higher quality than what I normally absorb.

But I refuse to take it and he insists further.

In its own way, it is this form of arrogance that I wholly disdain. The look of pity in their eyes reconfirmed my inherent weakness, that I cannot help myself and need their scraps just to survive.

True as it may be.

Right now, all I have is a moonstone I planned to sell and a jadeite knife. My prana is low to the point of fainting once again and this infuriating charitable act of theirs will solve all my issues. Judging by the heft and quality of those loose rubies, I would survive for weeks or even months, if rationed correctly.

It was beyond tempting. So tempting that my right hand raises slightly out of desperation only for me to restrain it.

And yet I refute this kindly sharp-edged salvation.

“Core fillinta brim mah friend. Me missus be carvin’ new holes inme iffa don takit.”

No matter what excuses they may come up with and whatever web of words they weave into a venomous kindness, they will not make me a beggar.

No. The truth is, they just want to help. Neither malice nor deceit but genuine care for my wellbeing.

And all the more reasons to reject them.

Even in my current state, accepting sympathy would cause it to happen repeatedly until nothing remains.

And I will never accept that.

I ran. Ran with all my might away from the two guards, never once looking back. Everyone should avoid getting involved with me, even if these two guards ruin my reputation, because I am constantly being watched.

Had they involved themselves with me, they’d disappear.

Turning corners and dashing through alleys as desperately as my stout legs were able. I tried my best to avoid their gaze, though the occasional bumping was unavoidable. Unfortunately, a collision with a guard stopped me dead in my tracks and, just furious, he started berating me. Each boisterous, haughty word trickled down like droplets, eroding the remains of the crevices of my mind, yet I endured the brunt of it.

That was until he said something unforgivable.

“Did your parents forget to raise you proper child? Judging by the look of you, apparently not.”

I knew better. I truly did. And yet I couldn’t hold it back. Not after that.

Unsheathing my jadeite knife, I lunge at the guard’s chest. He raises his left arm to catch my hand, but I activate [Sinful Stalker] appearing in front of him, to the shock of him and the crowd. The guard reaches for me with his right arm, but I [Crescent Dash] go to his side and go for the kill.

“Green!” He yells and next I felt a sharp pressure in my chest as I skid across the street.

My trembling body felt numb, my mind wrapping in a haze, trying to recall what exactly had just happened. When finally forced my head up from the ground to him, the answer is as clear as it is painful.

A kick. This Orc man, a head shorter than Hilda, kicked me. By his pose, it wasn’t one with much power behind it either. What he and others like him would call a light tap knocked me nearly unconscious again.

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

“Sorry, child.” The Orc man says, extending his hand to help me up. “I forgot how weak you were.”

Why? Why? Why? WHY?! I cursed, slamming my fist to the earth. That’s all it took. Is that all I can amount to, a single kick of minimum effort? Am I just so weak that I can’t do anything at all?

Then it hit me.

Why did I bother with this self-flustering? I could not have won even if I had landed that blow and all I’ve done was make a fool of myself.

No matter fast I may become, an Orc man will always be faster and stronger.

“Son. I may have gone too far. Take this.”

But I turned away and left his sight. I need no pity. I need not hope. As long as I live, that is all I deserve.

“Where are you going?!” He yells. However, I ignore him, silently disappearing into the busy crowd before he could chase.

I must fixate on that goal. The only goal I needed to think about and then leave before I cause any more harm than already done. My initial destination from Divine Flames rise to now nearing Divine Flames rest.

A small gem stand enters my peripheral, where a single elderly Elf woman yawning as the hand on her cheek looks as if could topple at any moment. Most Elven Women do not appear to age, however, that is not true. It is just rather difficult to tell unless you have an abundant experience. From what I gathered, the shine and volume of their hair shows an accurate estimation of age.

Hilda has a larger volume of hair, almost flowing like a waterfall even tied up and a shine that captures the view of anyone who so much glances at its brilliance which shows that she is at her prime and the fact Hilda’s could be tied up means she has a youthful flow of prana in her core, however this Elf woman and the ones in the cave a week prior have thin dryer looking strands with the more obvious sight of being unkempt; more so the cave Elven women than the Elf woman at the stand.

I have yet to meet an Orc man who can distinguish the difference. However, at their rallies, it is quite the vital distinction that the Elven women lash at them for hours on end.

The Elf Woman spots me and she calls out into her shop and an Orc man appears. His appearance was less abrasive and smaller compared to the average Orc Men.

Orc Men focus on physicality. Strength and competition with one another drive them to become warrior above all. Aesthetic and abstract details are an afterthought of the honed and blunt. Had it not been for their overly forceful nature, I would see myself training amongst them, seeking that every evasive next evolution of power. After all, just like them my fa—, never mind.

Back to the Orc in the shop. His build was not of a hardened warrior, nor would it be comparable to the slender physique of Elven Women, and yet he shares more qualities with them than that of the Orc men. Dainty and emotional. Cunning as he is gentle shown through the dainty hold of his partner gracefully wafting her hair in the wind as his grey eyes linger a while longer on the Elf Woman a tad longer.

They were lovers. Dare I say one as rare as sapphire in the vast desert to set aside their differences to unite in the only Elf/Orc partnership in all of Sutherland? However, because of the age they had met, infertility, a foe neither could face. At least not alone.

“Oh!” The Orc man calls out to me, satisfied after his longing gaze. “Let me guess…a thousand jades and a sapphire for the young master.”

I turn around.

“No wait! I’m just kidding!” He yells before scattering back into the shop. “A hundred S.Rubies and forty R.Rubies. Coming right up.”

“Ah, careful. The commissions aren’t ready for sale yet.”

New commissions? That means blades for the military and freshly smith’d gems as well.

The technique of these two smith gems is unique, akin to my own, where an ordinary prana viewing lens and certain high-priced tools would be required to manipulate the prana inside of a stone. They and I do not. We manipulate the flow without the need of tools with our own sight and can freely develop blades at will though at the cost of time and our own personal prana. Customization is the key difference between the standard and ours. Standard blades have a uniform design, structure, and durability, enabling mass production, whereas we can customize our own blades to suit individual needs, like my jadeite knife, for example. My jadeite knife has higher piercing effects, a return skill in case it becomes lost and incredibly high durability compared to the military’s. In terms of smith skill, they are above my ability, but I believe my consistency is slightly better considering how frugal my gems situation is. Shattering a single one could mean days without food, so I must be careful not to experiment recklessly less I tempt energy drain, which is equivalent to death.

“Curious lad?” The Elf Woman cheekily looks at me. “If yer curious, come on in. A wee peep won’t kill ya. I’ll allow it. We got some things you’d like.”

I shake my head no. Tempting as it is, I prefer to keep the distance we have as is. I’d rather not risk any more than this luxury these two give me.

“Ah damn. One of these days I’m gonna getcha to talk. Three years and not a peep outta ya.” She smirks. The jaded wrinkles on her eyes were like branches on a tree extending its wisdom out for the world.

I shrug.

“Are ya gonna go to the concert? My hubsters quite the fan of the lass.”

“Brinnovation! Brinvigoration! Bri World DOM-IN-A-TION!” Orc man excitedly cheers before a slippery plop into his temple.

“Big as ya are. How do ya move so gracefully?”

“Practice my wifer. I have yet to miss a single concert of Brination. The limited stock of merchandise alone makes the journey most contentious. However, once those hymns bounce through the arena, my worries flutter, summoning my will to venture forward a week longer.”

The gall this Orc man had to praise another woman in earshot of his partner continues to astound me to this day, though ineffective her kicks to his backside may play a key role in it. In a way, he showed admiration, yet it was unnecessary for me to have a partner since the result would end like then.

“Alright lad. Time to pay up. My favorite part.”

I place my moonstone and jadeite knife on the table, then reach for the bag of gems, but the Elf Woman pulls it back.

“Hey lad, can ya do a job for me?”

Job? This late at Divine set? Outside of errands, I doubt I can do anything in a dungeon or arena.

“This emerald heads gonna go to the concert and I gotta finish up the next batch for Celissa, make sure this one!” She tugs on his ear, which barely tilts his head. “Don’t overspend. We took this big job to cover this emerald head’s last expense.”

“But wifer limited run only fifty made miniature statues that only the first come first serve can pre-order NEEDED me. A deal like surely is understandable.”

“SIXTEEN SAPHIRES! NEED MY ARSE!”

“But wifer…”

There are two types of rubies: rejuvenation and smithing. Rejuvenation as its description can recover prana, allowing for extended expedition and varies in quality depending on the sheen of it. On the other hand, smithing serves as the foundation of currency and as well as a material for smithing. The value of rubies usually determines the integrity of the upper gemstones, however, recently they’ve been at a reasonably low cost.

For example, my jadeite knife would be the equivalent of sixty S.Rubies or one hundred R.Rubies, whereas an average jade crystal would be half that amount. A sapphire crystal is worth about sixty thousand S.Rubies. So that statue of his cost nearly a million R.Rubies, an expense most definitely that will not appreciate in value soon. If I were in her position, then a few kicks and punches would be the least of his concern if he spent my currency so recklessly.

“So, there ya have it. Please, if this arse puts us in anymore debt, we’re gonna shut down.”

“But wifer.”

“IS THIS,” she tugs his mouth shut, “THE MOUTH THAT BOUGHT TWO TICKETS AFTER ROBBING US BLIND!”

“Mo…”

“Good. Watch him and take the rubies as payment. It’s not much, but nothin’ compared him.”

With that, she hands me the gems and I store them away.

“You!” she yells at I think you know who. “Get dressed. Don’t embarrass us in front of customers and the Psalm of Éze.”

“Ye-yes wifer.”

As the Orc man went back to the shop, I couldn’t help but wonder why she didn’t stop him from going if it was so troublesome. If he really had been overspending, why not stop his habit at the root so that they wouldn’t have to end up this way?

“Yer thinkin’ about why I don’t stop him. Arentcha laddie.”

I pull my hood down, covering my face.

“Stop fidgeting. Just a guess is all, but by yer reaction, I was spot on.”

With no choice, I turn away, looking at the orange sky bathing over the horizon as the Divine Flames reach the peak of the descent.

“Well yeah. His fixation on the lassie can be obsessive, but if he hadn’t, I’m sure I woulda. We ain’t got any kids and I guess it’s just hubsters way of supporting other ones.” The Elf Woman covers her face almost like a child hiding shame and mutters. “It’s my fault, after all.”

I did not hear that. I saw nothing. I did not need to do anything else.

No one will force me otherwise. I am watching the Divine Flames set and hearing the silent steps of people making their way to the concert while what is happening behind me is none of my concern. Not the woman pulling herself together with droplets of crystal prana raining down her cheek, tapping onto the countertop.

So why?

Why did I reach my hand out to grab hers? Why was I trying to comfort someone I’ve never spoken to? Was it because of the time we shared these past three years and some unfound longing to connect with? Had it been gratitude for that poor excuse of a job?

I could never answer that.

But.

But if I had guess…I felt a sense that I needed to do something.