The quaintly furnished common room of the inn was crowded with all of the members of the earl’s party. The rich aroma of spiced woodsmoke and burning pine filled the air as the polished, carved wooden tables shone under the flickering glow of tallow candles. A scattering of locals—dressed in faded homespun and carrying the weary scent of fresh hay and hard labor—had either left or were keeping well away from the nobles in their embroidered finery.
We had eventually stopped for the night in a village that had been very welcoming to such a large party. The rustic streets, lined with cobblestones slick with evening dew, echoed with friendly greetings and the clatter of wooden carts. I gathered that the villagers were delighted to see the nobles’ gleaming silver trappings—a sharp contrast to the humble copper that commoners wore—casting tiny sparks of reflected light onto their smiling faces. It seemed to me that someone must have organized the accommodation for the party beforehand, as the inn boasted an unexpected abundance of rooms, their narrow windows framed with intricately carved wood that whispered of ancient traditions. This left me musing on how little I knew about the intricate web of commerce and long-distance communication that governed the kingdom, a realm where the fantastical mingled with the mundane in surprising ways.
There were rooms for the nobles, but nobody was going to pay for us to have a room, so all of the entertainment troupe would be sleeping in the common room that night. The discontent was almost palpable in the air—an undercurrent of hushed protests and frustrated sighs—as the two women in the troupe exchanged heated words over the cramped arrangements. Their voices, edged with both irritation and a refined grace, eventually softened when Eigosh, with his calm authority and knowing eyes, intervened. With a few measured words and a generous gesture, he paid for a small room for them, the sound of his decision resonating like a soft chime that restored order and quieted the murmurs of dissent.
Hanging over a smoky fire was a large pot of stew that was bubbling away, the fragrant aroma of hearty meat, barley, and a hint of wild herbs filling the room. I finished off my bowl of the sumptuous stew, the last remnants scraped away by dark brown bread whose crust crackled softly under my touch. At that moment, I noticed the earl's daughter finishing an animated conversation with some of the stalwart warriors in her father’s escort. They had hovered around her like loyal shadows all evening, their deep voices punctuated by low chuckles and the clink of their armor, as they ensured her safety. With a self-assured tilt of her head and a smug, almost conspiratorial smile, she ascended the narrow staircase, leaving behind a lingering hint of expensive perfume and the quiet, expectant gaze of the earl’s guards.
Xaset was sitting opposite me, his eyes twinkling with mischief as he leaned over with a broad smile that seemed to carry both camaraderie and challenge. “They're still looking at you. Are you sure you don’t want my help dealing with this?” His words, warm and teasing, mingled with the lingering taste of spiced ale that hung in the air.
I shifted my gaze to three of the earl’s elite guardsmen, whose intense stares now burned even more fiercely in the dim light. Their eyes were predatory, like those of a large cat stalking a deer under the silver gleam of moonlight, each glance accompanied by a low, almost imperceptible growl in the pit of their throats. I hoped I was more of a wild dog than a deer, though time would reveal the truth.
“Now that I’ve eaten, I guess it’s time to get this started,” I declared, my voice carrying both determination and a tinge of apprehension. Rising from my seat, I made my way to the large oak door that led out of the inn. As the heavy door creaked open—a sound reminiscent of ancient wood protesting its release—I stepped into the cooling night. The shifting of chairs behind me blended with the soft rustle of whispered plans as the guards promptly followed my lead. For a brief, breathless second, the entire room fell into a hush as if every soul anticipated the unfolding drama.
There was nothing subtle about their swaggering movement as they trailed after me into the darkened night. Sharro, a striking woman with fierce eyes and a taste for the dramatic, even looked up from her nearly finished meal. Her face contorted into a grimace, her expression suggesting that perhaps the impending lesson was too severe a price for her care. Just as she was about to rise, Xaset trotted over and engaged her in a rapid, murmured exchange. Although she frowned in reluctant acceptance, she remained seated, her delicate features shadowed by reluctant resignation.
Moving clear of the door and into the night—bathed in the ethereal glow of the two luminous moons—I headed for a secluded spot just off the central green. The night air was cool and crisp, carrying the gentle scent of damp earth and wildflowers. I searched the ground until I found a smooth patch of dirt free of stones and other hazards, a silent promise of space where my combatants and I could resolve this matter without disturbing the peaceful slumber of the village. The air was still except for the distant, soothing hum of nocturnal creatures, and I felt that this isolated spot was perfect for what was to come.
Intent on doing this properly, I found a sturdy stick on the ground and used it to trace out a rough circle in the dirt. The circle, though imperfectly drawn, evoked memories of a similar ring where orcs had clashed in brutal combat not too long ago. This encounter, however, would be of a different nature—it was not a wild, unbridled mating ritual, but rather a measured, dangerous bout of personal reckoning.
Without turning my head, I sensed the creeping sensation along my neck as the three hardened warriors advanced. Their presence was overwhelming; each was a mountain of muscle and scarred resolve, exuding an aura of raw, primal energy. Despite their size, I towered over them, my own frame a testament to long hours of training, though I lacked the seasoned finesse that these battle-hardened men possessed—a finesse that I desperately sought to learn that night.
“I have a proposal if you’re up for it,” I said, finally turning to meet their gleeful, almost predatory expressions. The moonlight cast eerie shadows across their determined faces, each scar and wrinkle accentuating the silent promise of retribution.
“What is there to be proposed with you?” demanded the frontman of the group, his voice a gravelly challenge that resonated like distant thunder. “I think you know what we want. We’ll deal out the punishment you need. If this does not teach you some respect for your betters and to keep away from the earl’s daughter, then we’ll continue night after night until you learn.”
“That sounds fine to me, but what does seem dishonorable on your side is that this is three against one,” I retorted, my tone laced with both humor and defiance. “I thought that you were the elite warriors of the earl, not some small-time thugs who need their hands held.” I paused to let the words sink in, watching as a flicker of pride—and a trace of anger—crossed their faces.
“So, my proposal is that you fight me in this circle one at a time until I, as you say, learn some respect for my betters by begging for mercy. I guess we’ll do this with no weapons or magic since the earl still wants me to perform for the king.” I smiled at the trio, my lips curving in a way that both challenged and invited their honor to be tested.
The three men flinched slightly at my pointed accusation, their eyes momentarily darkening with wounded pride. But by the time I had finished speaking, their faces had softened into sly, knowing smiles, as if my words had rekindled a long-dormant sense of honor. The frontman nodded slowly and asked his companions, “Sounds perfect to me. What do you think?” Their unanimous nods and subtle smirks confirmed that I had skillfully played to their vanity.
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Without further delay, I stepped into the circle, feeling the soft crunch of dirt underfoot as I faced the frontman. The bulky man removed his sword and knives, their metallic clatter echoing off the surrounding trees as he passed them to his comrades. His looming, armored figure moved deliberately into the circle; the weight of his battle-worn armor resonated with the history of countless past conflicts. With a deliberate motion, he clenched his fist inside his battle-gloved hand—a gesture that spoke of both challenge and ritual. I briefly considered asking him to remove his armor and the hard leather gloves that seemed to promise extra punishment, but dismissed the thought as futile. After all, it was not the armor but the man beneath it that would decide the outcome.
Earlier in the night, a quick check of my stats had revealed that my unarmed skill level was still only ten, a modest number considering that most of my practice with the orcs had been with a battle-ax in hand. Now, as I looked up at the elite warrior flexing his muscles in the pale moonlight, I couldn’t help but wonder just what level of mastery these men possessed. Surely, their skill must far exceed my own modest training.
The answer came swiftly. In a blur of motion, the formidable warrior lunged toward me with an elegance and efficiency that defied his massive build—as if every step was choreographed by some unseen force. With three brutal, lightning-fast strikes, he hammered me: a vicious blow to the face, a crushing hit to the stomach, and then a sharp knee to the groin. I crumpled to the ground, gasping for breath as warm blood trickled from my nose onto the cool, damp earth. For several heartbeats, I lay there, the metallic tang of blood mingling with the earthy scent of the soil, as I clutched my injured groin and felt the agony slowly ebbing away.
That really hurt, I thought, as I rolled on the ground in a futile attempt to ease the pain. Why target the groin, I wondered—were the face and stomach not enough? The searing pain in my groin had nearly brought me to the brink of vomiting when I first hit the ground. It was clear that if this were to continue throughout the night, I would be enduring an unrelenting, brutal marathon.
The three men laughed cruelly as the man in the ring jeered, “Pathetic. Do you want to beg for mercy now, or shall we continue?” His voice carried a harsh, mocking cadence that cut through the night like shattered glass.
“Continue was my plan,” I managed to say from the ground as I began to muster the strength to rise. Yet, before I could stand fully, the warrior’s boot rained down upon my exposed stomach. I felt the stiff leather of his shoe tear through my skin, leaving a gash that bled freely, forcing me back onto the cold, unforgiving ground. I rolled over, my face turned upward to the endless night sky, and in the next moment, a massive boot sailed toward my face. The impact was devastating—I nearly lost consciousness—yet, at that critical juncture, my innate healing powers surged forth.
The potent magic battled against the encroaching darkness, allowing me to stay awake, though the searing pain of the boot’s impact seared into my memory. I realized with a grim clarity that his metal-studded shoes were merciless, each stud digging into my battered face. I was certain that several of my skull bones had been fractured, yet I also felt the strange, grinding sound of my body’s internal repair mechanisms as the bones realigned with a painful precision. It was as if my healing was accelerating, a silent promise of recovery even in the midst of despair.
The warrior then turned to exit the circle, evidently expecting that his relentless assault had finally subdued me. Slowly, with a grimace of determination etched on my blood-streaked face, I pushed myself up and turned to face him once more.
Just as he bent to retrieve his weapons from the other two, I uttered, “I’m not finished yet.” My voice, hoarse yet resolute, cut through the heavy stillness of the night.
I laboriously climbed to my feet, my wounds knitting together as if by some unseen force. I must have looked like a disheveled warrior—blood staining my clothing and face—yet the dim light revealed the astonishment in their eyes, mixed with a trace of nervous respect, as they beheld a man rising against all odds.
The warrior advanced toward me, his curiosity momentarily overcoming his initial intent, and it was in that split second of distraction that I struck out. My fist collided with his face with a force that stunned him, though he quickly retaliated with a retaliatory blow that splintered against my cheek, followed by a forceful kick that drove me over. Thus began a relentless cycle of punishment—each moment, each blow meticulously recorded by the cold, unyielding night.
For the next several hours, in a haze of pain and determination, I managed to land an occasional hit on these towering figures. Yet, the majority of the confrontation was a ceaseless barrage of brutal blows, leaving me battered and bruised as I was repeatedly slammed to the ground. Every so often, the assailants would exchange places, a seamless rotation that kept fresh challengers in the ring. Though my attacks were feeble in comparison to their expertise, I was driven by the promise of growth through pain. My healing powers refreshed me continually, a small mercy amid the relentless assault, even as it became evident that these warriors were formidable opponents under such sustained punishment.
As the first pale yellow rays of dawn crept above the horizon, casting a soft glow over the dew-dappled grass, the warriors’ movements began to slow, their earlier vigor waning into fatigue. Their faces, once marked by unyielding determination, now bore expressions of anxious resignation as they murmured amongst themselves about my unexpected resilience. What was meant to be a swift and decisive lesson had morphed into an arduous, night-long marathon of endurance. I couldn’t help but feel a surge of satisfaction at the sight of their tired, sagging postures—a silent acknowledgment that even the strongest tire in the face of relentless determination.
They hesitated, their attacks growing slower and more labored; and every time they attempted a pause, I would demand, with a fierce glint in my eye, that we resume our savage contest. With each exchange, my hits and kicks, though individually insubstantial, began to accumulate, leaving the warriors visibly sore and weary—a gradual testament to my own unyielding persistence. My plan had been simple: a trap that would force them into a prolonged battle, while my healing powers kept me in the fight. Yet, I had never imagined that these elite warriors would withstand such a relentless barrage without faltering.
When the sun’s first gentle beams fully illuminated the horizon, the warriors’ anxiety turned to urgency. “We need to get ready for our duties,” said the first attacker, his voice laced with reluctance as he eyed me with a mix of respect and wariness.
In stark contrast, I stood fresh and resolute, having used my magic to cast a cleaning spell that restored both my body and my soiled garments. While they appeared bleary-eyed and ragged—evidence of a night spent grappling with the unforgiving earth—I could sense that my endurance had granted me a surprising vitality. I offered a smug grin, inwardly savoring the sweet satisfaction of turning the tables on bullies who had expected everything to go their way.
“I can’t remember begging for mercy as of yet, as was part of your deal. So, we continue,” I declared, the final words carrying a promise of unyielding defiance.
“But we have our duties to perform for the day,” the first warrior protested, his eyes fixed on the resplendent rising sun as if it were a signal to relinquish the night’s brutal contest.
“I’m not without compassion. We'll continue this at sundown, then,” I replied with a mischievous smile, as if bestowing a reluctant favor upon these tired fighters.
“You want to continue?” he asked, clearly shocked by my resolve.
“Certainly. I see no reason to stop, and I haven’t learned my lesson yet. I don’t want you to leave a job half-done,” I responded, my tone a blend of challenge and promise.
The three of them conferred briefly—a quiet murmur of agreement that carried through the cool morning air. Finally, one of them stated, “Tonight, then. We’ll do the same—or maybe even worse.” Their words, mingled with the earthy scent of freshly turned soil and the crispness of a new day, sealed our grim agreement.
I nodded silently and, with a final glance at the ragged, tired forms of the warriors swaying as they prepared for the day, I turned and walked away. In the soft glow of dawn, as the echoes of our night-long struggle faded into the waking village, I allowed myself a smug grin. It was always good to get my own back on bullies who expected everything to go their way.
