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Training and Strategy

The morning sun crept through the trees, its light filtering into the camp as the bandits began their day. The air was heavy, yesterday's encounter with House Lirian's soldiers had left a mark.

Torik stood near the campfire, sharpening his dagger. His tunic had been hastily stitched where the spear had grazed him, but the wound still pulled at his side.

Kain watched him from the cage.

"You're quiet today," Torik said without looking up. "Planning something?"

Kain leaned forward slightly, his voice steady. "Always."

Torik chuckled, shaking his head. "Good."

He turned to one of his men. "Bring him out."

The cage door creaked open, and Kain stepped into the clearing. The young girl in the neighboring cage watched him.

The wooden staff felt heavier than Kain expected, its smooth surface deceptively simple in his calloused hands. He shifted his grip, his knuckles whitening as he tightened his hold. Across from him, Torik twirled his own staff with an ease that bordered on arrogance, his sharp eyes studying Kain like a wolf sizing up prey.

"First rule you have to live by," Torik began, his voice cutting through the murmurs of the bandits. "Never rely on mercy. No one's coming to save you."

Before Kain could respond, Torik lunged, his staff whipping through the air. Kain barely raised his weapon in time, the impact sending a jolt up his arms. The force pushed him back a step, his boots scuffing against the dirt.

"Keep your stance solid," Torik barked, his tone harsh. "You want to stay upright when someone's trying to kill you."

Kain adjusted his footing, gritting his teeth as Torik advanced again. The older man's strikes were relentless. Kain blocked clumsily, each impact reverberating through his bones.

"Too slow," Torik growled, sweeping Kain's staff aside with a sharp strike. His follow-up jab caught Kain in the ribs, knocking the air from his lungs.

Kain staggered, gasping. His vision blurred for a moment as pain lanced through his side. "What's the point if you're just going to beat me down?" he spat, his voice ragged.

Torik circled him, his smirk sharp and cold. "The point is that the world doesn't care if you're tired. It doesn't care if you're scared."

Torik attacked again. Kain parried, the staff vibrating in his hands with every strike. Sweat dripped down his face, stinging his eyes. His muscles burned, and his breaths came in shallow gasps.

"Use your head, boy!" Torik snapped, feinting left before swinging right. Kain barely sidestepped the blow, stumbling but staying on his feet.

Kain's frustration boiled over. He growled, gripping the staff tighter and lunging at Torik with a wild swing. The older man sidestepped easily, his staff striking Kain's wrist with a sharp crack. The weapon fell from Kain's grasp, clattering to the ground.

Torik didn't hesitate. He swept Kain's legs out from under him, sending him sprawling into the dirt. The bandits chuckled quietly, their amusement cutting through Kain's humiliation.

"Pathetic," Torik muttered, looming over him. "Is that all you've got?"

Kain clenched his fists, his chest heaving. His body screamed at him to stay down, but something forced him to his feet. He grabbed the staff, his hands trembling, and raised it again.

Torik's smirk faltered for the briefest moment. "Good," he said quietly, "Again."

This time, Kain didn't wait. He advanced first, his strikes faster. Torik blocked them effortlessly.

"You're learning," Torik said, as he parried Kain's attacks. "But not fast enough."

Torik spun his staff, catching Kain's weapon in a lock. With a sharp twist, he disarmed the boy again, the staff flying from Kain's grip. Torik's weapon stopped just short of Kain's throat, the cold wood pressing against his skin.

The bandits cheered softly, but Torik silenced them with a glance. His eyes locked on Kain's, his expression unreadable. "You're not fighting me, boy," he said, his voice low. "You're fighting yourself. Until you figure that out, you'll always lose."

Kain grabbed the staff again, his movements slower but more deliberate this time. He didn't rush. He studied Torik's stance, his positioning. When he struck, it wasn't wild, it was calculated.

Torik blocked him again, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes. Respect.

The sparring continued, each clash of wood against wood echoing through the camp. Kain's body screamed in protest, but he refused to stop. Every time Torik knocked him down, he got back up. Every time he dropped the staff, he picked it up again.

By the end, Kain was covered in sweat and dirt, his arms trembling, but he stood tall. Torik's smirk returned.

"Not bad," Torik said, tossing his staff aside.

As the crowd dispersed, Kain sank to his knees, his hands gripping the staff tightly. The young girl from the cage approached cautiously, offering him a canteen of water.

He took it without a word, gulping the cool liquid as his mind raced. Torik's words echoed in his ears: You're fighting yourself.

Alric's voice broke the silence. "You're either going to break or become something dangerous," he said, his tone neutral. "Let's see which one it is."

Kain didn't respond. He stared at the ground, his resolve hardening. He wasn't broken. Not yet.

Alric approached Torik. "You're pushing him hard."

"He needs it," Torik replied, wiping sweat from his brow. "The world won't wait for him to catch up."

Alric glanced toward Kain, who stood alone at the edge of the clearing, his staff still in hand. "Maybe. Or maybe you're trying to make him into something he'll never be."

Torik's smirk returned, faint but sharp. "That's not your concern."

The other bandits muttered among themselves as they returned to their tasks. One of them, a wiry man with a scar across his cheek, approached Torik hesitantly. "Boss, what's the plan? If the Lirians come back—"

"They'll come back," Torik interrupted, his tone cold. "And when they do, we'll be ready."

The man nodded, though his unease remained. "And the boy? What's he got to do with any of this?"

Torik's smirk didn't waver. "Everything."

The sun dipped lower in the sky as the bandits went about their tasks, muttering amongst themselves about House Lirian and the near skirmish.

Kain sat near the campfire, the wooden staff resting across his lap. His muscles ached, and bruises were already forming on his arms and ribs, but he stared at the fire with a hard expression.

Across the clearing, Torik cleaned his dagger, his sharp eyes occasionally flicking to Kain. The boy hadn't spoken since the sparring session, and Torik wondered if he'd pushed him too far.

Alric appeared from the shadows, his movements unhurried as always. "He's holding together better than I expected," he said, nodding toward Kain. "Most boys would've snapped by now."

"Most boys aren't him," Torik replied without looking up.

Alric's smirk widened. "You see something in him, don't you? Something you're not telling the rest of us."

Torik paused, his hand stilling on the dagger's blade. "I see a survivor," he said finally. "And if he's smart, he'll learn to be more than that."

Alric chuckled softly. "Careful, Torik. People might start thinking you have a heart."

Torik's gaze darkened. "Get to the point, Alric. Why are you here?"

Alric leaned against a nearby tree, his smirk fading slightly. "House Lirian won't wait two weeks. You know that as well as I do."

Torik's grip tightened on the dagger, his knuckles whitening. "They'll wait if they want their coin."

"Or they'll come back with enough men to wipe us out," Alric said casually, his tone almost mocking. "And when they do, they won't just want the boy. They'll want everything."

Torik's jaw clenched, but he said nothing. Alric stepped closer, lowering his voice so only Torik could hear. "You're not stupid. You're gambling on a boy who might not even live long enough to pay off your debts. Cut your losses before it's too late."

Torik stood abruptly, sheathing his dagger in one smooth motion. His smirk returned, sharp and cold. "You always think you know everything, Alric. But you don't know me."

Alric raised an eyebrow, unperturbed. "Maybe not. But I know one thing, you're running out of time."

As night fell over the camp, Kain sat alone near the treeline, his wooden staff resting against his shoulder. The girl from the neighboring cage approached quietly, her footsteps soft on the forest floor.

"You should rest," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "You'll need your strength."

Kain didn't look at her. "I can't rest."

She hesitated, her small hands fidgeting with the edge of her tunic. "Why does he care about you?"

Kain's gaze flicked toward Torik, who was speaking with Alric near the campfire. The man's confident smirk and casual posture belied the tension in his movements. "He doesn't," Kain said finally. "He cares about what I can do for him."

The girl frowned. "Then why didn't he give you to the soldiers?"

Kain didn't answer immediately. His fingers tightened around the staff, the wood creaking softly under the pressure. "I don't know...," he said, his voice bitter.

The girl watched him for a moment before sitting down beside him. "Do you trust him?"

Kain turned to her, his expression hard. "I don't trust anyone."