Chapter 4—Bloodsport

Merken moved first and yanked on the rope, trying to throw Chael off balance.

Chael twisted and let the force pull him forward instead of resisting, narrowly dodging a punch that would've probably knocked his out cold. He ducked, feeling the air shift as a fist swung just past his temple.

He wasn't fast enough to dodge the second.

A knee slammed into his ribs.

Pain exploded through his side and his vision flashed white for half a second. He gasped, stumbling, but he forced his body to move.

Amidst the cheering crown Chael's free hand masterfully moved over the man's belt - but before anyone noticed anything, Chael staggered back, gasping with his fist clenched.

Merken laughed, clearly proud of himself. He raised him arms and turned around to look at his buddies cheering him on and banged his chest twice with his fist before turning his attention back to Chael, "Y'know, if I had met you under different circumstances, I would've thought you were a tavern wench or a brothel harlot." Merken teased, trying to get a reaction out of Chael.

Chael remained unreactive. His mind was completely elsewhere. Observing the structure of this cavern, how many of them were asleep and how many were up, how much ration and water they had, their weapons and much more.

Another punch came and he barely leaned back in time. The tether jerked, forcing him closer. His broken arm ached, his fingers screamed with every twitch. He couldn't block. He could only dodge.

'Damn, that hurt...' Chael thought to himself though gritted teeth as he staggered back after a kick landed on his rib, finally being bought back to the present.

"C'mon chief! I thought the Ashwara were more fiersome than this! Gahahaha!" Garren rumbled in laughter.

"The notorious young princess - I mean, prodigy of the Ashwara Clan is getting his ass beat by a loser like Merken. Who would've thought!" Another one laughed.

Another swing, which Chael barely ducked. Then, a fist grazed his cheek.

Chael was barely retaliating. Instead he watched Merken's every move, trying to look for an opening. Under normal circumstances he would have no problem trading blows and swinging to his hearts content, but every movement caused him unimaginable pain.

"Show us what you got, boy!" A mercenary laughed.

Merken was grinning as he came for another swing, "C'mon! Let's get serious here-"

Just as he entered Chael's range, his body twisted with unnatural speed - just enough to shift his weight.

Then he struck.

His elbow slammed into Merken's throat.

One calculated strike was all it took.

The mercenary staggered, choking and instantly dropped to his knees, gasping for air.

The entire room went silent. Echinda who was watching lazily finally raised an eyebrow. She muttered to herself, "That's Ashwara for you."

Chael's pulse pounded. He had to follow up. He pivoted and used the tension of the rope to snap his body forward-

But before he could land another hit, the entire crowd rushed him.

"You bastard!"

"Tch. Some of a bitch! How dare you, it was just a show!"

Several of them jumped on him. Chael's entire world got disorientated as boots slammed into his side. A fist cracked against his jaw. Someone grabbed his hair and yanked him back, throwing him to the ground.

The beatdown was only amplified by the intense pain from his shattered bones and wounds he had recieved earlier, as. they reopened and soaked his clothes with more fresh blood.

Fists. Boots. Elbows. Chairs.

Pain rained down on him from every direction. His vision blurred. He tasted blood. His ribs felt like they were caving in. His limbs refused to move. He curled inward, instinct screaming at him to protect his head.

The pain was distant now.

Then-

"Enough."

The kicks stopped.

Through his swollen eyes, he saw Garren step forward, looking down at him like a man admiring a broken toy.

"Tch. Lasted longer than I thought." Garren snorted. "Alright, toss him back in the cage before he dies on us."

They grabbed him-his body barely responding anymore. His feet dragged uselessly as they hauled him toward the cage.

Through the haze of pain, his fingers on his left hand twitched as something went up his sleeve.

Something was there.

It was tiny arrowhead he was swiped from Merken's pocket, the price he paid being a vicious knee to the ribs.

They threw him back into the cage. The door slammed shut and the lock clicked. Chael lay there with his breath ragged and blood dripping from his mouth..

But beneath the pain, but beneath the agony and exhaustion, he curled his fingers around the arrowhead.

"Wow, they really did a number on you, huh?" Echinda trotted up to his cage again, smoking her small pipe.

Chael groaned when he heard her voice. Without bothering to conceal his displeasure, he shot her a glare, "What do you want now?"

Echinda exhaled puff of smoke and smiled at him, "Nothing much. Why? Am I not worth the Princess of Ashwara's time?"

"Kill youself."

"How rude." Echinda made an mock expression as though she was offended.

Chael didn't respond and simply lay there like a sack of potatoes, revelling in the pain of his broken body. 

"Do tell me though, what were you doing in that fight?" Echinda's face then grew serious the next instant as though she had taken off a mask. "Those fools didn't notice but I picked on some of your weird movements here and there."

Chael maintained eye contact with Echinda for a while before he simply saying, "Sun Tzu once said, 'Let your plans be dark and impenetrable as night, and when you move, fall like a thunderbolt.'"

Having bought up as a Village Chief, he was forced to study a majority of his day alongside training and other things. Though he hated studies in general, he had learned to find battle tactics and strategies interesting. Amongst his favourite historical strategists was a man named 'Sun Tzu' and Chael enjoyed his teachings a lot.

Echinda looked at him dumbfounded then chuckled, "Fine, keep your secrets, you little shit. You're not leaving my clutches anytime soon, anyway."

"You seem insanely paranoid." Chael sneered at her. "You shoot me while I was already subdued, you break my dominant hand so that I can't wield a weapon. And now you observe my every move like a little fangirl while I was fighting that oaf."

Echinda's smug smiled slowly melted into a cold emotionless look.

"If you're so afraid of me escaping, why don't you just kill me right here?" Chael said smugly but behind his expression lay a cynical insanity.

"In fact, I'm asking you to kill me," he added, tilting his head. "Not that it'd change anything. It's not like my life's worth anything now, anyway."

He didn't mean it in the way some men did. He wasn't pleading or desperate and he certainly hadn't even resigned. He just wanted to mock her.

Because whether he lived or died, it wasn't going to be on their terms.

Echinda furrowed her brows coldly, "Like hell I will. I didn't go through with that hunt and lose two handfuls of men just to get your useless corpse."

With that, she turned and left.

Chael looked at her retreating figure then let out a long sigh. The arrowhead peaked down from his sleeve and glinted with the orange hue of a nearby flame.

The hideout was quieter now.

The fire had burned low, casting flickering shadows against the cavern walls. Most of the Mongrel's Vow lay sprawled across makeshift bedrolls, their snores mixing with the occasional crackle of embers.

Chael sat motionless in his cage, his back against the cold iron bars. His body still ached from the beating, his ribs throbbing with every shallow breath. But his mind was clear.

His fingers curled around the arrowhead he had swiped, its jagged edge rough against his palm. It was small-barely larger than a coin-but sharp enough to do the job.

Carefully, he shifted forward, eyes flicking to the lock on his cage. His heartbeat slowed. His focus sharpened. He inserted the tip of the arrowhead into the keyhole and began working it, twisting, feeling for the mechanism inside.