Chapter 12: The Land of Waste

The castle towered above them, its walls smoothed by the centuries but still standing in the stance of rebellion against decay. Foul in some spots, but far more enjoyable than it would have been otherwise, the weathered old stones were unbroken. The towers reached up towards the fading twilight, throwing dark shadows in the abandoned courtyard. It seemed as the castle was designed for Royalty of highest order. Ivy and moss crept along the outside walls, and scents of damp stone hung about as they strolled in.

Steven, the dedicated butler, took a deep breath, then rubbed his hands in unison. "Well, young master, I suppose it appears that we have our work cut out for us, then," he announced in his worn-out but determined smile.

There, silent throughout the entire trip, Kaidën merely nodded and made his way towards the great staircase. He selected one of the rooms on the second level with no problem, one of which boasted a massive, open window staring out over the devastated gardens far below. He pulled his own luggage himself, easily maneuvering the heavy trunks with his thin frame.

Steven, catching on to Kaidën's surprise strength, nonetheless hurried to help. "Let me, young master," he offered, extending one hand to grab hold of one of the duffel bags.

To his surprise, Kaidën did not push him away as he used to. Instead, he remained firm and, with the most subtle hint of a smile, said, "Okay."

Steven blinked, his eyes wide with shock. So direct a reply, and one that made him feel so strangely uplifted. He couldn't quite explain why, but to have Kaidën recognize his help, even on such a minor scale, left his chest feeling warm.

Hours went by while the two carried the furniture to the new castle. The sun started setting, casting the orange hues through the broken windows. The castle was eerily silent with the occasional creak of the wood and far-off screams of the birds outside.

Steven wiped the sweat from his forehead and sat down, tired. Kaidën, who was eight, didn't appear to be tired, though. He made a mock stretch and yawn, like he was tired, but the gesture didn't look genuine. It only seemed as though to make Steven feel less pathetic of being weaker than a child.

****

Steven chuckled. "Young Master, excuse me for asking, but. how did you manage?" His tone was gentle but inquiring.

Kaidën, over by the wall, glared over at him with puzzled eyes. "Do what?"

Steven glared at him. "The bandits. You slaughtered them without any magic word at all." His eyes were huge with awe.

He glared at him for an instant before exhaled slowly from his nostrils. He didn't feel like explaining, but Steven would never be contented. "There wasn't anything special," he said, nonchalantly enough, after some time. "Just plain physics and chemistry, anyone could have done it."

Steven edged near him, wanting more.

Kaidën inhaled deeply and went on, "The body is comprised of hydrogen, oxygen, and carbon. And if I shatter the oxygen atoms in the blood with wind magic, and energize the electrical charge in the neurons with thunder magic, I've got a spark. And then throw the fire magic to give the spark some fuel." He clicked his fingers, the noise of an explosion cracking open. "Boom. Instant explosion."

Steven just stood there, his mouth half-open. He was reiterating Kaidën's words in his head.

"It's just science-type things," Kaidën shrugged, waving his hand in a gesture of dismissal. "Don't get all worked up about it."

Then the silence, and then Steven just exploded into laughter.

Kaidën glared at him, his face blazingly angry. "What are

Steven wiped at his eyes, still smiling. "Nothing, young master. I simply find it amusing that the world believes you to be weak… when in truth, you are far stronger than anyone would ever imagine."

He stared at him for a moment. Then, for a fleeting instant, the tiniest, most inconsequential smile flickered on his lips before he turned away. "I'm going to take a bath," he growled and strode away.

Night fell, ravaging the city with its shadows. The streets were filled with life, but not of the friendly sort.

Kaidën, curiosity getting the better of him, resolved to find out for himself. Silent as a specter, he crept through the corridors, easily evading Steven and the other members of staff. He shrouded himself in his black cloak, covering himself with the hood, hiding most of his shape from view. His face was hidden behind the red mask that left only his gleaming eyes visible, but nothing else. Employing the coordination of the barrier magic and the shadow magic, he became well-nigh invisible.

Catching a glissade off the castle wall, he tore along the tops of the roofs, his eye downcast across the city's breadth.

All he saw proved out the hearsay.

The otherwise-badly-named "Land of Waste" was just as full of crime and corruption. Prostitutes occupied the sidewalk with sly smiles and sly overtures, soliciting clients. Gangsters dealt in the open, trading money and illegal substances in the warm light of lanterns. Addicts leaned against corners, absent the shadows in the fog of addiction.

There was anarchy. But yet, yet, none of it truly took up his mind.

That was forgotten, until he noticed something else.

A secret door, secreted in position behind the ancient tavern, led into the vast underground theater. Kaidën slipped in unnoticed, getting lost in the crowds of people.

Blood, sweat, and stale liquor scented the air. Walls of stone emanated a radiance from torches that guttered there to send dark shadows upon the combatants, the pugilists, and ruffians within the mob. The execrable ring waited at the center of the commotion, metal bars corroded and streaked with congealed blood.

It wasn't any fight club.

The rules were brutal. Death was a common visitor. The only ways to win were by killing your opponent, knocking them out, or getting them to surrender—although surrendering was not common.

Kaidën sat down, watching as the next bout began.

A huge man stepped forward, and the crowd erupted.

"The Mad Giant!" the announcer boomed, and the crowd erupted into cheers.

A hulking figure, close to 7.5 feet. entered the grounds. His arms bulged from under his dirty robes, and a warty grin split his scab-covered face. A massive battle-axe hung at his enormous hands, its smeared blade glittering, and he grinned like coarse brutality itself.

The leaner but not gaunt little man advanced for his rival—a giant of a man, the Great Sword shining in the weak lights, but in contrast to the Mad Giant's battle-axe, rather inadequate.

The crowd ridiculed the less formidable warrior, battering him with jeer and taunt.

"Kill him, Giant!"

"He's too weak!"

Cut him down with one swing!

They were all waging bets left and right, and nearly all of them put their money on the Mad Giant to win.

Kaidën, however, remained silent while placing a handful of coins onto the betting slab.

"I wager against the Giant," he said casually.

The bookmaker blinked at him. "You sure, sir? Wasting your money, you are."

Kaidën did not answer, only stared at the ring

The match was about to begin.

To be continued...