Trust With a Knife

I knew Hasan had deliberately withheld information from us. Under current circumstances, the less we knew, the better. After all, if the enemy could erase our memories, it meant they could access them too. And if someone like Hasan existed, with a little manipulation, maybe they could even read them. I don't know.

We had already left the room. Hasan was leading us to the backyard. Truth is, it was a small house, but somehow the inside felt much larger—oddly so.

"There's someone I want you to meet…" Hasan began. "He's our host…"

"Where is this place?" I asked him.

"A little outside Izaki town. Just some random house there…"

"Oh really, genius?" I heard my brother grumble in between.

"No, I mean… why are we here?"

"You'll understand once you meet him…" he said, brushing off the question.

We finally stepped into the yard. A large, open garden. Here and there, the golden sunlight was spilling through the trees, washing over us.

"Old man!" Hasan called out. But there was no response. He called again, but still nothing.

"So, what's the deal?" Muzaffer asked with half-mocking tone.

"It's just us for now…" Hasan replied, leaning against a tree. "That's the deal…"

"You look like you just walked off a comedy set, man. Why the heck did we even get involved in all this? None of you ever stop to say, 'What the hell are we doing?'"

"What's done is done," I said, throwing myself under the tree. "There's nothing we can do at this point."

"This is all your fault, Celal…" Muzaffer groaned. "What was your goal, huh… why?"

"Honestly, I couldn't even answer that myself," I replied, stretching my legs out. "Instinct, mostly."

"You act irrationally way too often," he muttered. "I hope you at least realize how screwed we are," he added, half-sarcastic. Wood creaked in the background as he spoke, like pieces clashing against each other rhythmically.

"Yeah," I said, leaning back. "But crying about it won't change anything. We have to face reality."

"Reality: you dragged us into a deal with some weirdo no one knows anything about. Anyone overhearing this conversation would call it nonsense."

"Anyone else hasn't seen a city from the post-Ahamenish period or a pagan sacrificial ritual," I said, closing my eyes slightly. "Or had their memories ripped from their mind…"

"We didn't see that either…" Muzaffer said, staring hard at me. "And even if someone did, funny how you're the only one who remembers. Too convenient. I'd call it plot armor. Or maybe it's just another hole in Hasan's story… like the dozens of others."

"You actually said that to his face?"

"Do I need to spell it out that I don't trust him? Or that the holes he leaves are way too obvious? That there's enough to suspect this is all a setup?"

"You're exaggerating," I said.

"You're just thinking wishfully, Celal. You dou it too often… Anyway, what are those two idiots doing over there?"

We turned our eyes toward the source of the wooden clashing sounds.

They were striking each other with flat wooden planks they'd picked up from the corner, like swords. I wouldn't call it a duel—it was more like a one-sided fight. Hasan had complete dominance over Fuat. He was pressing him hard, sometimes even stepping back just to mock him. He wasn't wielding the wood like a sword, but more like a rifle—holding it sideways, spinning it like an empty gun in 360 degrees. He was pretty damn good at it, too. It looked like he was deliberately trying to drag the fight out…

"These idiots…" Hasan muttered with a tired, half-annoyed tone. "Hopeless cases…"

"Add one more hopeless case…" I said, getting up from where I'd been sitting and grabbing a wooden plank from the side."You Fool…" I heard him grumble again in the same weary voice.

By the time I joined, Fuat had already lost his balance and was out of the fight. Even though Hasan should've been in cooldown from his last move, he managed to dodge quickly and landed the first strike in our clash. He spun the stick once and swung at me with full force. I blocked it instantly…

"Nice defense…" he said with a faint smirk under his mustache. He spun his stick a few more times. Trying to break through my guard, he launched an attack toward my left leg, but I deflected it without much trouble. Then he pulled back to avoid giving me a counterattack opportunity. Not even half a second later, he lunged at me again, trying for my left leg—but again, I blocked it. This time, it gave me a chance to counter. I went for his left side, but he managed to block it too. For about 15 seconds, we just kept dodging each other's attacks back and forth. It was hard for me to adapt to his speed, but I managed—barely. The same monotonous rhythm kept going. Still, a little later, the tempo gradually picked up and we really started getting into it. We kept doing footwork, leaping at each other and pulling back. The rhythm didn't miss a beat. Our feet synced, and somehow, we actually got used to each other. Sometimes he took the hit, sometimes I did. His rapid attacks were choppy but fast… and then—

"I'm not watching you two idiots fight any longer," Muzaffer cut in, stepping in with a stick of his own. He quickly disarmed both of us. "Bunch of morons…"

He had the skill to knock both our weapons away just like that.

"Oh come on… we were just starting to have fun," I protested. "Did you really have to cut in?"

"That wasn't even training…" he shrugged. "Just childish fencing."

"Shame, really…" Hasan said with a voice tinged in disappointment. "Still… Now I get where the rumors about you in the army come from…"

Muzaffer muttered. "Blah blah…" 

"I guess you really are the swordmaster they say you are, Muzaffer," Hasan said, picking up the fallen stick. "Now I understand why people talk about your technique. What do they call you? Iron Wrist?"

"Don't really care about it… but are we getting to the point now? You said you were gonna introduce us to someone? Mentioned taking down Forman with our own weapon? Weren't you supposed to explain all that?"

"About that…" Hasan said, scratching his head. "Looks like Teacher Sha disappeared again… probably won't show up for a few days…"

"What the ...?"

"Yeah, just like that," he said, a bit embarrassed. "Sometimes he just vanishes… stuff happens, I don't know the details. This is his house, usually."

"So you had us wait here for nothing?"

"Partially…" Hasan replied.

"Then who opened the door?" Muzaffer asked.

"Sha's daughter…"

We turned our eyes toward the door on the left. A faint silhouette stood there—slender but tall. Seemed like a woman's body. Probably in her early twenties.

"Nadira!" Hasan called out, but got no response. Nadira quickly slipped away from the door and went back inside."She probably got shy…"

"Let it go…" Muzaffer said, in a dismissive tone. "She did the right thing by not walking into a bunch of unfamiliar men. Anyway, back to the topic…"

"You want to talk plans?"

"Yeah, it's about time… you've been stalling long enough…"

"Can I take that as a sign you're starting to trust me?" Hasan asked sarcastically. A slight smirk formed on his lips.

"No… you'll have to twist that out of thin air if you want to hear it."

"So it's purely professional for you?"

"More like trust with a knife. You betray us once, I'll be on your throat, just so you know…"

Judging by the look in Hasan's eyes, I'd say he swore in great detail inside his head—but for now, maybe the circumstances kept his mouth shut.