Beam had seen such a thing himself, in his own progress. The sacrifices did not seem to be in vain – he would make sure that they weren't. But now, he had to deal with their consequences.
"Still… This too is training," he told himself, remembering Dominus' words and the promise of progress. Once this was done and out of the way, it would be a huge weight off his shoulders. With those reassurances on his mind, he stepped out into the clearing where his hut once lay.
Three heads turned upon his approach.
"I knew it," Beam muttered to himself.
The men were clearly not there for a negotiation attempt. Each of them had a crude wooden club in their hands and righteously violent expressions on their faces, knowing that they could beat him into submission and be very well justified in it.
"Well well, look who came crawwwwlin' back," the leader of the trio drawled. Beam knew him, of course, though he'd always done his best to avoid coming into contact with him. Judas was his name, and he was somewhat famous for his thuggish behaviour. Being as big as was – nearly double Beam's height – there was likely not a single man in the entire village that could confidently challenge him to a fight. As such, as a debt collector, few were in higher demand.
"Judas…" Beam groaned, scratching his head. "I see you're as ugly as I remember," he said, unable to help himself. As soon as the words were out of his mouth though, he bit his lip, realizing his mistake. Old habits die hard.
Though a vein popped in anger on Judas' bald head, his initial response was to laugh. "Heheheh! And I see you're still a little shit, aren't ya? Tut tut tut, making a mess of your landlord's nice little home like this. Y'know, that's gonna cost ya, right? I'm guessing since you came swaggering back here like that, then you've got the money to pay, do ya?"
"And how much is he asking for?" Beam replied, knowing that he didn't even have a single copper with which to pay the man.
"Mm… Since you ran away for a few days n' all, he's upped the price to a single gold coin. Sorry about that, little man. I'm guessing you can't pay, huh?" Judas asked, feigning sympathy, tapping his hefty wooden baton on his meaty palm.
"No shit," Beam replied, before berating himself internally again. 'Even if it's these thugs… Master Dominus is definitely listening… I should at least attempt to be polite.' But the price of one gold was so outlandish as to be impossible. In rent, he'd paid 3 coppers per month. A loaf of bread cost a copper quarter. Gold – like silver – was hardly real to Beam at this point. He'd be lucky to see such amounts of money, never mind own it.
"Ah, I thought as much," Judas nodded with a sick smile, shaking his head. "Well, hate to do this, but we're going to have to beat the shit out of you now," Judas said, motioning with his hand to his two thug friends.
They were smaller than him, but they were still big men in their own right. Beam would be lucky to take on even one of them, never mind three.
"C'mon lad, nice an' easy. We'll get this over with, aye?" One of them said, as they both cautiously approached Beam from either side, sporting wary grins.
Beam didn't move from his spot, keeping his eyes on both of them as they came closer and closer. He glared warily at the wooden batons that they wielded – a bad hit from those and his chance at getting any training done this month would be gone. He couldn't beat them, but he could at least lessen the damage.
"C'mon… HAH!" Using a simple distraction that seemed fitting for their dim personalities, the thug on the left called out quietly, feigning calmness, before lunging in with his bat raised.
Beam raised his fist, about to give the thug the best hit in the jaw that he could before his partner descended upon him… But then he lowered it and opted to dodge slightly instead, lessening the impact of the wooden bat as it came down, hitting him in the stomach.
He landed flat in the dirt, winded. "Damn it…"
He was already regretting not having hit the debt collector back, when the two wooden batons went to work pounding his sides. Kicks soon followed. But fighting back would only have made them angrier. Even if it sucked, even if it wounded his pride, Beam knew that fighting back would only make things worse and only cause them to hit him harder, raising the risk of injury.
As much as Beam hated to admit it, he was rather good at taking a beating, from his time spent as a slave. He made each hit that landed look worse than it was, whereas in reality, he was making the tiniest of adjustments to take the edge off to at least make sure that he didn't break a bone. Though that didn't take away the pain. There was no way it could. Wooden bats hurt. And kicks from men of their size hurt just as much.