"You fucking lowborn trash," the guy on top of him exclaimed.
The assailant slammed another punch into his face, forcing his head into the earth. He could taste the soil mixed with his own blood, and he would say if he could, that it wasn't a very favorable mixture.
Nevertheless, there was nothing he could do but take the beating. He was lowborn trash anyway.
Unlike him, the man sitting on top of him, making his legs go limp due to how heavy he was, was from an important clan—wealthy, poised, and condescending. Just the perfect egoistic scumbag to steal from.
When the 'highborn' finally had enough, he got up from over him and hopped on his horse as he rode away with his entourage of rouge-smelling pricks. Either they had spent the previous night in a whorehouse, or they were men who loved to paint their faces like women do and also engage in some activities that women do, with men.
Mordeu rose to his feet with great distress, he spit out the sand and blood mixture he had kept in his mouth to prevent himself from swallowing. He could already feel his wounds healing, but the bruises he had attained from that scumbag was plethora and a bit malignant, but not something he couldn't heal from. At this rate, his mother would see he had gotten into a fight.
The only solution to his problem would be to dally behind, probably head to the market to acquire some vegetables or beef with the pouch of coins he had stolen from the rouge prick.
He dipped his hand into his pocket and fished out the pouch of coins; however, it was accompanied by something else.
This particular something else was wrapped in a fine, royal magenta silk cloth. It felt soft and divine against his rough skin. In haste, he removed the cloth and tucked it into his other pocket. What was left was a white, thick card.
Mordeu read through what was written on it, and a bright smile graced his features.
The card was an invitation for two brothers, with no names specified, to take part in the training held by the top three clans for the next warriors of the Luna Calvary: a group of fighters that seek only to protect the kingdom against political, social, or external injustice.
Mordeu grew up with tales about those esteemed fighters. Some said they were particular wolves that could go invisible in the night, enabling them to conquer their enemies. Some said the fighters were already dead soldiers revived back to life to fight as warriors for the Goddess. There were many stories, but the truth, as it seemed laying in his palm, was that they were just like any other wolves in the kingdom chosen to train.
This piece of news was better than vegetables or beef, but it didn't mean he was going to neglect them.
With a smile, Mordeu strolled into the village square, or as many would prefer, the market, and purchased for himself and his small family some vegetables and beef.
His family lived in one of the most wretched houses in the village, and the village consisted of only wretched houses. Nevertheless, Mordeu always loved walking through the door and having the smell of mud, garbage, and cinnamon ignite the passion in his heart.
This time, he came bearing good news.
"I have found something that will change our lives forever!" He announced loudly as he slammed the card on the table.
His brother, Fjall, advanced towards where he stood and snatched the card from underneath his strong hands, but Mordeu was not against it. He calmly watched his brother's expression as he read the card.
"What do you think?" He was impatient, fiddling with his fingers, waiting for his brother to say something.
"What's the ruckus about?" Their mother walked in with their little sister in her hands. They were a small family of four.
"I found a way we can make a living," Mordeu announced excitedly as he turned to her.
"If only they accept us," Fjall was skeptical, and this was something Mordeu had anticipated would happen.
"It isn't something we apply for; it is an invitation, we're already accepted," Mordeu laughed, trying to make his brother see reason.
"You stole it, didn't you?" Fjall asked, lifting the card like Mordeu was clueless about the 'it' in the question.
Mordeu rolled his eyes. "I did, and I received a good beating for it."
"You got beaten up?" Their mother asked as she instantly grabbed his chin to examine his features. Luckily for him, his injuries had already healed up, and his face was as good as new, so his mother couldn't find what she was looking for.
"I'm fine, mother. Just try to make Fjall see reason with me," he groaned frustratedly.
"Mother," Fjall started, "do you honestly think it's right for us to leave you here alone to fend for yourself unprotected?"
Mordeu rolled his eyes yet again.
"Fjall," their mother started, "do you wish to spend the rest of your life in this shit hole, avoiding the possibilities of a better future because you're scared of failing and coating it with protecting me?" She was very brutal. "Do I look like I need your protection?"
Mordeu stifled a laugh.
"If this is a chance to become something great in the world, shouldn't you take it?" she asked. "And if you're tossed back to me, at least you'll spend a good number of days without me having to provide for you."
"Do you even know what it is?" Fjall asked frustratedly. His mother had agreed with Mordeu without even learning about what they were arguing about.
Their mother was already making her way out of the room. "I don't care. If Mordeu thinks it's good, then it is. He is adventurous, and I trust his judgment. On the other hand, you're lazy and boring. It's good to feel the air in your hair sometimes. It just so happens that it's now," she shrugged as she walked out.
Fjall groaned loudly as he trailed back to Mordeu, who was grinning like a baby who had just won some candy.
"Why is this so important to you?"
Mordeu grabbed him by his shoulders. "Just picture it, brother. The two of us, as warriors of the night, getting to protect the kingdom and getting fat pouches in return for mother."
"So it's about the pay?" Fjall could see through his bullshit.
Mordeu feigned a frown and pulled Fjall into himself, a hand resting over his shoulder. "It's about mother and our little Fen."
"So it's about the pay," Fjall stated this time.
"Maybe."
They both laughed.
And before the sun rose the next morning, they were already gone, making their way up to Belvot mountain where the training would be held.
The journey was not a long and tiring one; with the help of strangers who didn't mind answering their questions, they made it to the foot of the mountain.
There were many other students like them, some witches, and others wolves. The supernatural consisted of four major creatures: wolves, vampires, witches, and elves. However, because of a dispute in the past, the supernatural was separated into two. The witches and the wolves became one, though having their separate settlements, and the elves and the vampires became allies.
So coming across some elves and vampires at the top and gateway of the mountain was surprising for everyone who had to witness.
"If witches are now to be accepted into the Luna Calvary, I don't see why elves and vampires should be prohibited. Aren't we all after peace?" a female elf aired.
It was the first time Mordeu was seeing an elf, and he couldn't take his eyes off her. He was fascinated by her long pointing ears and her straight black hair and the wickedness in her eyes. Her style of clothing was different from his and from the witches he was used to seeing. Nevertheless, he could admit she really was good looking, especially as she carried an air of power.
"There has never been any request from Her Majesty and Our Lord about letting their people join the cavalry," a man wearing plain white robes tried to reason with the elf and her entourage consisting of both elves and vampires.
However, she did not allow him to complete his sentence. "So what does that mean, Lord Alvitir? Are we not allowed to go in?"
From the way she spoke and how agitated Lord Alvitir was, it seemed like she held a great position in the elven kingdom, and Lord Alvitir would rather eat grass than be the cause of her anger.
"She's a princess," Fjall whispered to him.
Mordeu nodded his head in silence. That explained everything.
The Elves were ruled by royalty, and so were the vampires. The witches had the Coven ruling them, a sitting of seven powerful witches; there was no one greater or less. They were all equal, and laws were established after a vote if there were parties against the law.
The wolves had no ruler; they were of different clans. Somehow, three clans had risen to power during the drought and the war, and so, the people revered them. Not served, but revered, and so they were called the Three Major Clans. It comprised the House of Stregobor, the House of Balor, and the House of Alvitir.
And standing there, trying to be rational with the brat from the Elves, was the Lord of the House of Alvitir. Alvitir himself.
"No, that is not so, Princess. In fact, please come on in," he gestured towards the gateway. The gateway was made with two huge stones standing side by side. There was the space of two people in between them, and so it was regarded as the gateway.
The princess nodded her head and advanced towards the gate, but Alvitir hadn't finished his speech yet.
He said, "As you have made this decision, please do well to remember, past those gates you are not an elf, a vampire, or even a royal. You will be regarded as everyone else, and the training won't be any different. Do not feel the need to bring your status into this; you are neither a low nor a highborn, you're just alive and training."