They stopped at the tavern – The Sleeping Giant – and enjoyed the quiet evening. The air was filled with the aromas of roasted meat and freshly baked bread, mixed with the scent of old wood and spilled ale.
From a distant corner came the soft murmur of conversations and the melodic strumming of a lute, while from the kitchen – the dull thud of knives and the muffled shouts of the cook. The soft candlelight cast flickering shadows, creating an atmosphere of coziness, yet a slight wariness, as if something could go wrong at any moment.
Bayos, Anfar, and Nostra had managed to learn a bit about the man they saved. His name was Zangi, and he turned out to be a small-time merchant. Zangi admitted that he tried to deceive a thug in a deal, but when the thug realized the trick, he decided to deal with him.
Suddenly, the tavern door burst open, and the familiar thug – the same one who had been after Zangi – stormed in. But this time, he wasn't alone; beside him stood an even more imposing and menacing man. Their massive figures filled the entrance, and the tavern's chatter instantly fell silent.
– Ah, saviors! I'm back again. This time, I brought my older brother. Let's see what you can do now! – the thug pointed his finger at Bayos and his companions, laughing loudly. His voice, like thunder, echoed under the tavern's arches.
Bayos' heart began to pound, as if trying to burst out of his chest. Thoughts raced through his mind: how would they make it out alive? A fight with one thug had already pushed him to his limits, but now there were two – and each looked like a walking threat.
The cold tendrils of fear coiled around his soul, but he knew he couldn't afford to show weakness. The sense of looming danger squeezed his resolve, making it harder to gather his thoughts. He frantically searched for a way out of the situation.
– This time, neither hope nor outside help will save you, – the younger thug sneered, looking at Zangi, who was hiding behind Bayos and Anfar.
Zangi, sensing the gravity of the situation, nervously glanced around. His hands trembled slightly, and his eyes darted anxiously between the thugs and Bayos. He swallowed, trying to hide his fear, and, leaning closer, whispered to Bayos:
– Benefactor Bayos, thank you for saving me. But I have an idea now. Let's try to scare them off. Even the greatest misfortune can be scared away!
– You can scare them? – Anfar asked skeptically, casting a suspicious glance at Zangi. His voice held a mix of disbelief and tension.
– Benefactor Anfar, even the weak have ways of survival, – Zangi replied confidently.
– To protect myself from those who wish to attack or intimidate, I often resort to deceptive disguises. If they think you're stronger, they might back off.
Anfar squinted, scrutinizing Zangi. His mind wavered between doubt and distrust. The idea of disguising seemed unreliable, with too much that could go wrong.
He was used to relying on his own strength, not tricks and deception. However, the situation was critical, and there was no other plan. His thoughts weighed with uncertainty: should he trust Zangi, and could they convince the thugs of their supposed might? But right now, it seemed like their only chance.
– A disguise? You want us to pretend to be stronger than we are? – he asked, still skeptical.
– In this world, strength is everything, – Zangi said firmly.
– Even if we're weak, we must appear strong; otherwise, we'll be humiliated and hunted everywhere. Benefactor Anfar, show them that you're not someone to mess with.
Anfar reluctantly nodded but decided to give it a try. He took a deep breath, focused, and his face took on a fierce expression. A mighty aura seemed to emanate from him, as if an invisible flame surrounded his figure. The younger thug involuntarily took a step back, seeing this, but the older one merely narrowed his eyes, watching Anfar with interest.
– Why didn't he get scared? – Nostra whispered, staring at the scene in bewilderment and concern.
– He took a step back, – Zangi insisted, a note of desperate hope in his voice. – It means the method is working. We just need to put in more effort.
– And what do you suggest? – Anfar frowned, still not entirely convinced of the plan's success.
– To deceive others, you must first deceive yourself, – Zangi quickly explained.
– If you believe you're truly strong, you can convince the enemy too. Those who cause trouble often yield to those who appear more fierce.
Anfar clenched his fists, feeling hot blood coursing through his veins. He decided to continue, portraying an even more fearsome warrior. His eyes sparkled with a cold fire, and his aura became even more intimidating. He was so immersed in the role that even Bayos and Nostra felt a hint of fear, despite knowing it was all a trick.
However, the thugs remained in place. The older thug smirked and calmly said:
– Saviors, stop wasting your strength. I feel your true power and know that you're not as dangerous as you pretend to be. This trick doesn't work on me.
Bayos realized that Zangi's plan had failed.
He understood that merely creating an illusion of strength was not enough to solve a real problem.
A sense of resolve began to ignite within him.
– Now I understand, – Bayos said quietly, looking straight into the eyes of the older thug, – that when facing serious challenges, a disguise can't replace true determination.
The older thug smirked, enjoying the situation. A heavy silence settled over the tavern. The patrons who had been chatting quietly now fell silent, watching the scene with worry.
Some cast quick glances toward the exit, ready to run if needed. Some clutched their mugs tightly, while others hid behind others to avoid being the center of attention. The atmosphere was thick with tension, as if the air had become dense and hard to breathe.
– Well, noble savior, – the thug continued, his voice a menacing whisper, – you've finally understood. Hope and illusions are fine for scaring the weak. But against real strength, it won't help.
In that moment, an idea struck Bayos. He stepped forward and addressed the younger thug:
– You said the law of survival is when the strong consume the weak. I don't argue with that. But how do you prove that you're strong and we're weak? If you can't prove it, on what grounds can you act that way?
The younger thug was taken aback. His confidence faltered, and he frowned:
– Because I'm strong, and he's a wimp! It's obvious!
– Your words mean nothing without proof, – Bayos shook his head, his voice calm but firm. – If you're so sure of your strength, prove it with action, not shouts.
The older thug smiled coldly, his eyes narrowing:
– Then I have the perfect way to prove it! – he declared, pulling an ancient die with mysterious symbols on its faces from his belt.
– We'll roll the die, and whatever trial comes up, that's what we'll face. Whoever can't withstand all the trials to the end will lose. The weak deserve to be crushed by these trials.
Frightened whispers echoed in the tavern. Some recognized the die as a forbidden artifact created by ancient mages to test the limits of human will. Many brave souls who challenged fate perished because of it.
Bayos knew that delaying any longer was not an option, and he took a risk:
– All right, let's do it. But remember, don't regret your choice! Who goes first?
– You say you're not a weakling? Then prove it! – the thug growled, handing him the die.
Bayos looked at the older thug intently. Doubts tore at him inside: should he accept this challenge? He understood that the stakes were too high, and a single mistake could cost them their lives. But to refuse would show weakness, and in this world, weakness always leads to even greater danger.
He had never participated in such a game before. Its essence lay in each player rolling the die and facing the trial it indicated.
If a player felt they couldn't complete it, they had only one chance to re-roll for a different trial. The first to give up would lose. This game was considered forbidden because it was easy to lose one's life.
Many brave souls who challenged fate lost their lives, facing hardships beyond their strength. Each time the die fell to the floor, it was like a challenge to fate itself – a step into the unknown that could consume them completely.
He thought of his companions, how they looked at him, and knew he had to act. Doubts and fears still swirled in his head, but the decision had already been made.
He nodded and picked up the die. Anfar, Nostra, and all the other tavern patrons watched his every move with tense anticipation. The die spun on the floor, slowing down until it finally stopped, displaying glowing symbols above it:
Trial of Suffering.
– I accept, – Bayos said firmly, clenching his fists.
A glow enveloped him, and before him appeared a strange, repulsive-looking dish. Its surface was covered in a dark, viscous substance emitting a bitter, unpleasant odor.
It was "Suffering."
Bayos picked up a spoon, took the first portion, and cautiously brought it to his mouth. As soon as the substance touched his tongue, bitterness exploded in his mouth like poison, spreading throughout his body. His insides twisted in painful spasms, his eyes watered, and his breath caught. It felt as if he had swallowed the very essence of pain and despair.
– How bitter! – he exclaimed, but he held back, not spitting out the food.
The bitterness filled his mouth like burning tar, leaving a heavy taste of rusty metal. His eyes stung with tears, and a lump formed in his throat. It felt as though invisible needles were piercing his body, and each breath became labored. But it wasn't just physical suffering. In every bite, he sensed a shadow of his past losses and failures, as if he were reliving the darkest moments of his life.
Voices of doubt echoed in his mind:
– You won't withstand it! You're too weak! Why continue if the pain becomes unbearable?
But Bayos gritted his teeth, an inner voice defying those thoughts:
– No, I won't give up. I have to endure this for the sake of my companions, to prove to myself that I can.
He understood that if he gave up now, he wouldn't be able to look his friends in the eyes.
After a few bites, Bayos suddenly stopped. His stomach churned, a lump formed in his throat, and he nearly retched. He closed his eyes, trying to suppress the urge.
At that moment, the voice of Hope sounded in his heart, supporting him like a ray of light in the darkness:
– Oh, Bayos, don't give up! If you grit your teeth, you can endure any suffering. Life isn't just sweetness; it's also filled with bitterness, and that must be known as well.
Courage, standing beside Hope, added with a smile:
– Bayos, don't fear the bitterness. Suffering is just a temporary trial. But if you fear suffering, it will haunt you your whole life.
– True, – Bayos whispered, taking a deep breath.
Clenching his teeth and fists, he picked up the spoon again and continued eating. Each time the bitterness rose to his throat, he remembered the words of Hope and Courage, helping him overcome the pain. Finally, after much effort, he managed to finish the wretched dish.
Wiping his mouth, he struggled to raise his gaze to the older thug and said:
– Now it's your turn.
The older thug smirked weakly, as if he hadn't expected such an outcome. Clenching his teeth, he threw the die onto the floor. The die spun, and above it, new words glowed:
Trial of Lingering Pain.
– I accept, – he replied, his voice steady and fearless.
The light of the trial enveloped him, and numerous daggers began to appear around him. They slowly materialized, shining with a cold, merciless gleam. The blades stabbed into his flesh, tearing skin and muscle.
Each strike was like a flash of sharp pain, as intense as a lightning bolt. It felt as if a thousand icy needles were piercing his body. Hot, sticky blood slowly trickled down his skin, intensifying the sense of despair.
– Pain is nothing to me. These are merely wounds, – the thug rasped, grimacing in pain.
– Cut me!
Clenching his teeth, he stoically endured the torment without making a sound. His face remained stone-like, though cold sweat streamed down it. Anfar and the rest of the tavern patrons watched with horror and admiration at his endurance.
When the daggers vanished, blood poured from the numerous wounds. The thug, swaying slightly, pulled out a large flask of crimson liquid from the folds of his cloak and downed it in one gulp. The liquid flowed down his throat, and the wounds began to close, with his skin gradually restoring its integrity.
– Phew... – he panted, surveying Bayos.
– Now, it's your turn, savior.
Bayos, not looking away from his opponent, slowly picked up the die. He knew that each subsequent trial would only become harder, but there was no turning back. He rolled the die, and it spun on the floor before stopping, with new words glowing above it:
Trial of Loss.
– I accept, – Bayos said, his voice firm, though a growing unease stirred within him.
The light of the trial flared again, and before Bayos appeared another plate. This time, the dish looked deceptively simple.
– Another dish? This time it's smaller, – Nostra remarked, puzzled at why the trials for Bayos kept taking the form of food.
Anfar studied the plate closely and noted:
– That's because everyone has their own hardships. Since Bayos has already endured his share of suffering, his losses will be fewer, but still bitter.
Bayos picked up a spoon and took the first bite. As soon as the food touched his tongue, he felt a searing spiciness spread throughout his body.
Bitterness flooded his mouth, his eyes began to water, and sweat poured down his face. In his heart, a feeling similar to fire awoke, growing stronger with each moment.
– The more losses one experiences, the more the flames of resentment consume their heart, – observed the older thug, watching Bayos. His eyes held an understanding of what Bayos was going through.
As the flames of bitterness grew, Bayos found it increasingly hard to withstand the searing tongues that threatened to burn his heart to ashes. The heat was unbearable, and for a moment, he thought he could endure no more.
But in that moment, when the pain peaked, something within him changed – as if a burned barrier cracked. Deep within his chest, one of his heart's inner seals broke, and with it, a new feeling was born – nobility.
He felt his perception shift: the pain that had seemed unbearable was now seen as a trial worth embracing. Fear and anger receded, giving way to calm confidence.
"True strength lies in the ability to endure and stay true to one's ideals, no matter what," Bayos thought.
Nobility filled his soul with light, making him feel above his suffering. He knew he could endure anything that lay ahead. It was like a quiet light, overshadowing the flames of bitterness and transforming it into something purer and stronger.
A noble heart could withstand far more pain than an ordinary one, enduring the flames of resentment without burning out.
With his newfound inner strength, Bayos finally managed to finish all his losses, despite the torment each bite brought.
His body trembled from the suffering he had endured, his breathing was erratic, but he wiped his mouth and, breathing heavily, looked at the older thug:
– Your turn, – he said firmly, his voice filled with determination.
The older thug chuckled weakly, as though he hadn't expected this outcome. Clenching his teeth, he rolled the die on the floor. It spun, and the next trial appeared above it:
Trial of Spinning Fear.