When I reached the crowd, I began pushing my way through, determined to find out what was happening. The scene before me slowly came into view. A bloated, arrogant noble, draped in fine clothes that seemed to strain against his massive frame, stood sneering at a poor fruit vendor. Beside him loomed a towering knight clad in gleaming armor, his hand resting ominously on the hilt of his sword, clearly using his presence to intimidate.
The noble was yelling, his voice carrying across the gathered crowd, as he knocked over baskets of fruit with a cruel, dismissive gesture. The vendor cowered before him, pleading for mercy, his voice trembling. The blatant abuse of power was enough to ignite a fire within me, my sense of justice screaming for action.
I couldn't bear the sight of such injustice. Every fiber of my being urged me to intervene, to step in and defend the helpless fruit vendor. I started to push through the crowd again, but before I could get any closer, someone tugged at my sleeve.
"Don't be a hero," a harsh whisper came from an older man standing nearby. His grip was firm, his eyes wide with warning. "Nothing good comes from going up against him."
I turned to face the man, confusion and anger mingling on my face. He shook his head solemnly, his voice heavy with caution. "That's Shindred Ludwig, the third son of the Ludwig household. If you mess with him, they'll kill you without hesitation. Trust me, it's not worth it."
His words hung in the air, heavy with implications. The reality of the situation began to sink in, but I shook it off. I couldn't let fear hold me back.
Ignoring the man's warning, I pushed forward, weaving my way through the onlookers until I stood at the edge of the scene.
Shindred was there, right in front of me, mercilessly beating the fruit vendor as if he were some criminal caught red-handed. The vendor's cries were weak, almost drowned out by the murmurs of the crowd.
"Hey, stop that!" I shouted, anger lacing my voice. My fists clenched at my sides as I took a step forward.
Shindred glanced at me briefly, his eyes disinterested, as if I were no more than an insect. He then turned his attention back to the vendor, continuing his assault without a second thought.
That was it. I couldn't watch any longer.
Fueled by a mix of adrenaline and rage, I charged forward. The knight beside Shindred moved swiftly, stepping into my path, but I managed to dodge him, sliding past with surprising agility. My focus remained locked on Shindred.
With all the force I could muster, I slammed my fist into his chest. The impact sent him flying back, crashing to the ground five feet away.
For a brief, fleeting moment, a surge of satisfaction coursed through me. I had stood up for what was right, and it felt worth it. But the moment didn't last. Shindred's cold gaze met mine, and a smirk spread across his face—a smirk that sent a chill down my spine.
Without a word, he reached for a whistle hanging from his belt and blew a sharp, piercing note. The sound cut through the air, silencing the murmuring crowd. My stomach dropped as I saw the crowd part, revealing nearly fifty armored knights emerging from the shadows. Each one was armed and ready, their expressions void of any emotion.
Reality hit me like a hammer. I might not walk away from this.
I stood frozen, my pulse racing as Shindred rose to his feet. His smirk deepened, his voice cold and dripping with malice. "Don't kill him," he said, almost casually. "I want to handle that myself. You all, just beat him until he can't stand."
The knights didn't hesitate. They advanced on me with terrifying precision, their fists clenched.
The first blow landed hard, knocking the wind out of me. Before I could recover, another hit followed, then another. Each strike was more brutal than the last.
Pain erupted across my body, sharp and unrelenting. It felt like an eternity as the knights took turns, their fists and boots leaving me a broken mess on the ground. I refused to let them see my weakness, gritting my teeth and holding onto consciousness with sheer willpower.
Eventually, Shindred let out a loud yawn, his boredom apparent. "Alright, that's enough," he said, waving his hand dismissively. "Throw him in the underground prison. I'll deal with him later."
The knights obeyed without question. They grabbed my battered body and dragged me away. My vision blurred, and every inch of me throbbed with pain, but I could hear their footsteps echoing in a cold, dark corridor.
With little ceremony, they tossed me into a damp, unforgiving cell. The cold stone floor offered no comfort, and the walls seemed to close in around me. That's how I ended up here—in this miserable underground prison.
"Haha, I feel bad for you, young man," a raspy voice broke the silence, startling me.
I turned my head to see an older man sitting in the corner of the cell. His face was lined with deep wrinkles, and his eyes glinted with a mix of amusement and pity. The dim light filtering through the cracks in the walls cast eerie shadows on his face.
"You should've minded your own business," he said with a dry chuckle. "Hitting Shindred Ludwig? That's a death sentence, lad."
I winced as I shifted, the pain in my ribs sharp and unrelenting. "Yeah," I muttered. "I'm starting to realize that."
The old man's chuckle grew louder. "Shindred Ludwig," he said, his voice tinged with bitterness. "He's the third son of the Ludwig household. That boy has had everything handed to him since birth—riches, power, respect. It's no wonder he thinks he owns the world. And if anyone dares to tell him otherwise, well... they don't live to tell the tale."
He shook his head slowly, his tone growing grim. "That's why no one stands up to him. They turn a blind eye to his actions. It's safer that way."
I sighed, a cold pit forming in my stomach. "I wonder what he's going to do to me," I said, my voice barely above a whisper.
The old man leaned forward, his tone lowering as if sharing a dark secret. "When Shindred was younger, someone broke his favorite toy. Do you know what he did? He made that person his toy—tortured them for seven whole days over a broken trinket."
His eyes gleamed with morbid amusement. "And you? You punched him. You'd better start imagining the worst of the worst, boy."
A shiver ran down my spine, but I forced myself to shrug it off. "Whatever," I muttered, more to convince myself than him. "What comes, comes. It is what it is."
The old man chuckled softly, but I paid him no more attention. Exhaustion was settling in, and the cold stone floor seemed more inviting than it had any right to be.
"Well," I mumbled, shifting my aching body into a less painful position. "Now I'm going to sleep."