"Men."
The first cut is always the cleanest.
A downward strike
The blade slicing through
Sloth, Gluttony, Greed, Wrath
Lust, Envy, Pride and Vanity
.
The courtyard fell silent as Brann stepped forward, his heavy boots crunching against the gravel. The former pit fighter towered over me, his broad shoulders and brutish smirk exuding confidence. He swung his club lazily, the weight of it creating an ominous whoosh with every movement. Around us, slaves and overseers watched with bated breath, the tension palpable in the chilly air.
I tightened my grip on the battered wooden sword. The handle was rough in my palm, the uneven weight pulling awkwardly, but it didn't matter. My mind was already calculating. Brann was strong, no doubt, but strength alone wouldn't win this. I'd faced worse—I just had to trust myself.
Brann's sneer widened as he sized me up. "This is a joke, right? You're sending this runt against me?" he mocked, his voice loud enough to stir nervous laughter from the onlookers. The overseer's stern glare silenced them, and the command to begin rang out.
Brann lunged forward without hesitation, his swing wide and brutal, aimed to intimidate rather than strike. I sidestepped easily, the club whistling past my shoulder. My wooden sword moved almost instinctively, landing a precise strike on his exposed wrist. The sound of the impact echoed in the courtyard.
Brann grunted, shaking his hand and glaring at me. "Quick little rat, aren't you?"
I said nothing, my focus narrowing on his stance. His movements were deliberate but predictable, lacking the finesse of a true fighter. The rhythm felt familiar, like a kendo match—a test of patience and precision. My body responded, though sluggishly, the instincts honed over eons guiding me despite the unfamiliar limitations.
He swung again, this time with a feint. I caught the subtle shift in his footing and countered, my wooden blade meeting his club with a sharp crack. The shock reverberated up my arm, but I held firm. Twisting my weapon, I redirected his strike just enough to throw him off balance.
Stepping in close, I aimed a quick strike at his thigh. The wooden blade connected, and Brann stumbled, his growl deepening into something more primal. Whispers rippled through the crowd, a mix of surprise and unease at the sight of me holding my ground against him.
"What's the matter?" I muttered, adjusting my stance. "Too slow?"
His sneer twisted into a snarl, and he charged again, his club swinging in a brutal arc. I ducked low, feeling the rush of air above me, and countered with a sweeping strike aimed at his ribs. My movements were sharper this time, the product of not just instinct but the secret training I'd managed to slip into my routines. Practicing even with makeshift tools had kept the edge of my skills intact, though my body still lagged behind.
The sharp precision of my strikes and the rhythm of my movements had drawn murmurs from the overseers. "That swordplay," one of them muttered under his breath. "It's not random. What house teaches that style? How does she know how to fight like this?"
The comments barely registered as my focus remained on Brann. Around me, the slaves murmured in hushed tones, their words carrying a mix of disbelief and fear. "How is she even holding her own?" someone whispered. "That's Brann—a former pit fighter. She's just a meerkat."
Ren's voice cut through the whispers, sharp and clear. "Come on, Xuê! You've got this!"
Beside him, the rabbit boy clasped his hands together, his small frame trembling as he whispered a quiet prayer. His wide eyes were fixed on me, filled with a desperate hope I didn't want to shatter.
Far above the courtyard, the Mistress watched from her chamber. Sitting in her high-backed chair, her unseeing eyes were directed toward the duel, a faint glow of magic swirling in her irises. Beside her, a demihuman maid with feline features attended to her quietly, occasionally glancing out the window at the scene below.
"That girl," the Mistress murmured, her voice soft but resolute. "She's not who she was before. There's a fire in her now... something new."
The maid tilted her head, curiosity flickering across her face. "Do you believe she got rid of her fears, Mistress? Or has she truly changed?"
The Mistress's lips curved into a faint, enigmatic smile. "Perhaps a little of both. But one thing is clear—she's learning to wield that fire. Whether it will burn her or forge her anew remains to be seen."
Then, without warning, the slave crest flared to life.
A searing pain shot through my body, sudden and all-consuming. I gasped, the wooden sword slipping from my grasp as my knees buckled. The heat spread like wildfire, twisting through my veins and sapping my strength. My vision blurred, and the world tilted as I fought to stay upright.
Brann didn't hesitate. Seizing the opportunity, he brought his club down hard, striking me square in the side. The force of the blow sent me sprawling, the gravel biting into my skin as I hit the ground. A chorus of gasps rippled through the crowd, followed by uneasy silence.
"What's the matter, little rat?" Brann taunted, his voice dripping with mockery. "Not so quick now, are you?"
I struggled to push myself up, my body screaming in protest. The crest's glow faded, but the ache it left behind lingered, a cruel reminder of my place. My fingers clawed at the dirt, searching for the wooden sword, but Brann's boot came down on it, splintering the fragile weapon beneath his weight.
"That's enough," the overseer's voice rang out, cutting through the tension. He stepped forward, his expression unreadable as he addressed the crowd. "Let this be a lesson. No matter how skilled you think you are, the Master's authority is absolute. The crest exists to remind all of you where you stand."
Brann stepped back, his smirk triumphant as he tossed his club aside. He didn't spare me another glance as he returned to the line of slaves, his ego clearly inflated by the one-sided victory.
I stayed on the ground, my breaths shallow and uneven. The humiliation burned hotter than the pain in my side, and anger coiled tightly in my chest. This wasn't a fair fight—it had never been. The crest ensured that, binding me in ways I couldn't yet fully understand.
Ren appeared at my side, his expression guarded as he crouched down. "You alright?" he asked, keeping his voice low.
I nodded stiffly, though the movement sent a fresh wave of pain through my body. "I'll live."
He glanced at the shattered remains of the wooden sword, his tail flicking behind him. "You had him. Until that thing lit up," he said, nodding toward my chest. "Guess they don't play fair, huh?"
Before I could answer, the rabbit boy appeared at my side, his small hands clutching the hem of my sleeve. His wide eyes glistened with worry as he looked up at me, trembling. "Are you okay?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
I offered him a faint smile despite the ache in my body. "I'll be fine," I murmured, brushing a hand lightly over his head. "What's your name?"
The boy froze, his ears drooping slightly as he shook his head. Ren sighed, stepping closer. "He doesn't have one," he said quietly. "Most of the younger ones don't. They're just numbers to the overseers."
My chest tightened at his words. No name? It was a cruel reality, one that made the boy seem even smaller, more vulnerable. I crouched down to his level, meeting his gaze. "How about I give you one?" I said softly. "A name that's yours, something no one can take away."
The boy hesitated, his wide eyes searching mine. Slowly, he nodded.
I thought for a moment before the name came to me. "How about Riku? It means land or strength. Something to remind you that you're grounded, strong, and important."
The boy blinked, his trembling easing as a small smile crept onto his face. "Riku," he repeated softly, as if testing the word. Then he nodded, a bit more firmly this time. "I like it."
As I looked at Riku, the faint smile on his face stirred something within me. He had accepted the name I gave him, and with it, something seemed to shift—unseen but palpable. Ren glanced at the boy, his sharp eyes narrowing briefly before he opened his mouth to speak, only to close it again, as though thinking better of it. Whatever thought had crossed his mind, he kept it to himself. There was something about Riku now, something I couldn't quite place, but it felt significant.
Ren smirked faintly, his tail swishing behind him. "Come on, we'd better move before the overseers get on our backs again." He said, his tone light but approving.
I stood, Riku still holding onto my sleeve, and accepted Ren's hand as he helped me to my feet. As we rejoined the group, I couldn't help but glance down at Riku. The faint smile on his face gave me a small spark of hope amidst the pain and humiliation.
Today, they reminded me of the chains I wear.
But even chains can be forged into weapons.
And when the time comes, I'll be ready to wield them.