The city of Duskfall was as lawless as the rest of the Veylan kingdom. It was a safe haven for the outlaws, the deserters, and the smugglers. Nobody cared who you were, where you were from, or what your story was. Everything was fine as long as you didn't get in the way of others.
One of the most prominent criminal gangs in the city was named the Blackmaw gang. They were a minor syndicate if you compared it with the criminal organizations of the capital. But in this remote town, they stood unopposed.
On the surface, the Blackmaw gang was running a lawful business. They were just a group of merchants who had a few 'hired guards' to protect their goods. But behind the shadows they controlled an extensive chain of smugglers—moving forbidden drugs and stolen goods in and out of the Veylan kingdom.
On this day, in one of their warehouses, their leader, Roric—a well-built man in his forties with a scarred face—was seen barking orders at his underlings. He held a leather whip in his right hand, and anyone who was found slacking off felt it on their backs. Roric's eyes shifted between the crates and the young workers who were moving them. Each one was desperate to complete their work before they tasted Roric's whip again.
Then Roric turned his eyes towards one of the youngest workers. A lean youth with silver hair, no more than eighteen. Roric's eyebrows instantly furrowed. The boy was too relaxed; he wasn't hurrying at all.
"Oi, Ren, do you think you are here for a vacation?" Roric snapped as he approached with his whip.
The youngster called Ren turned his gaze towards Roric with an unreadable expression. And that made Roric even angrier. He whipped Ren hard, adding to the many whip marks he received from Roric over the past two years. But Ren didn't cry out; he didn't even flinch. To Roric, that silence felt like an insult.
"You damn brat!" he raised the whip again.
"Wait, Roric," Someone held his whip from behind. Roric turned his head, ready to curse. But he stopped when he saw who it was.
"Here to defend the brat again, Varlan?" Roric growled in irritation at his second in command.
Varlan sighed and pointed at the crates piled up near Ren.
"He is doing a fairly good job already. If you beat him too badly and he falls sick, we will lose a worker. We don't want it, do we?"
Roric fell silent. Today, they were doing a huge deal for a very important customer. They couldn't lose any workforce. He gave Ren a final, furious glare before walking off.
"You could get whipped less if you just cried out once," Varlan said, facing Ren.
"If I cry out, I will make it more enjoyable for him," Ren said indifferently. "You don't know your boss at all, Varlan."
Varlan's eyelids twitched. None of their underlings would dare to speak to him like that. They feared him. And they feared Roric more.
Ren wasn't any different when he joined. He and his younger brother Noll were fearful and obedient. Following their orders silently. But over time, the older brother had grown a spine. Noll still feared Roric's whip. But he was just a child. Ren, on the other hand, was starting to get on Roric's nerves.
"Keep moving those crates," Varlan snorted and turned around. "Roric doesn't only have a whip; he also has a sword."
Ren merely gave Varlan a sideway glance before getting back to work.
The work was almost done when the sounds of running and heavy breathing were heard from the alleyway. A young boy around ten ran in with a small cloth bag in his hands.
"Noll?" Varlan muttered. "He's late."
Noll was gasping for air as he raised the cloth bag to Roric.
"I...I got the item."
"Yeah, you got it," Roric growled as he turned towards Noll. "But I told you to return in half an hour. Where were you all this time?"
"I—I arrived on time," Noll stammered. "But the merchant kept me waiting."
Slap!
Roric's hands struck Noll right across the face. The boy screamed and hit the ground, clutching his cheek with tears spilling down his face.
"You think I want your excuses? If I tell you half an hour, you only have half an hour."
Roric raised his hand again. But someone caught his wrist from behind. Roric was about to lash out, thinking it was Varlan again. But he froze seeing the one behind him.
"Ren...you dare..."
Ren was looking at him coldly as he held onto Roric's raised hand. The entire group of workers stared at the scene. Some were gasping, while some were looking at him in awe.
"That boy's digging his own grave." Varlan muttered, dragging a hand down his face.
Roric pulled his hand away. He turned towards Ren and grabbed his whip again.
"You dare to stop me?" He roared. "You?"
He then swung the whip hard, not once, not twice, but five times. Each strike leaving bloody marks on Ren. Ren gritted his teeth, but he still looked at Roric with indifference.
"You f*cking bastard." Roric swung the whip again. Ren stood still.
Whipped again...and again...and again. Ren looked like a bloodied figure now. But he didn't cry out.
"B...bastard..." Roric panted. He was about to raise the whip again. But Varlan walked between them.
"Roric, let it be," Varlan said. "Or he will die."
Roric gritted his teeth so hard that it made grinding sounds. He threw his whip away in anger. It hit a random worker. He cried out in pain. Roric stormed off, still shaking in anger.
Only then did Ren stagger and fall. Noll, who was watching horrified, ran towards his elder brother and helped him sit up.
"Ren, talk to me. You okay?" Noll asked, his voice shaking.
Ren nodded weakly. Varlan looked at him with complex emotions.
"Take your elder brother and go," Varlan told Noll. "You guys better look for another shelter. I don't think Roric is letting you back here after that."
Ren didn't say anything. He stood up with some help from Noll, blood still dripping down his back, and walked out of the warehouse.
***
"Damn it! It hurts."
Cerdic grumbled. He felt a burning sensation from his bruises as Aldric applied the herbal paste. His back throbbed with every breath.
"Are you sure this herb actually works?" Cerdic asked, looking over his shoulder.
"I saw older workers apply these onto their wounds before," Aldric replied. "I am sure it will help."
Cerdic nodded—trying to endure the pain. There was a physician nearby. But he charged more than what they could afford. If they went to him, they would be starving for days.
"Cerdic, what will we do now?" Aldric asked worriedly. "Varlan is right. Roric may not want us back after today."
Cerdic was silent for a few moments.
"I am not exactly sure," Cerdic said. "But I think we need to move out of Duskfall. Maybe head to another city."
Aldric said nothing. But his expression said he was in agreement.
Cerdic knew it wasn't as easy as it sounded. They didn't have money to hire a carriage. They would have to walk all the way. The roads outside weren't safe. They were infested with bandits. Travellers without any hired protection were easy prey.
At that moment, there was a knock on the door. Cerdic turned his head.
"The door is open," he shouted.
The door opened. A familiar face peeked inside. It was one of the Blackmaw gang's errand boys. The teenager flinched as he felt the pungent smell of the herbal paste.
"You two," he said bluntly. "Roric wants to see you."
"Roric?" Aldric asked, his eyebrows raised in surprise. "Why?"
"How the hell would I know?" The teenager snorted. "I was told to deliver the message. Go ask him yourself."
Saying this, he just turned and walked away.
"I thought he wouldn't want us around any longer," Aldric said, feeling suspicious. "Why is he calling us?"
Cerdic was also confused. Still he stood up, suppressing a groan.
"Well, let's go find out."
***
In the Blackmaw gang warehouse. Roric stood half bowing before an old man with a long white beard. His usual domineering attitude was nowhere to be seen. The old man was looking through a list Roric handed him over.
"Roric, I asked you for fifty crates of Spirit Eating Dustblight. Who told you that Caveborn Dustblight can replace it?" the old man asked, his tone sharp.
Roric trembled. The Spirit Eating Dustblight was a herb found in western parts of Veylan. But even locating a few crates was hard, let alone fifty. That's why he gathered Caveborn Dustblight instead. It was used widely by apothecaries as a replacement. He didn't expect his customer to be unhappy.
"L...Lord Marlowe," Roric stammered, "Spirit Eating Dustblight is far too rare. Getting fifty crates is—,"
"I don't want your excuses." Marlowe's voice turned icy. "Fifty crates. I don't care where you have to search."
"P-please give me a month, Milord..."
"Ten days," Marlowe said firmly. "Not a day more."
"Y-yes, Milord. I understand," Roric gulped. He was cursing inwards. Ten days? He wouldn't be able to gather even five crates in that time.
"Very well. Moving on—where is the Soul numbing poison I ordered?"
Roric's throat went dry. The Soul numbing poison was even rarer. He had searched everywhere for a trace of it, but he found nothing. But Roric knew this old man wouldn't listen to reason.
"You don't have Spirit Eating Dustblight. You don't have Soul Numbing Poison. Are you mocking me?" Marlowe's eyes flashed with a dangerous gleam. "Should I take your soul instead?
Roric took a step back—horrified. He knew Marlowe wasn't one to throw empty threats.
At that moment, he saw two figures entering the warehouse. Ren and Noll. Roric's eyes lit up.
"Ren, Noll, come here!" He shouted loudly.
Cerdic and Aldric saw the old man and how Roric stood before him—hunched and deferent. They had never seen Roric like that before. That alone made their steps more cautious.
Marlowe glanced at the two of them. Cerdic suddenly felt a tremor run down his spine. Like some demonic beast had turned its eyes on him.
"This man is dangerous!" Cerdic thought, his heart thumping hard.
"Milord," Roric said respectfully, "Didn't you say you're looking for new test subjects? These two are useless to me. If you are interested..."
Test subjects? Cerdic and Aldric turned pale. They took a step back.
"Them?" Marlowe examined the two youngsters. "Let me see."
The next moment, he was standing right in front of Cerdic. Cerdic's eyes widened. He had no idea how this old man moved.
Marlowe grabbed Cerdic's wrist. He felt a cold current shooting through his veins, spreading throughout his body. Cerdic trembled. He tried to scream. But no sound came out.
Only one word echoed in his mind—
Cultivator!
Marlowe released his grip after a few moments—a look of satisfaction in his eyes. "This one is good. Around seventy percent spirit affinity. I will take him."
Roric smirked at Cerdic cruelly. Marlowe was already before Aldric. Aldric was powerless as Marlowe grabbed his wrist. A few moments passed. Then Marlowe shook his head. "No, he isn't responding at all. His spirit affinity is too low."
A wicked smile curled across Roric's lips. "Then you can take the older one, Milord," he said, looking clearly pleased. "I will take care of the little one."
"Very well, but this doesn't mean you're getting any concession," Marlowe warned. "Fifty crates. In ten days. I will expect the soul-numbing poison as well."
"O...of course, Milord," Roric said quickly. "I will find what you've asked. Even if I have to flip this country upside down."
"Good, then I will take my leave."
Marlowe turned to Cerdic. "Follow me, boy." He gestured. He didn't wait for Cerdic's reaction and already walked toward the exit.
Cerdic's mind was in turmoil. He looked at Roric. He was smiling gleefully. Looking triumphant.
"No, I can't leave Aldric behind—not with him." Cerdic looked at his little brother. Aldric stood frozen in place, his eyes wide with despair.
"Didn't you hear Lord Marlowe?" Roric growled. "Get going, brat."
Cerdic's eyes narrowed. He threw Roric a cold glare and turned to leave. But he paused before Aldric.
"I will be back," Cerdic whispered, placing a hand on Aldric's shoulder. "Don't worry."
"What are you waiting for, brat?" Roric shoved him hard from behind. Cerdic stumbled forward—landing on his chest.
"Cerdic!" Aldric cried, stepping towards him. But Roric caught his arm and pulled him back.
"Get lost," Roric laughed cruelly. "Don't worry—your little brother is in safe hands."
Cerdic said nothing. He stood up and brushed the dust off his body.
"Boy, should I drag you along?" Marlowe's voice came from outside, clearly displeased.
Cerdic took a deep breath. "I am coming, milord," he said before giving Aldric one last look—reassuring him. Then he walked out, following Marlowe.