I screwed up.

  Pacing around my tent, I think about how I haven’t seen Liang for a week. She hasn’t come to any of my daily lessons. Instead, I’ve been left to my own devices in my tent and only brought out once a day for several hours to take what are essentially beatings under the name of teaching from Yuren.

  I’m so stressed I want to run for the hills and never come down.

  But I’m always being watched, and I doubt I’d make it far with possibly the whole tribe after me.

  I sit down and rest my chin against my knuckles as I wildly speculate about what happened. Me being rude and loud didn’t set off her guard, only earned me a glare. Hell, even talking about bacteria didn’t get much of a response beyond maybe a frown.

  So I continue thinking onward through the conversation, trying to remember what exactly set him off. Then something I said right before Liang was taken away surfaces in my mind.

  Imagine if we gave it to the local spirit.

  That was the trigger. Some kind of trigger, at least.

  Is there some taboo about offerings? But surely they do offerings in this day and age, right? I swear I remember my father talking about how old tribes would worship and offer sacrifices to gods or spirits of some sort. Maybe I’m not allowed to speculate about what a spirit might want.

  My mind spirals and I struggle to come up with a complete explanation for what happened.

  I’m snapped out of my thoughts when my guard calls me out of the tent.

  Stepping outside the two guards who usually escort me to the training grounds fall in beside me. When we arrive, Yuren is sparring with yet another member of the tribe, this one older. He’s holding his own against Yuren, though even I can tell Yuren is putting up a much better fight against the man than I ever could against Yuren.

  They swing and strike at each other, neither landing a clean hit, until the older man shifts and suddenly starts going on the offensive, punishing Yuren for every mistake he makes. Yuren swings a little too wide, and that’s all the opening the man needs. He thrusts and hits him straight in the chest, making Yuren stumble back.

  There seems to be some unspoken understanding that the sparring session is over. Yuren and the man step closer, and the older man starts giving him advice.

  I wait my turn as usual. I always seem to catch Yuren in the middle of a match, whether by chance or because they deliberately bring me here at this time, I don’t know. But I wait nonetheless.

  Eventually Yuren comes over.

  “You are back. Let’s get to sparring.”

  He leads us to the same spot as usual. We both get our sticks, and Yuren gets his necklace from one of my guards.

  We square off against each other.

  I lunge first, aiming for his center mass in a bid to end the exchange early. He swings his pole, hooks mine near the center, and rolls it in a circle, throwing my thrust off course. I dash back to regain distance and reorient my weapon, but he follows tightly, not giving me the range.

  He swings from my right toward my armpit, and because I can’t respond fast enough, I loosen one grip, spread my palm against the near side of the pole, and shove downward, blocking the strike. Then I try a twisting motion of my own, hoping to loosen his grip, but he simply retreats before engaging again.

  I scramble to respond, and my form starts becoming more reflex than spear work, less like I’m holding a weapon and more like I’m just swinging a stick. Yuren’s frown deepens, but the fight continues.

  He lunges the same way I did earlier, and I respond with that same twisting motion he used on me. His pole slips past my attempt and instead strikes my right hand, making me flinch and let go. Suddenly I’m holding the pole with only my left hand, leaving myself wide open.

  Before I can retreat and grab the pole properly, he winds up and strikes my right side, making me shudder from the pain.

  I hesitate, thinking the exchange is over.

  It isn’t.

  Yuren keeps swinging, striking me in the chest, thigh, and even my shoulder before I manage to grab the pole with both hands again and block the attack aimed at my groin. I know he wouldn’t actually hit me there. I’m sure he only attacked there because he knew I’d be able to block it.

  After all, I’ve ended every match bruised, but never with a hit to the groin or face. So at least he has a little honor when whooping me.

  He takes a few steps back and lets me catch my breath while he keeps observing me with that ever-present frown, like he truly didn’t expect such disappointment from me.

  What was Yuren’s problem?

  Why was he training me in the first place, and why was he always so annoyed?

  As I catch my breath, I notice off to the side that Saren is whispering with another man. They keep shooting looks in my direction before the man nods, smiles, and starts heading toward us.

  He walks up and starts talking to Yuren, making sure to speak loudly enough for me to hear clearly.

  “Is that all he has? Wasn’t he supposed to be impressive? I heard they found his tracks leading to where the water drops. Isn’t that where the Black Night prowls? How can someone so weak survive a journey through its territory?”

  I frown. I really don’t like where this is going. The man is obviously trying to stir something up.

  I look at Yuren. His frown softens, but only into something more guarded and curious.

  “Are you saying this man, Jie Mins, is faking his skill with spears and poles?” Yuren asks. “That he takes this training with a false heart?”

  “Of course,” the man replies at once. “After all, he is taken by darkness. No ordinary man would walk in its wake. He is dangerous and is faking his weakness, biding his time.”

  I really do not like where this is going.

  Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

  But after what happened last week, I’m afraid of screwing up even more, so I force myself to keep my mouth shut and watch Yuren instead. Let’s see how he handles this.

  His frown deepens ever so slightly. “And what do you say I do?”

  The man shakes his head. “You? You do not need to do anything. Your heart is magnanimous, and you go too soft on a fool who thinks he can take advantage of your kindness. Let me spar with him. Let me train him.”

  He beats his chest with his left hand while raising his head.

  By now I’ve realized that everyone on the field is paying attention. Even the errand boys are sneaking curious looks over.

  I look at Yuren while he thinks. He looks at me, and I very slightly shake my head.

  Don’t do this, Yuren.

  This is obviously some kind of plot. I haven’t been in this village long, and I’ve spent most of that time in my tent, but even I can see a man who has my worst interests at heart.

  Yuren looks at me one more time, then at the man, and says the words I was hoping not to hear.

  “You can spar against him.”

  He turns, walks over to the guards, grabs a necklace, and hands it to the grinning man.

  Once the man puts it on, he saunters over to me confidently.

  I groan and stand.

  “My name is Marek, son of Vargan.”

  I hesitate to engage with him, but decide against antagonizing him further.

  “James, son of William.”

  He smirks. “Well, Jie Mins, son of Weilian.”

  He butchered both my name and my father’s. Was he asking for a beating?

  Then again, looking at the situation, he’s probably confident for a reason. He’s seen me train with Yuren for a while now. He probably knows exactly how I fight and exactly how good I am.

  Maybe he just wants an excuse to beat me.

  We stand off for a moment.

  Then Marek lunges, swinging from my right side. I quickly bring my own pole up to block and counter. He goes for my feet and I defend. I go for his chest and he defends.

  We go back and forth.

  It’s obvious he isn’t going all out, but he also definitely isn’t better than Yuren. After a couple of minutes, I start to think this may not be all bad. Maybe I should request to train with this guy instead.

  Sensing me losing focus, he suddenly presses harder and forces me to concentrate again. We keep circling. Keep trading. Keep dancing.

  Feeling like the fight is dragging on, I make a risky play and try to sweep his legs.

  He steps out of the way, leaving me wide open.

  As I struggle to bring my guard back up, he lunges in and strikes for my face.

  My back hits the ground.

  Tears fill my eyes at once.

  I bring a hand to my nose and it comes away red.

  I stare at the blood in shock.

  I may have gotten beaten over and over, but I’ve never had to worry about my face in these fights. It hadn’t really clicked that it was a vulnerability here too. But we were sparring, not fighting. There had to be some rules against this.

  As I try to turn my head toward Yuren, Marek rushes me and strikes me in the groin.

  A groan tears out of me as I curl up.

  I try to defend myself any way I can, but he keeps pummeling me, hitting my back, my legs, my arms.

  He is absolutely fighting dirty.

  Why isn’t Yuren stepping in?

  Eventually the attacks slow for a moment, and through the ringing in my ears I hear Marek’s voice.

  “Aren’t you the omen touched by darkness? Touched by the spirit of the night? Where is your fighting spirit? Is this truly all you are? I don’t believe it. Fight me. Show me who you are!”

  Then he resumes attacking me, refusing to give me any real chance to defend myself.

  Marek was a coward.

  Taunting me openly while never giving me the chance to answer with anything but pain.

  He hits my head again, and it rings once more as I bring my hands over it and cry out.

  “You are supposed to be the weapon against the valley! The Night cursed them and you are the agent! Are you going to fail your duty?!”

  “Marek!” I hear a shout, although it seemed muffled but the taunting seemed to quite down, but not the beatings.

  Frustration and fury build up inside me.

  But I can’t let it take over.

  I need to be slow. Methodical. I need to learn more about the tribe before doing anything drastic. I want to let them beat me. I want to show them that I’m not dangerous. That I’m not a threat.

  But when Marek starts taunting and keeps hitting me, the harder that becomes.

  I scramble, at this point I’m looking for an excuse to lash out.

  Then my brain latches onto one of Liang’s recent lessons. That some people are expected to meet the world with sharper edges.

  Is that what this is about?

  Does Yuren not see me as enough, and now want to see if there’s anything in me worth salvaging? Is that why he’s letting this farce go on?

  The longer I stay curled there trembling, the angrier I get.

  I’m bigger than them. At least a head taller than most of them. Not a single man here comes up to my nose. I have more brawn than them. More mass, even after months of not eating my fill. I’m smarter too, with my modern education.

  They want me to be sharper?

  Fine.

  Right after one of his strikes, I uncurl and meet Marek head-on.

  As if expecting it, he smashes me in the nose again, making my eyes tear up harder. But this time I grab the pole before he can pull it back and yank with all my strength.

  Marek’s eyes widen in surprise. He drops the pole in an attempt to keep his footing, but I don’t let him recover. I kick his legs out from under him.

  He falls onto me, and we tumble in the dirt, each trying to get hold of the other.

  Punches fly.

  He clips the side of my head.

  I hit him square in the face, making his face match mine, blood and tears running down both of us.

  I could go for a chokehold. I’m sure I’m better at grappling than he is.

  But I don’t.

  I keep pummeling him.

  He stops trying to attack and starts trying to protect his face from my blows instead.

  Then I feel hands on my upper arms, trying to haul me off. I struggle and manage to get in a few more hits before they finally pull me away completely.

  I hear my guards shouting at me as they drag me back, probably furious that I turned sparring into a brawl. Hypocrites.

  I ignore them.

  I just keep glaring at Marek.

  He lies there unconscious, his face probably as much of a mess as mine. I notice the necklace he wore is cracked. Several men rush to him, check his breathing, then lift him and hurry away.

  I keep glaring until they carry him out of sight.

  Then I twist around to look where Yuren had been standing. He was supposed to stop the fight.

  He was supposed to stop it from escalating. Instead, he let it happen.

  What is he thinking?

  My eyes search until they find his, and I nearly rip free of the guards holding me down.

  Yuren, that bastard, was smiling.