The tension in the room was almost tangible.
"Frigging whore," one of the mercenaries holding a sword cursed. I don't like swearing.
He charged at me, weapon raised high in a two-handed grip. His companions held their places, believing one man more than enough to teach me a lesson. Fools.
I swiveled my body sharply to dodge the attack, then jab his neck, my hands pressed tightly together into a dagger of flesh. Distracted by the sudden pain, he missed yet another attack. I grabbed his wrists and slammed his hands repeatedly onto the wall. The rough stone grazed the skin of the knuckles and the force of my blows sent splattered drops of blood flying. He yelled as he released the weapon and I punched him on the temple. Ouch.
"Oh, yes," I suddenly grinned, twisting his hands in a circle. There was a snap as his bones ground together then broke into fragments. He screamed at the pain and, feeling courteous, I decided to end his misery. A split second later, I was holding a limp body, his sword sticking out of its heart.
"Only four of you against me?" I threw the corpse at the mercenary holding a spear. The two of them crashed into the shop's tables and chairs.
"That's really unfair of me," I continued, grabbing one of the fallen tables and smashed it onto the head of a third man. He was out cold immediately. I took his sabre from his hands and decapitated the fourth mercenary. I savoured the feeling of warm blood on my bare skin. It had been a long time since I'd killed. Too long. I inhaled the familiar rusted smell, my cheeks flushed with excitement.
The man with the spear rose from the tangle of furniture and the corpse on him. He gripped his weapon, pointing it at me with unsteady hands.
"You're going to die now, demon," he attempted to growl menacingly. It sounded more like a squawk. I could see the faint sheen of sweat covering his skin despite his brave words, and his constant shuddering; out of disgust or fear I don't know. I didn't look pretty with blood splattered all over me.
Snorting with contempt, I strode towards him. He was so petrified he didn't retaliate as I pulled the weapon out of his shaking hands. He stared at me, aware that he was going to die.
I snapped the wooden shaft of the spear and threw the splintered ends into his neck and chest, just below the heart. He drew a last breath. It rattled in his damaged throat.
"Monster," he choked out, his voice barely more than a whisper. I smiled at the word. It felt more like a compliment than an insult.
"He's right." The harsh voice was coming from behind me. It was the man I had incapitated by hitting with a table. He was still lying on the floor, staring at me with wounded eyes.
"You can still speak?" I mocked. "You do know, a wise man knows when to keep his mouth shut."
He shrugged, his expression indifferent. "You're going to kill me anyway," he said hoarsely. I knelt down next to him and patted his cheek gently.
"Don't worry, I'll make it a quick death for you," I promised, my tone patronizing.
"He'll kill you." His dull eyes suddenly glittered with hate; the change was so sudden I was taken aback.
"Who?" I asked, smilingly, pleased with this defiance. I love it when they go down fighting.
"Chase Young," he said. My smile froze on my face as the thin shell that protected my heart shattered, leaving it vulnerable to the waves of pain brought in by just hearing his name.
The mercenary laughed mirthlessly at my pained expression, knowing he had just hit the right nail on the head. Or in my case, taken a thousand nails and hammered into a raw, still unhealed wound in my heart.
"You do know him, don't you? Yeah, go ahead, compete against him." Slowly, he reached into his pocket. I tensed for a second, ready to dodge any weapon he could throw at me, but relaxed when I saw the piece of paper. He handed it to me, traces of a smirk playing at the edges of his mouth.
It was directions to the Forest of Nowhere and specifications for the contest. The prize was huge; a thousand gold taels. The sight of the familiar writing made my breath come out in gasps, sent my heart into a frenzy. I was still a weakling for all the show I gave the rest of the world.
The mercenary gave me a faint smile, then raised his eyes to the heavens.
"He'll crush you," he said simply. "He will. A violent, hot-headed bitch like you, you who so deserve to die-"
His words were cut off as I smashed a leg into his chest. A gurgling sound escaped his throat as his crushed ribs punctuated his organs, the heart drowning his lungs with blood with every pump. I caught sight of a white nub of bone sticking out of his chest and smiled. It took him less than a minute to die.
I looked at the paper again, drowning in heartache. It took me a minute to compose myself.
There was a trickle of magic in my surroundings, coming from the paper. Well, I could immediately tell it had been replicated by magic, but I realized there was a hidden message on it, invisible to the naked eye.
Examining it for another minute, I suddenly plunged the paper into the corpse's chest and withdrew it, soaked with blood Tiny words appeared at the bottom of the paper.
And if you do lose, even the first round, it read. You shall swear your eternal loyalty to Chase Young.
The corners of my mouth twitched. Very clever. Lure the men with the promise of gold, and he could recruit an army at the same time. The worthless fighters could be disposed easily.
I left the teahouse by the rooftops. A crowd had begun to gather outside, and I didn't feel the need to kill the entire village. I had a long journey to make.