The cold white fire hovered in Ryckel's vision. It stayed there until he shifted his focus somewhere else.
"Hmph. Let's continue on with the Culling" Syrion said, rolling his finger in the air.
"Wait, no!" Ryckel shouted as Hussars came all around them.
No. No. No. No…
"I'm an Attuned!" He blurted out, lowering his body even lower.
Even though I found out about it just a few moments ago…
The Hussars paused, their eyes focused on him.
"Lies." One of them scoffed and proceeded to grab an old man and stab him right in the chest.
Ryckel's mother quivered, clenching Lyra tighter. "Please, it's enough. At least let us all die a painful death son…" She said.
I would only allow that if I'm dead and if there's some way for me to persist after that… my answer would be the same.
"Just have faith in me…" Ryckel muttered, moving his face away from his mothers.
He looked back at Syrion. "It's true, I'm an Attuned!" He hurriedly continued. Like I said earlier, you guys need soldiers. What's better than another Attuned to add to your ranks?"
Syrion didn't move, clutching his fist as he seemed to caressing his palms.
Some of the Hussars stared in silence, others couldn't care less and carried on with their killings.
"An Attuned?" Syrion said in a low tone, the metal of his armor clinking like a funeral bell. "Funny thing. You smell more like shit than an Attuned."
Ryckel's eyes darkened.
"And even if you are…" Syrion continued on. "Why shouldn't I just put a knife through your mother and sister, throw you in a cage, end all of this and claim my bonus?" He smirked.
Damn. He's right. Ryckel couldn't argue with Syrion's logic. It wouldn't even benefit him in anyway if his family was still alive. They've done this before and what would a little boy in a small town in Wistnan do to make them stop?
Nothing.
But even at that…Ryckel needed to try, feeling his heart stutter.
Running away was a death sentence. Staying was a death sentence. This gamble was the only variable he could control.
"Because," Ryckel said. "A caged dog bites the hand. But a soldier who owes you his family's life? He's the one who breaches the sea for you. You kill them, and you get a corpse that breathes. You keep them alive, and you get a weapon."
Syrion froze. He tilted his head, the gas mask clunking against his chest plate.
Ryckel didn't falter, he held his ground and stared at Syrion, who stared right back.
"I like you, brat, never thought I'd see someone like you ever since they transferred me to join the Hussars."
Syrion chuckled.
He unbuckled a heavy, leather-bound gauntlet and tossed it into the mud. "But the Amphictony doesn't recruit on potential. They recruit on results. You want your family to live? Show me you're worth the space and resources they'll occupy."
He drew a short breath. "Grab my gask mask. Just once. If you can, your family gets immunity from the Culling for a while, I'll make sure of thst. If not... well, the Culling continues."
Behind the line of whispering Hussars and unfortunate townspeople, Ryckel saw them. The fortunate townspeople. The ones who had paid their tribute and were watching from their porches and windows with pale, coward faces.
Among them were the bakers' sons, the same bastards who had kicked Ryckel into a pile of his own fertilizer just last week. They were staring, eyes wide, jaws slack.
Why couldn't they be the ones in this position?
Ryckel thought, his gaze sweeping over them with a chilling detachment.
Just like the thief… I wish they were the ones right here as I watch them burn from my house.
"So…C'mon! Don't waste my time!" Syrion roared, beating his chest.
The sheer intensity of his voice forced Ryckel to get up despite his average heighted frame. Deep down, he was hyperventilating while on the surface, he seemed stoic.
So I should fight him? How can I do that?! He's a Hussar! An experienced one at that!
I don't even know the first thing in being an Attuned…how could I…
He glanced back, looking at his family. His mother's face sketched all over with terror as tears flowed from her cheeks, barely washing the mud away.
"Brother…" Lyra wheezed.
With that, a flash of energy flushed all around in him. He forced himself to be stable. There was a lot at stake here.
He absolutely could not fail them. How would father look at him in the afterlife?
Ryckel roared and ran straight for Syrion. It wasn't the graceful movement of a trained warrior. More the desperate lunge of a domesticated Zhenren hauling heavy tubs of waste through knee-deep sludge.
His legs were thick, built by the resistance of the thick Wistnan mud in these parts.
Syrion simply swiped his hand. Striking Ryckel right in the head. He dropped, knees about to hit the ground.
He quickly used the slickness of the mud to slide right past Syrion.
C'mon! Only way I'm getting through this is by using my Attuned abilities! Whatever they may be!
He felt it then. A pressure behind his eyes. In his mind, he saw the word again: [Ignited].
He reached out, his hand dipping into the filth. Feeling the weight of the mud, wishing it'd somehow garden.
He then swung his fist upward, the mud flew.
A glob of reinforced muck, almost dense as stone, shot toward Syrion's mask.
Since when could mud stick together that much and be hard?!
Syrion parried it with a casual flick of his wrist, but his eyes widened behind the glass. "Hardening? Transmutation? Look at me thinking that you were a shit boy in being an Attuned."
Ryckel didn't give him time to breathe. He was tired. Tired of the smell of rot, tired of the bruises, tired of being the shit-boy.
He lunged again, using the environment he knew better than anyone. He grabbed a shattered wooden support from a destroyed stall, swinging it with a farmhand's raw strength.
Clang!
---The End of Chapter 3---