“No, I will not,” Vir said, donning his mask.
The rebels turned.
“Who the grak are you?”
“Everyone!” Janani said energetically. “Allow me to introduce tonight’s guest of honor. Vaak—of Ash.”
The room silenced—as if someone had cast a muting spell on their throats. All eyes rested on Vir.
“You sure?” someone asked. “Anyone can wear that mask. How do we know it’s him?”
“Because I vouch for him. As several of you have suspected, Vaak has indeed assisted the orphanage. For the first time in years, the children have more food than they can eat. All thanks to him.”
A wave of whispered chatter filled the warehouse, and among them, grumbles of skepticism. It’d take more than Janani’s words to convince them.
Luckily, solving this issue was simple.
Vir Blinked into the middle of the crowd. His talwar flashed, and the thick logs that had been stacked on a pallet were suddenly bisected into two.
The grumbling silenced. The crowd moved away, giving him a wide berth. This time, there was no doubt as to their feelings.
“By Adinat, it’s him!”
“It is,” Vir said, slowly panning his head across the audience. “And as I just said, I will not support you in this attack.”
“Why not? Is this not why you’ve done all this? Why else did you spread your name? Our hour is at hand!” someone said.
Each face that stared back at Vir was weary and haggard. Hardly surprising, given what they’d endured. And yet, each and every rebel in the room had defiance burning in their hearts. These people would go to any length to strike against the Chitran.
They reminded Vir of the Pagan Order… Except while the Order was organized, disciplined, and well-supplied, these people had nothing. No army, no resources, no real leadership, and no strategy.
And that was exactly what worried Vir. They were both brave enough and foolish enough to do something drastic. A ragtag band trying to hurt the Chitran without understanding the consequences of their actions would have disastrous repercussions for all of Samar Patag.
“You’ve relit the flame of hope in us,” Janani said quietly. “The Gargans are finally standing up to the Chitran, all because of you.”
“Then tell me,” Vir said, addressing the room, “what exactly is your plan? Convince me you have a chance at this.”
“It’s simple. We’ll rally all the Gargans, and together, we’ll storm the castle.”
“Oh? And how do you intend to breach it? What strategic magic or siege equipment do you have in reserve?”
“That’s… We don’t need any of that. Against our numbers, what can they do?”
“And how many would join your little crusade, hmm?”
“All the Gargans, obviously. There are thousands of us! Easily more than the guards.”
“And how many of them possess Aspect tattoos?” Vir asked. “How many are trained in the way of the blade? You are talking of Laborer and Outcast Callings, many of whom have never seen combat a day in their life. Elderly, children, and starving adults unfit to fight. You’ve all seen the slums. Half the population is so far gone they can barely even stand. Let alone fight.”
No one could muster a response, but Vir wasn’t done.
“You said you’d ‘round up the Gargans.’ Pray tell, where will you obtain the talwars and armor for your troops? Why would anyone risk their lives fighting against a trained enemy with nothing but his fists? An enemy who has beaten them down time and time again. You say there is hope now, and I agree. There is. But there is a realm of difference between hope and suicide. Your people are bent, broken, untrained, and ill-equipped.”
This time, the silence was oppressive.
“You would have us sit still? Against them?” someone shouted. Vir felt the frustration and the agony in their voice. “You’re out of your mind! No. You’re worse. You’re a coward. We don’t need you. We can do this on our own.”
Vir Blinked to the demon—a four-armed man—who’d said that.
“You call me a coward? Me? Who’s been risking their life raiding food stores? Who’s been feeding the orphans?”
Vir backed off from the terrified demon, taking a moment to compose himself. “Very well then. I propose a deal.”
Vir brandished his talwar, pointing it at demons around the room.
“Fight me. Here and now. Together. All of you. If any of you manage to land even a single blow on me, I’ll support whatever plan you come up with. But if you cannot, we do things my way. Understood?”
“You? Alone?” The demon scoffed. “You may be strong, but it seems your time in the Ash has made you overconfident.”
“What’s it matter?” another said. “If it means getting him to help, I say we put him in his place.”
The crowd tightened the noose around Vir.
“Gladly,” the demon said.
Vir smiled, but there was no mirth in his eyes. The rebels were about to learn a painful lesson. One that he would carve into their bones and etch into their skulls.
A lesson they would never forget.
24
THE REBELS OF SAMAR PATAG (PART TWO)
The demon swung at Vir, his fist coming wide and well-announced. Vir didn’t even have to step away to avoid it; a simple shift of his neck, and the punch sailed by harmlessly.
The attacks came in quick succession, from all directions. Often, three or more attacks threatened him simultaneously. All to no avail.
As Vir fluidly dodged the fists and legs, mostly fists and legs, blending Kalari arts with his own fighting style honed by battling Ash Beasts, the frustrated attackers started using more lethal weapons.
Soon, talwars, scimitars, and even some katars and spears all came at him.
“Why aren’t you hitting him?” a rebel snapped.
“I could say the same for you! He’s as slippery as an eel!”
The rebels’ attacks grew more desperate with each missed swing.
Just a little longer, Vir thought, easily avoiding the lethal strikes. Had he been surrounded by trained warriors, it might’ve been a different story, but these rebels were not only weak and malnourished—they were also untrained. Not one of them belonged to a Warrior Calling, after all. Whatever they’d learned, they’d scraped together on their own. And unlike Vir, they hadn’t had hordes of Ash Beasts to temper them.
The rebels’ strikes came more wildly now, driven by frustration and anger. They were faster, yes, but also desperate, and thus less accurate.
A lull in the fight ensued. The attackers heaved for breath.
“How?” someone rasped. “How is he unharmed? What magic is this?”
“No magic,” Vir replied. “Only skill. You’ve had your chance. Now it’s my turn.”
Vir activated Haste and Blinked to the nearest rebel, using his momentum to drive a punch to the demon’s stomach that sent him into a fit of retches on the ground.
Well before his foe collapsed, Vir was already taking down his next target. Then the next.
It was good practice for Haste. He’d been trying to use the ability in short, quick bursts to conserve it. Opponents such as these made for ideal training, and he found his control over the ability improving with each rebel downed. He waited longer to activate it and canceled it sooner.
Less than a minute after the fight began, the rambunctious demons calling for the sacking of the Chitran lay groaning on the floor, nursing their injuries.
At their center stood Vir, unharmed, like the eye of a storm.
“I’ve left you with only bruises and minor injuries,” he said. “Nothing that will cripple you.”