Feeling around gingerly with his tongue, Roy made sure that none of his teeth had been knocked loose. They hadn’t, but he could already feel a bruise spreading from the point of impact and knew he would have to bear that shame for as long as the bruise took to heal. He sighed, feeling the anger leaking from him as he resumed his sweeping near the village gates.
This was his lot in life. He was doomed to forever be a cripple, pushed around by those more powerful. He could always leave, but he knew he wouldn’t survive the week. After all, the last time he’d tried to escape, he’d ended up crippled and that was after only six hours. Without the ability to sense Essence, he had no way of avoiding dangerous Beasts. If he’d been injured so badly when both legs still worked, how would he fare now?
Roy let out a snort as he continued sweeping. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the White-Belts being instructed in their first technique. The Water Blade was the staple of their clan and what they were known for. The Martial Artist would manipulate the Essence in their bodies to take control of the water in the air, or if there wasn’t enough, create it using their own Essence. The water would then form into a half-moon blade, which could then be controlled by the Martial Artist.
This was, of course, only the most basic use of the technique. He’d personally seen Shah Lynn controlling no less than ten of the half-moon blades. She’d once demonstrated for a visiting clan and had diced a boulder the size of his house into a pile of perfectly shaped bricks in a matter of seconds.
In the Shah clan, the number of blades you could produce, as well as the precision you had with the technique, showed the potential one had as a Martial Artist. At only twenty-five years old, Shah Lynn was their star.
While most children reached Yellow-Belt by the age of eleven or twelve, most wouldn’t reach Orange until well into their forties, and even once they did, most never even made it to 1st Dan Orange. That Lynn was a 2nd Dan Orange at her age was nothing short of remarkable. That, unsurprisingly, had gone to her head, turning her into an unbearable and prideful person.
Roy saw one of the instructors looking over at him and belatedly realized that he’d once again stopped sweeping. He quickly resumed his duties, not wishing to be scolded or attacked again
It took him another hour to finish sweeping by the entrance to the village, after which he was forced to spend his time off working in the kitchens. It was hard, back-breaking work, as they went out of their way to make him move the heaviest items. This seemed to Roy as particularly cruel. When a Martial Artist reached Yellow-Belt, their bodies were reinforced with Essence, giving them more than natural strength and endurance. At least, he guessed as much, based on watching them work. He’d never been taught anything about the Martial Arts, as they would be wasted on him.
Any one of them could easily have moved the massive cauldrons, carried the heavy sacks of rice flour, or shoveled charcoal into the fire. They could have given him an easy job, like cutting vegetables or watching over the cooking pots, but they always insisted on working him to the bone. Their argument was that it wasn’t their fault he was a freak, and if he was normal, such tasks would be effortless.
It wasn’t all bad, though. When he worked in the kitchens, it was always easy for him to pilfer food. And since his pay was now being docked for two weeks, it was now more important than ever to do so. He’d saved up some money, but it wouldn’t have been enough to get him through two weeks, plus the week it would take for him to get his money once they did start paying him again.
Once he was done in the kitchens, he had fifteen minutes to eat lunch and give his aching muscles a break. Then he was off to the water pits, where the Martial Artists of the clan would cultivate Water essence. Here he would have to shovel away all the mud that had been churned up by the practicing youths and spread a fresh layer of gravel along the bottom of the shallow ponds.
Despite this being the most difficult of his daily tasks, Roy enjoyed this one the most. He would spend over four hours calf-deep in water. The gravel felt nice against his toes, and it was always shaded from the harsh sunlight. The clan made sure to keep an ample supply of bamboo growing around their cultivation ponds, so as to keep evaporation to a minimum and provide shade for their members.
It was nearing evening when Roy finally finished his task and put away the shovels and bags of gravel. He noted that the gravel was growing low and he would have to leave the village and gather some in the next day or two.
This was a rare occurrence, and one he enjoyed more than anything. He’d go far enough away that no one would be around, but not so far that he’d be in danger. He wished he could do so more often, but he was kept too busy to leave. Gathering gravel was an all-day trip, and he would have to report it to Shah Shota, the elder in charge of keeping the village maintenance.
Out of all the people in the Shah clan, Roy disliked the old man the least. He couldn’t say that he exactly liked him, but Shota would never go out of his way to make Roy miserable. That being said, he never went easy on him either and never scolded anyone for being cruel to him, not even the children.
As Roy limped over to the pavilion from where Shota directed his workers, he heard the sound of laughter coming from the direction of the village entrance. He grimaced as he recognized the voice as belonging to Koya. If he could pick someone he hated more than anyone in the clan, he would be at the top of his list.
He was two years younger than Roy, but as a Yellow-Belt, he out-ranked him within the clan. Not that it was any great accomplishment. Most five-year-olds outranked him. Koya seemed to take his presence as a personal insult and would go out of his way to make Roy’s life a living hell. Though he’d never outright attacked him, Koya had, by accident, of course, caused Roy no less than fourteen visits to the infirmary over the last two years.
He’d also broken several of his work tools, forcing Roy to have to pay to have them replaced and had broken the flimsy door to his house every time he’d come to fetch him for some menial task. He’d always apologized, saying that he didn’t know his own strength, but Roy could see the malice behind his eyes every time he did so. In short, Koya was a bully who enjoyed picking on those weaker than him. Of course, there was no one weaker than Roy.
“Roy, good you’re here. All finished for the day?” Elder Shota asked as Roy came up to sign his worksheet and write his hours.
“Yes, elder,” he said, noting that a red line had been marked near his name.
He felt his heart sink at that. He’d been hoping that Lynn would forget about docking his pay, but apparently, she hadn’t.
“I need to go refill the gravel in the next couple of days,” he said as he signed out for the day, placing the small brush back into the inkwell and stepping back.
“Very well,” Elder Shota replied, marking it down in his ledger. “Come to me in the morning for the gathering and storage constructs.”
Roy nodded, bowing respectfully before leaving. The amount of available gravel was obviously limited, so the village smiths had created several machines reinforced with Water Essence to mine it from underground, then gather them into a pocket space so it could be easily transported. The thought of not having to do backbreaking work tomorrow put a bit of a spring in Roy’s step.
He could already imagine his day away from this horrid place. He would leave at dawn, taking along his meals for the day. It would take him two hours to reach the last spot he’d marked on his map, but it would be an enjoyable walk, nonetheless.
Roy was so wrapped up in his thoughts that he didn’t notice the foot that had been stuck out into his path. Though, he did notice it when he tripped and was sent sprawling face-first onto the ground.
“Hey, watch where you’re going, freak! You could have seriously injured my leg!”