After frantically asking for directions, Tar sprinted across the street toward the Barn. He could have stopped and caught his breath, but there was no time for such luxury, so he gritted his teeth and ran for another thirty minutes.
In a brown field, covered by dead grass and weathered rocks, Tar stopped. The spring wind blew against the grass on the field, which was an ominous sight to behold. In the middle of the field stood a three-storey public house. The bright red paint on the wall juxtaposed with its brown, lifeless surroundings, as if flaunting its exception. It’s the Barn.
The dead grass brushed against Tar’s sore legs. “Doesn’t look like there are traps,” he thought. But you can never be too careful. He tip-toed his way into the Barn and noticed the “closed” sign. The front door was locked.
Tar wrapped around the Barn to its back entrance, but it was locked as well. “How should I get in…” His eyes drifted around, before landing his sight onto a dirty canal near the bottom of the Barn’s wall. It was large enough for a child of his size to go in but he hesitated. After all, he lived in luxury for most of his life, and even when he started living in the Compass’, the “worst” he ever had experienced was a rough bed with no blankets. Climbing in a canal was unthinkable. His shirt would be ruined. He would smell. Worst of all, he would look like a wandering, parentless child scrounging for food, and he hated that.
“A true noble person tolerates any and all disgrace so that he can achieve his goals! That’s what Mr Compass always says. Mr Urn is in danger; how dare I stop when something’s getting hard for me? Yes. I can’t stop now. Think about Mr Urn. Alright…”
He steeled his body and emptied his mind. With a gulp, he dove headfirst into the canal. As his tiny body burrowed deeper, everything started to become dark. Soon, Tar couldn’t see anything.
Tar covered his nose from the abhorrent smell. “What would Dad think if he were to see me like that? People say he sold his country to the Tzappians so he probably wouldn’t think much of me, a commoner crawling in the canal right now…” But still, Tar wondered if his father would feel sorry for him.
Soon, he reached the end of the canal and he caught a whiff of something sweet and intoxicating. There were dozens of wooden barrels lying on the ground. Tar had never smelled alcohol before, but he knew that this room was for alcohol storage because Bern once told him people fermented alcohol in a wooden barrel and store them in the basement.
He hopped out of the canal and landed on the ground. “There’s a door there! Maybe this storage connects to the main room!” He sprinted toward the door only to find it locked by a chain. Looking back at the canal, he realised something: he was trapped. The canal was too high up for him to climb up.
In the next hour or so, he tried everything. Prying open the door, stacking barrels to climb out of the room… Nothing worked. The most he could do is to push the door and force a gap to look at the main room. Exhausted, he toppled over. “Why didn’t I check before I jump!? I’m so darn stupid!” He slammed his hand onto a nearby barrel, reddening his palm. “Why am I trying so hard? Is it even worth it? Being trapped here?” Tar covered his face and felt warm drizzles. At least there were no witnesses to his crying.
*
Tar jolted from his sleep. Hearing clattering outside, Tar sneaked up to the door and peered from the gap. Through the small gap, there were three figures, two of which he recognised to be Vidi and Enn, the scary man with him this morning. The third figure was an old monk, whom Enn was fighting.
Enn used brass knuckles whereas the monk used a sword. The monk primarily poked, and rarely slashed. Although every sword strike was swift, it was not aimed at Enn’s body, but instead at his surroundings. The silver gleam from the sword formed a circle, enclosing Enn, like a spider approaching an insect caught at the centre of the web. Although Enn was on the defence, it was still difficult for the monk to find an opening.
“You’re not bad at all. You’re still holding out despite facing my Eight Point Strikes! But let’s see how you fair against the special arts of the Luk faction, the Snake’s Rattle!”
Suddenly, the monk jumped back and extended his arm forward. The monk had abnormally long arms so despite the long distance between Enn and him, the tip of the sword was still close to touching Enn. The monk’s sword started vibrating.
Tar was puzzled. “Why can a sword vibrate on its own?”
It turned out that the monk was pivoting the guard of his sword, causing his sword to rotate in a small angle back and forth, which created the image of a vibrating sword. The clinging sounds generated from Enn trying to parry with his brass knuckles were getting more frequent.
The direction at which the vibrating sword was aiming looked random at first, but every time Enn parried the monk’s jabs, the sword was redirected to Enn’s blind spot, and Enn had react to that. It was clear that the monk had the upper hand.
In a last-ditch effort, Enn jumped in front of the sword. Tar could hear many gasps, including his own. “What is he doing!?” The same thought ran through those people’s mind. Enn then slammed both of his brass knuckles onto the blunt end of the sword. He caught the sword, just before the tip of the sword touched his chest. There was a sigh of relief from Tar.
The monk seemed shocked, but he quickly regained his footing, abandoning his sword and limboed toward Enn. Seeing the monk approaching, Enn tossed away the sword and tried to jump back, but he underestimated how long the monk’s arms were. In a flash, the monk had already extended his right hand and tightly grasped Enn’s left ankle. The monk put his strength onto his thenar eminence, the muscular bulge below his thumb, and pressured Enn’s ankle.
Enn knew he lost. But he couldn’t just fall onto his behind like this. This would ruin his image and damage his reputation. In a flash of inspiration, he took the monk’s sword which was lying on the ground, and pressed the hilt against his back to prevent himself from falling.
“Well done! I’ve never seen a young man like you hold out that long.”
Enn returned the monk’s sword and bowed.
“Not much of a talking person, are you?”
Enn bowed again.
“Brother Sinless, it’s good to see that there’s even more to your Luk sword styles than before,” a slightly younger monk said.
“I tried to improve our sword styles, but how could I measure up to your success? Lately, I’ve been hearing how Brother Empty had been saving Eustacians from soldiers using his one and only Brood sword style! Surely, you’ve been perfecting your arts!”
“How could you say that? It’s a long way till perfection! It’s merely polishing. Decorating, if you will. You can’t trust rumours too much.”
“Hngh! I hate how your back-and-forths! Just say that you appreciate each other’s styles and move on! We got things to do!” An old woman interrupted them.
“Very good to see you still in good health, sister Broom. How were things on your end?” Empty, the slightly younger monk asked.
“Haven’t died at least! I hate these small talks.”
“She’s right, brother Empty. She never speaks without concrete actions to back up. This is a quality not many possesses. We should learn from her.”
“Hngh!” Broom crossed her hands and looked away.
Tar fell in deep thought. “Could they be the heads of the Three River factions? Master Empty, the head of the Brood faction. Master Sinless, the head of the Luk faction. And Ms Loch Broom, the head of the Elm faction. They are big names which often appeared in Mr Urn’s stories. What are they doing here?”
In Condor, the city next to West Frey, there were three big rivers flowing side-by-side. They were the Brood River, the Luk River, and the Elm River. Hundreds of years ago, a popular martial arts faction was managed by three brothers and they wanted to expand their faction, so three sub-factions were situated at the rivers, each managed by a brother. Decades passed, and the three sub-factions grew independent and formed their own unique factions: the Brood faction, the Luk faction, and the Elm faction. And although the three heads called each other brothers and sisters, they were not siblings. It was tradition for people in the Three River factions to call each other that.
