The third week began quietly. Too quietly.
No wind. No birds. Even the old wooden fence seemed to hold its creaks, as if waiting.
Serik stepped into the yard with his fists still throbbing from yesterday's beating. He wasn't angry this morning. Not yet. There was only a dull heaviness sitting on his ribs, like a weight he couldn't shake.
Garron stood in the center of the yard with his chains wrapped loosely around his forearm. He didn't grin this time. His eyes were half-lidded, bored, as if Serik's arrival had interrupted a nap he wasn't enjoying anyway.
Jons watched them both with a neutral expression, but something behind his gaze tightened.
Serik stretched his arms once, ignoring the pulling pain, and took his stance.
Garron tilted his head.
"You came to play again?."
Serik didn't respond.
"Good." Garron's lips curved. "I like some silent treatment."
Before the fight started properly, Garron did something he rarely did:
He stopped moving.
Straightened his back. Let the chains fall loose. And looked at Serik with a strange, almost nostalgic expression.
"You know," Garron began, voice too calm, "you remind me of this village boy I met once."
Serik's brows twitched downward. Jon's eyes narrowed the slightest bit.
Garron rarely told long stories. When he did… it wasn't good.
"Listen carefully, kid," Garron said. "This one's my favorite."
"There was this little village in the east. Tiny place. You'd miss it if you blinked while passing by. No hunters. No fighters. Just farmers and shepherds."
Garron stepped closer, dragging his chains in the dirt.
"I got hired to deal with someone. A man hiding there. Didn't matter why. I didn't care. The pay was good."
Serik's jaw tightened.
"But when I got there…" Garron chuckled softly, "the man was already gone. Ran before I arrived. Coward."
He paused.
"Now, normally I'd leave. But the villagers lied for him. Said they didn't know him. Didn't see him. Didn't recognize his description."
Garron lifted a finger.
"They lied to my face. And I don't like liars."
"How can a person hide in such a small village and nobody has ever seen him"
Serik's hands curled into fists.
Jons stood perfectly still.
"So I gathered everyone. Men, women, kids. Asked them again. Nicely. Very politely. And they stuck to their story. 'We don't know him,' they said."
Garron's eyes sharpened.
"So I picked one. A young father holding his son. Told him I'd give him one last chance."
Serik's breathing quickened.
Garron's voice deepened, almost fond:
"He still said he didn't know anything."
Garron laughed.
"So I took his hand. Just his hand. One simple cut. Easy."
He moved his fingers as if reenacting the slice.
"The whole crowd screamed. Not him. He didn't scream. He clenched his jaw like a hero."Garron shrugged. "Heroes annoy me."
The chain around his wrist jingled softly as he continued.
"Then I told him—tell me where he is, or I'll take something else. Something bigger."
Garron smiled slowly.
"He still refused."
Serik felt cold sweat on his back.
Jons saw the boy's pupils shrink.
Garron went on:
"So I took his other hand. Still no screaming."He shook his head. "Never saw someone so stubborn."
Serik felt his stomach twist. His fists trembled.
Garron's tone grew almost excited.
"Then I pointed at his wife. Told him she'd be next. And that's when he screamed."Garron tapped his temple. "Not from pain. From fear. Real fear."
Serik's jaw clenched so tight it hurt.
"And the crowd?" Garron laughed, eyes wild. "They broke instantly. They started pointing to their own neighbors. Yelling names. Flinging accusations. I didn't even need to question them."
Garron spread his arms.
"Everything fell apart over one man's refusal."
Serik's breath came sharp now. Something boiling. Something dangerous.
Garron's voice lowered.
"But the part I really loved…"He stepped closer, leaning down slightly."…was the boy."
Serik's heart skipped a beat.
"The son. He grabbed my leg. Tiny thing. Told me to stop. Begged me. Said I was a bad man."
Garron laughed softly.
"So I told him the truth: I'm exactly the man your father forced me to be."
Serik shook.
He didn't realize it at first.
His fingertips were digging into his palms hard enough to hurt.His shoulders were rising.His breath came out in short, ragged bursts.
Jons noticed all of it.
Too much. He is absorbing too much.
Garron leaned in even closer.
"You want to know the last thing the father said?"His smile widened."He begged me not to touch his son."
Serik's eyes widened, fury igniting like a spark to oil.
Garron whispered:
"So I didn't.I let the boy watch instead."
He laughed again. Quiet. Vicious.
Serik snapped.
Serik didn't wait for Jons. Didn't wait for a signal.
He lunged.
He swung with everything he had – rage, disgust, pain, fury.
"BASTARD!"
Garron moved like he had been waiting for this.
He tilted his head to the side, Serik's fist slicing past him by inches. Serik tried again, roaring, swinging sharper this time—
Garron caught his wrist.
One-handed.
"Oh yes," Garron whispered, eyes shining. "That's the face. That's the one."
Serik tried to pull free, but Garron twisted his arm sharply.
Pain exploded up Serik's shoulder.
He stumbled, and Garron drove a knee into his stomach, folding him in half. Serik gagged, but forced himself upright. He swung an elbow—too slow.
Garron blocked it with his forearm and buried a fist into Serik's ribs.
A crack. Or maybe just pain.Hard to tell.
Serik didn't fall. He charged again, blind with rage, aiming for Garron's throat.
Garron smiled like a teacher watching a child's first steps.
"Good effort."
He pivoted and slammed his palm into Serik's chest, sending the boy flying backward.
Serik skidded across the dirt, coughing.
He pushed himself up again.Shaking.Bleeding.Eyes blazing.
"Again," he whispered. "I'll kill you."
He charged.
Garron clotheslined him mid-run and drove him into the ground.
Hard.
The world flashed white.
Serik gasped, reaching for breath that wouldn't come.
Garron crouched beside him, placing a heavy hand on his chest to keep him down.
"You're angry," he said softly. Almost gently."That's good. Anger makes men honest."
Serik strained under the weight, teeth bared.
Garron leaned closer, breath warm against Serik's cheek.
"But anger doesn't make you strong."
He pressed down harder.
Serik choked.
Jons finally stepped forward.
"That is enough."
Garron lifted his hand and rose to his feet, chains clinking.
Serik lay there, trembling, vision shaking, chest on fire. He didn't cry. He didn't scream. He didn't even curse.
He just breathed.
Something inside him had shifted.
Changed.
Jons knelt beside him, checking his ribs. They weren't shattered, but bruised badly.
"You rushed," Jons said quietly.
Serik stared at the sky.
"I know."
"You let him control you."
"I know."
"You tried to kill him."
Serik's eyes flicked toward his butler.
This time…he didn't deny it.
Jons exhaled.
"Hatred is sharp tool, young master. But if you hold it wrong, it cuts you first."
Serik swallowed hard.
"I will kill him," he whispered."Not now. Not tomorrow. But one day."
Jons didn't respond.
He didn't need to.
He had heard that tone only a few times in his life.
Not rage. Not fear. Not childish defiance. Just cold conviction
The night fell quietly around them.
Serik sat alone in the yard long after Jons dragged Garron back to the cellar. His hands rested on his knees. His breath was steady.
He whispered to himself — but it sounded more like a promise than a threat:
"I'll tear that wall down… even if I have to break myself doing it."