Jarek sauntered into the locker room, a confident smirk plastered across his face.
Behind him, like a shadow carved out of granite, came Varo. The bodyguard's arms were crossed, his bulk filling the narrow entrance as he ducked slightly to enter.
Jarek slowly approached Alden, the shark clinking of his boots echoing in the room.
"Well, look who's still breathing," the bald man drawled, amusement lacing his tone. "Didn't expect you to crawl out of that one."
Alden glared at him, suppressing a weary sigh. "Back for more threats? I think you missed a rib or two last time."
Jarek chuckled, wagging a finger. "No, no. I'm just here to talk. You fought well, kid. Real scrappy. Made the crowd scream. And that little burst of flair at the end? That was something. Got people talking!"
He stepped closer, crouched beside the bench like a vulture sizing up a corpse.
"I could spin that. Get you better matches. Higher payouts. All you gotta do is come back under my wing. What do you say?"
Alden met his gaze steadily, eyes dull yet defiant. "I'd rather crawl back into the pit and let someone finish the job."
The smirk on Jarek's face faltered, turning brittle. "I was hoping you'd say that." He murmured.
He stood, and on cue, Varo stepped forward. Before Alden could react, a thick hand wrapped around his collar and lifted him from the bench with terrifying ease. His feet dangled off the floor as Varo's grip slowly tightening around his throat.
Alden clawed at the wrist, gasping.
"Think you're clever, huh?" Jarek sneered, circling slowly like a shark. "You land one lucky hit, hear the crowd cheer, and suddenly you think you're untouchable? You're not. You're mine, Alden. Always have been."
Alden's vision blurred. He kicked weakly, but his hits were devoid of strength. His previous fight had drained him, and his body was begging for rest. Dark spots gradually began to fill his vision.
**CREEAK**
The squeaky door swung open, and a rotund man walked into the room.
"Am I interrupting something?"
The voice was calm, dry, and authoritative.
Bill, the squat figure from the Fighter Liaison Office, stood in the doorway, adjusting his monocle as his gaze settled coldly on Varo's tightening grip.
"Put him down," he said.
Varo hesitated, glancing to Jarek, who finally waved a dismissive hand. "Do it."
The giant man released his grip, and Alden collapsed to the ground. He coughed violently, gasping for breath. Bill strode forward without missing a beat and extended a small pouch to Alden.
"Your share from the match," he stated plainly. "Not much, but you earned every bit of it."
Alden accepted the pouch with a trembling hand, forcing out a rasping "Thanks."
Bill then turned to Jarek, voice flat. "If you want to rough up fighters, do it off-premises. Not here. Not in MY place."
Jarek scoffed softly. "Is that a threat, Bill?"
"No," Bill replied calmly. "It's a courtesy. One you've been burning through."
Varo loomed silently behind Jarek, his stance tense. But Jarek merely adjusted his coat, smoothing imaginary wrinkles from the fabric.
"Fine. Have your moment, Silver," he said with a sneer. "Just don't forget, you still owe. Luck doesn't last forever."
With that, Jarek turned on his heel and strode out of the room, Varo shadowing him silently. When the door slammed shut behind them, Alden slumped back onto the bench, still gasping quietly. He raised his eyes to Bill, gratitude flickering through his weariness. "Thanks... I owe you one."
The man shrugged. "Don't thank me. Just be careful. You showed something today, a little potential… I didn't want to see it wasted outside the ring."
Bill gave a short nod and walked out, leaving Alden in silence.
What none of them noticed, not Bill, not Jarek, and certainly not even Alden, was the slender silhouette silently watching from the shadows just beyond the door.
Marrow Quinn had heard everything. But she didn't linger. Her footsteps were silent as she slipped away, her thoughts unknown.
***********************
After the door had closed, Alden sat alone in a corner. The payout pouch weighed heavier in his hand than the bruises across his body. Eventually, he peered inside of it, counting off 20 coppers coins and 8 bronze.
It was the equivalent of one silver.
A pitiful amount, at least, if he was going by a fighter's standard. But Alden had lost his fight. And even then, a silver was close to the highest revenue he'd ever received for a single fight.
He let out a dry, half-broken chuckle. "Guess almost dying's good for something."
After resting for a while, he limped his way back to the Mercy Inn, fingers clutched tight around the coin pouch like it was gold. Once inside, he ordered a soup.
Then he started planning. All his savings now totaled three silvers, six bronze, and enough copper to amount to three bronze. It was enough to sustain himself for a while. Living at the inn, at fourteen coppers per night, he could survive a bit longer. But against his crushing debt of over 100 silvers and its brutal 50% interest, this amount barely registered.
Still, Alden felt like celebrating. He had survived. For tonight, at least, he could allow himself a small luxury. After finishing his meal, he regained a little bit of strength. He ventured back into the streets, the evening shadows beginning to stretch along rooftops.
He headed east, beyond the merchant blocks and towards the richer parts of town.
His destination was Ashfall Springs, a local hot springs. Though technically open to everyone, the entrance fee of three bronze and its exclusive location meant the commons folks rarely visited. But Alden felt extravagant tonight. After everything he'd endured recently, he'd earned it.
Steam curled from the stone courtyard like ghostly hands. The springs were natural, old, and rumored to run through channels lined with some special minerals with healing properties. Alden didn't care if the rumors were true. The warmth itself was enough.
A woman behind a carved desk raised an eyebrow as he stepped inside, all bruised and bandaged, but said nothing as she took his coins and offered a towel.
Inside, the shallow pool rested in a tranquil grove of pale trees and smooth stones, softly illuminated by hanging lanterns that cast golden reflections upon the gently rippling water.
Alden stripped down and eased into the warm spring, sighing deeply as the heat enveloped his aching muscles.
The pain dulled.
His thoughts slowed.
And at some point, he drifted into sleep.
**************************
When he opened his eyes again, he was no longer in the spring.
The fog had returned. And he was back into that unknown, dreamy place.
This time, Alden marched on more confidently. It did not take him long to relocated the glowing orb. Just like before, it pulsed softly with a calming light.
Alden had a theory to prove, and he stepped forward to confirm it. His hand extended forward, inching closer to the orb. And just like before, a mist of unknown energy seeped inside his body.
A warmth flooded his chest. But this time, he didn't collapse. He didn't even stumble.
He slowly breathed.
And the fog receded.
Alden awoke to the chill of night air and the sound of a distant bell. The lanterns of the hot springs had burned lower.
He took in a deep breath and flexed his muscles.
The ache from his earlier fight was still there, but it was duller. His bruises no longer throbbed, and the tension in his spine had unraveled. He stretched, and marveled at how light he felt. He wasn't completely healed. But he could feel it wouldn't take long to completely recover.
Slowly, a bright grin split Alden's face.
"Feeling better? Stronger perhaps?"
The voice startled Alden. He snapped his head around to find the Scourge sitting quietly at the opposite end of the pool, a faintly amused look on his face.
"Shit" A small curse slipped out before Alden could reign himself in. He quickly composed himself, meeting the man's gaze evenly. "What are you doing here?"
"I could ask you the same thing." The man replied casually, "A low tier fighter has no business squandering his small wealth in the hot springs."
Alden frowned at the remark, but he recognized the truth in them. The previous Silver Hunter would never waste money on such luxuries. Though he doubted the Scourge knew that. "I don't see how that's any of your business."
"Then I don't see why you should be concerned with me being here either, kid." The Scourge responded, a smirk playing on his lips.
Alden studied him for a moment, then sighed and leaned back against the smooth stone edge of the pool. He didn't know much about the Scourge, not personally at least. But he had gathered enough from their brief encounters. The man was curious and observant. Perhaps Alden's unusual circumstances had caught his attention, though exactly how or why remained uncertain.
Deciding to be direct, Alden spoke up. "Are you a Cultivator?"
The smugness faded from the Scourge's expression, replaced by something quieter, more reflective. "I used to be. A proud man who wandered freely. But that's all behind me now. My cultivation was shattered. This…" he gestured vaguely around him, "is what's left."
Silence stretched between them. Alden studied the older man's face carefully, the lantern's soft glow casting shadows that softened the harshness of his scars. The Scourge looked distant, caught between memories and regret.
"What was it like?" Alden asked quietly. "Being a Cultivator, I mean."
The Scourge didn't look surprised by the question. He took his time to respond. He leaned back against the rock, his eyes half-lidded, reflecting the dim glow of the lanterns.
"It's... different," he said slowly. "You don't wake up one day and feel like a god. You just notice the world start to pull back its veil, layers you never knew existed start to reveal themselves. Power… it becomes something you carry. Something that answers when you call. And with enough time, it becomes something others recognize without you needing to say a word."
It sounded nice. At least, that was the way the Scourge put it
Alden leaned forward slightly. "And how does someone start?"
The Scourge raised an eyebrow, the beginning of a smile tipping the corner of his lips. "Start what?"
"Becoming one, a Cultivator. There's no guidebook lying around. No school for this stuff."
The Scourge chuckled. "Of course, there's not. People spend decades clawing their way into that path. You think they'd just hand it over to anyone who asks?"
"True, but there's gotta be a reason why you're telling me all this." Alden replied, staring intensely at the man.
The smirk on the Scourge's face returned. "You're not as dumb as you look." He paused. "But you're far too impatient."
"I prefer to skip the bullshit when it comes to things like these."
That made the man laugh. Whatever sense of twisted humor compelled him to do so, Alden was glad the man wasn't taking things the wrong way.
"You've got guts, smarts, and a little grit. I say you got potential." The man finally said. "I don't know what sort of anomaly is fueling your growth. But it doesn't matter to me."
"I'm more interested about your potential. How far you could progress as a Cultivator." The Scourge paused thoughtfully. "You see, in terms of cultivation, I'm basically a cripple. But in this world we live in, even a cripple can stage a comeback."
Alden said nothing, letting the man talk.
The Scourge's voice dropped lower, less amused now. "I'll be straight with you. You're not the first one I've talked to. Not the first I've tried to help. Most of them died. A few walked away. One or two climbed high enough to forget I ever existed." He leaned back, stretching his arms against the pool's edge, and let out a slow breath. "But I keep looking. Keep trying."
"There are things I need done. Places I can't go anymore. Skills I can't use. But that doesn't mean I've given up."
Alden tilted his head. "So, what? You're building a network? Setting up pieces for some type of game?"
The Scourge chuckled again. "Something like that. I'm not betting everything on a single person, but I'm always watching for those who might survive long enough to matter."
He leaned forward now; the lantern light cast sharp shadows on his scarred face.
"You've got a good frame. Your instincts aren't complete shit. So it had me wondering if you're actually worth the trouble."
Alden held his gaze. "And how do I prove that?"
"Reach rank 5," the Scourge said simply. "No favors. Just raw progress. Show me you can climb out of the muck, not once or twice, but consistently."
"That's it?" Alden asked. "Fight well enough to catch your eye?"
"For now," the Scourge said. "You reach rank 5, I'll talk to you again. Maybe I'll offer a hand. Maybe I won't. Depends on what you look like when you get there."
Alden raised an eyebrow. "And if I don't?"
The Scourge shrugged. "Then you're just another name I won't bother remembering. No offense."
"None taken." Alden replied. He liked honest people.
*********************
By the time Alden stepped out of the springs, the streets had sunk deeper into shadow. The warmth of the water still clung faintly to his skin, but the cold night air was quick to remind him of the world outside.
He kept his head down, moving quietly along the slick cobblestones.
Just as he turned onto the path leading back toward the Mercy Inn, voices reached him. Two men stood beneath a guttering street lantern, leaning against a post. Night guards, judging by their black-and-green uniforms.
"…another one?" one muttered, barely above a whisper.
"Yeah. Same signs. Glassy eyes, blood from the nose. No wounds."
"Shit. That's the third this week."
"Fourth," the other corrected. "Don't forget that poor bastard from Southwell Alley. Possession cases are climbing."
There was a pause. Then: "You ever seen one? A wraith?"
"No. And I plan to keep it that way."
Alden passed them without a word, eyes forward, pace steady. The guards barely glanced at him, their hushed voices fading into the night behind him.