Every eye in that crowd ran across me from head to toe before arriving at the same destination.

Anger.

The cook spoke first. "Boy. What do you think you’re doing?"

His gaze slid past me toward the carriage behind. He spotted my team stepping out. Noticed the crest on the carriage door. Adjusted his tone just enough to pass for polite.

"So you’re an adventurer? Or maybe just some tourist." He brushed the flour from his apron like the gesture somehow gave him authority. "Either way I should inform you politely that you have no business in our affairs. You don’t know what we people face every single day."

I looked at his fist. Still caught in my grip. My fingers wrapped around his knuckles like I was inspecting the work of an artist.

"Oh yes. What you all face every single day." I nodded with the sincerity of a man truly moved. "But before we get into all of that, can you teach me something first? Pretty please?"

His face scrunched. "Teach you what?"

"Your technique."

"What... technique?"

"Oh come on now. You really think you can hide it from me?" I rotated his fist in my grip like a jeweler examining a rare gem. "That angle of swing just now. The way you transferred your weight from your back hip to your front shoulder before releasing. You’ve practiced that. Haven’t you?"

His mouth opened wide enough for a fly to enter and build a home.

"No, I’m dead serious. Most people have no idea how to properly strike a person already on their knees. They usually aim too high. Lose half their momentum on the upswing. Waste the force entirely. It’s embarrassing to watch." I pulled his fist closer to my face as if studying a museum piece. "But you? You angled it perfectly. Targeted the cheekbone. Right where the bone sits thinnest beneath the skin. The exact spot that produces the most pain with the least resistance. That kind of precision doesn’t come naturally. That speaks of years. Of dedication."

I released his hand gently. Almost reverently.

"How many times did it take you to perfect something like that? Hundred? More?" I tapped my chin like I was genuinely calculating. "But here’s the question that’s really burning my curiosity. Was all that practice on her?"

I looked at the woman on the ground.

Then back at him.

"Or do you have someone at home you rehearsed on first? Maybe your wife? When dinner arrived a few minutes too late? Your children perhaps? When they played a little too loudly for your already rotten mood?"

I leaned in slightly.

"I mean that would actually make a lot of sense. You did just say you go through hell every day. And hell always has to start somewhere. Usually behind a closed door where nobody can hear the rehearsal."

The cook stumbled backward. A full step.

"I don’t... that’s not what..."

I looked at him with the widest, most genuine admiration I could manufacture. Like a boy meeting the swordsman he’d worshipped his whole childhood.

"Oh I’m not accusing you. Not at all. I was simply paying you a compliment. A technique that refined deserves recognition. It takes real dedication to land a hit that clean on a target this fragile. And I respect that dedication from the bottom of my heart."

My finger found the woman curled on the dirt. My voice kept its sweetness while something much darker burned underneath.

"And this woman right here? She deserved every bit of it. For the absolute fortune she stole from your mighty stall."

I turned back to him.

"But oh great warrior. I simply cannot stand by and watch a technique of that caliber be wasted on such a pathetic criminal. It would be a grave insult to your art."

RIP.

My shirt came apart in one violent pull. Fabric tearing from collar to waist. I threw the remains to the ground.

Their eyes went to my bare torso. The fresh scar carved between my right chest and shoulder from Angelica’s sword still sat there. Pink. Raised. A wound that proper healing hadn’t fully erased.

CLANG.

My axe hit the dirt beside my feet.

"Therefore I will willingly replace her." I spread my arms wide. Chest forward. The scar on full display.

"Hit me instead. I’m young. Healthy. Got plenty of meat on my bones. I can absorb whatever every single person in this crowd wants to dish out. Unlike this pathetic weak criminal whose next breath might genuinely be her last."

I stood there. Open. Waiting.

Nothing came.

Not a fist. Not a foot. Not even a harsh word.

"Why aren’t you proceeding?" I looked at the cook. Tilted my head with innocent confusion. "Am I not even qualified enough to receive the honor of your frustration?"

He was a statue. Clenching his fist at his side so tight his knuckles went white. Jaw working. Grinding. Producing nothing but the sound of his own teeth suffering.

I lost patience.

"If you won’t show me your legendary skills then I’ll just have to find someone more worthy."

My finger swept across the crowd and landed on a man standing near the front. The loudest voice from the mob earlier.

"You." I walked toward him. "Now you have a gift I truly envy. Leadership. Pure, raw leadership. You gathered this entire crowd with nothing but the power of your voice. You were the match that lit those chants. Punish her. Beat her. Lash her until she remembers. You set the whole stage."

I stopped in front of him. 𝐟𝕣𝗲𝕖𝕨𝗲𝐛𝗻𝗼𝐯𝗲𝚕.𝗰𝚘𝐦

"Without you these people would have just watched quietly. But you gave them permission to enjoy it. That’s a skill most generals would kill for."

His confidence was leaking out of him faster than his color.

"So I’m asking you. Take your best shot on me instead. I would be genuinely delighted to feel the hands of someone so talented."

Nothing. Just a man whose eyes were now desperately searching the ground like it held the escape hatch to a different life.

"What has gotten into all of you? Why is this great village suddenly hiding its potential?"

My gaze found a woman standing near the side. Cheap outfit. Some unprofessional maid type clothing that screamed she worked for someone who didn’t pay enough to care.

"Oh, ma’am. How could I possibly forget you?" I approached her with warmth in my steps. "You were the one who demanded she be whipped. Right? Your exact words if I recall. Every lash will remind her of the consequences."

She flinched.

"So how about demonstrating on me? Come on." I softened my voice to something almost gentle. Almost caring. "Don’t you go through hell every single day too? Isn’t that what the cook just told us? I bet you were standing in this crowd for the same reason as everyone else. To let something out."

I stepped closer. Close enough for only her to hear.

"You work for someone who looks down on you. The exact same way you were looking down on her just now. You go home every night tired. Angry. Feeling small. And then tomorrow the same cycle starts again. But today? God himself gifted you a moment. A chance to unleash all the hell you carry. So tell me. Why waste it?"

Her eyes hit the ground like they’d been slapped there. Regret spreading across her features.

She wasn’t the only one. Throughout the crowd faces were falling. One after another. Like dominoes toppling in silence. Because every single person standing here had finally understood what I was actually doing.

Every sweet word I spoke was a needle. Wrapped in silk. Dipped in something that wouldn’t wash off.

I sighed.

"Fine. If beating me doesn’t feel right, I’ll step aside. Continue your punishment on her. Go on. Keep hitting her until she’s dead. Which I can bet will take exactly one more punch seeing the state she’s in."

I looked at her crumpled body.

"She doesn’t even have the energy to cry anymore. Can’t lift her arms to block. Every remaining drop of life in that body is being spent on one task. Clinging to that piece of meat."

I paused. Let it sit.

"Oh. Sorry. That treasury of yours or hers."

The silence stretched until it ached. Then footsteps. Going backward. The crowd was shrinking at its edges.

"Come on!" I raised my voice. "What happened to all of you? She stole your peace of mind! Disrupted your market! This pathetic weakling made every one of you feel unsafe!"

Every eye in that mob was buried in the dirt now. The only gazes still fixed on me belonged to my team watching from the crowd’s edge. Some looked concerned. Others were trying to figure out what I might do next.

Then I dropped it all.

The sarcasm. The compliments. The fake admiration. Gone. Every last thread of performance stripped away.

What remained was cold.

"Come and take your shot." My voice barely rose above the silence but every person heard it. "Unleash everything. The anger from your shit jobs. The resentment from your shit marriages. The self-hatred you carry from one pathetic thing or another."

I scanned every lowered face.

"Because deep down you know. Every single one of you knows. The only difference between you and this woman is that your luck hasn’t run out yet."

Silence so thick it felt like the air itself had solidified.

"No? Nobody?"

I looked across the dead expressions.

"Where are those faces from before? The ones screaming for entertainment? Glowing with excitement knowing they finally had some fun to watch?"

A dead audience. Not a single voice left to insult.

I grabbed my axe from the ground. "This is my last warning."

My grip tightened until my knuckles cracked.

"Hit her like you promised. Otherwise I will sever every single pair of eyes that came here for entertainment. Every eye that stood here and watched this woman refuse to let go of a filthy piece of dried meat while you cheered for her blood."

Killing intent poured out of me. I could feel it spreading outward like poison fog. The crowd felt it too. Some were visibly shaking now.

Then something touched my thigh.

Weak. Bony. Fingers that barely had the strength to grip fabric.

I looked down.

The woman. The same starving, beaten, hollow shell of a human I had been standing between and the world.

She looked up at me. And in those sunken eyes I didn’t find what I expected. Not gratitude. Not relief.

Concern. For me.

"Please stop."