"I'm sorry," Lysandra said, her voice tight as thin wire, the scent of copper-rich blood heavy in the air between them.

  Jasper frowned, deep lines cutting across his forehead. "What do you mean by sorry?"

  She didn't look up from the wound, where crimson bloomed against pale flesh. "I'm not sure he'll survive this. So, I'm sorry if he dies." Her fingers, stained red and trembling slightly, continued their careful work.

  Jasper's jaw clenched with an audible click, but his voice remained steady as stone. "It doesn't matter. He's on the verge of death anyway. If you can raise his chances, that's all that counts." Then, sharper, like the edge of a newly honed blade: "Just don't stop moving your hands. Every second matters."

  The arrow remained embedded in Breeze's chest, blood seeping slowly from the wound—dark and viscous against his ashen skin, a small mercy, as it meant no major artery had been hit. But time was against them. The longer the arrow remained, the harder healing would be. The dim light of oil lamps cast long shadows across Breeze's face, making the hollows beneath his cheekbones appear deeper, more skeletal.

  Lysandra, trained by her physician parents in ways some would deem unorthodox, assessed the injury with practiced efficiency. The wooden shaft jutted obscenely from flesh, a foreign invader. The arrow had struck near the shoulder, missing the heart but likely piercing muscle—and possibly a lung, given Breeze's ragged breaths that whistled faintly with each exhale. She pressed a clean cloth, soaked in a potent herbal infusion she’d prepared beforehand, against the wound, the fabric instantly darkening as it absorbed blood, buying herself time to think. The metallic tang of blood mingled with the fragrant, slightly sweet aroma of drying chamomile and lavender that permeated her well-tended lab.

  Removing an arrow was always a gamble. A wrong move could kill him faster than the injury itself. Sweat beaded on her forehead as she inspected the shaft, her fingertips running carefully along the splintered wood. She exhaled in relief, the sound loud in the tense silence—no barbs. A straight pull would have to do.

  "Hold him down," she ordered Jasper and Ivar, her voice echoing in the cramped space. "Tighter than before." They obeyed instantly, their calloused hands pinning Breeze's shoulders and legs to the rough-hewn table. Lysandra gripped the arrow, her knuckles whitening with effort, steadied herself, and pulled in one sharp, decisive motion. The sound of flesh releasing the intrusion was wet and sickening.

  Breeze gasped, his body jerking violently against his restrainers, but she was already pressing fresh linen, again soaked in her special antiseptic wash, to the wound, stemming the fresh flow of blood that welled up like a spring.

  Infection was the next enemy. Lysandra reached for the distilled alcohol—expensive, rare, and agonizing—and poured it liberally over the wound, the liquid glistening in the lamplight before soaking into torn flesh. Breeze hissed through clenched teeth, his body arching. Mina, hovering nearby like a nervous shadow, handed her a thick, dark poultice made from crushed comfrey root and a sticky pine resin. Lysandra smeared it carefully around the puncture site, hoping to create a seal against the air, before binding it tightly with clean bandages, the fabric crisp and rough under her fingertips.

  Breeze's breathing remained uneven, each inhalation a painful struggle that rattled in his chest. 'A punctured lung?' Lysandra carefully propped him up, easing the strain, his body heavy and limp against her arms. "Mina, the steam infusion—eucalyptus and thyme, but add the resinous sap I showed you. Now." Then, to Breeze: "Drink this." She tipped willow bark tea, thick with a bitter extract for pain, between his lips.

  Understanding the danger of continued air leakage, Lysandra then did something Jasper and Ivar had never seen. From a pouch at her belt, she took a thin, meticulously cleaned bone tube, sharpened at one end. With a deep breath and focused intent, she carefully inserted it into the area of the wound, angling it downwards. A faint hiss of escaping air could be heard. "This might help release some of the pressure," she murmured, more to herself than them.

  The immediate danger had passed, but the battle wasn't over. Fever would come next, like an unwelcome guest. Lysandra arranged cold compresses and warm blankets, the fabric rough against her raw hands, preparing for the worst. "Keep this area impeccably clean," she instructed Mina, pointing to Breeze's chest. "Wash your hands constantly. We cannot let the rot take hold."

  "Will he live?" Jasper cut in, his voice rough as gravel, his shadow looming large on the wall behind him.

  Lysandra wiped her hands on a damp cloth, leaving faint pink stains, exhaustion lining her face like an artist's careful strokes. "I hope so. The next few days will tell." The air hung heavy with the smell of blood, herbs, and the acrid scent of fear.

  Breeze kept holding the pain in a way that fit his title as champion. He opened his eyes slowly, vision blurry as though seeing through clouded glass, and all his muscles were exhausted, feeling like lead weights. His pupils turned to the female voice that was talking, the sound seeming to come from a great distance. He kept staring as she spoke to Jasper, her figure a smudge of color against the dimness. Slowly, his vision cleared a bit, like fog lifting from a morning valley. Suddenly, his eyes widened—though still looking exhausted—and tears started falling like a flowing river from his eyes, leaving warm trails down his cold cheeks.

  "Mother!" He raised his hand toward Lysandra's face, wanting to touch it, fingers trembling in the space between them. "I'm sorry, mother. It's all my fault." His voice cracked like dry kindling.

  Lysandra's eyes turned to see him, the amber lamplight reflecting in her startled gaze.

  "I think this guy got hit in the head, not the chest," Ivar intervened, his voice breaking the tension like a stone through ice, gaining a sharp pinch from Mina that made him wince.

  "This is not the time for your humorous personality," Mina scolded.

  Lysandra kept staring at him without uttering a word, then held his hand softly, her touch warm, caressing his silky hair. "It's okay, son. Everything will be alright." Her voice was honey-smooth, a balm to his confused mind.

  "Huh?" Jasper, Ivar, and Mina were confused by her words, their faces a tableau of bewilderment in the flickering light.

  She kept holding his hand and caressing his silky hair, damp with sweat, until he fell unconscious, his breathing finally evening out to a gentle rhythm.

  Then she raised her head, surprised by their confused grimace. "Seriously, guys, don't you see that he's confusing me with his mother? What do you want me to say to him? I have to stabilize his condition. And... and he is obviously older than me." Her voice echoed slightly in the quiet room.

  They exhaled in relief, understanding that her reason was quite convincing, the tension draining from their shoulders.

  In the morning, bright sunlight streamed through the cracks in the shutters, painting golden lines across the dusty floor. A ruckus could be heard outside, voices raised in anger cutting through the normal morning bustle. Ivar went out in a hurry to check what was going on, his boots loud on the wooden planks. There, he found Tertius arguing with the gang that Jasper had talked to the night before. They were trying to meet the building's owner, their faces flushed with impatience, and Tertius didn't allow them, his massive frame blocking the doorway like a human barricade.

  Ivar intervened quickly, the cool morning air a relief after the stuffy sickroom. "Leave it to me, Tertius. I'll handle everything from here." His breath formed small clouds in the chill.

  Turning to the gang, their clothes reeking of stale sweat, he asked, "How can I help you?"

  "Your monster boss—ah, sorry—I mean, your boss asked us to meet him in the renewed building in this area. And this is the only building that was renewed here." The man gestured broadly, his hand indicating the freshly repaired building standing out amid the dilapidated structures surrounding it. "He said if we accept his offer, we have to come here."

  "Yeah, I'm aware of that. Please wait here until I get his permission. I'll be back soon." The gravel crunched under Ivar's boots as he turned back toward the entrance.

  Ivar entered and quickly asked Mina and Lysandra to stay out of sight, the floorboards protesting under his hurried steps. Jasper installed himself in the guild master's desk, the polished wood gleaming in stark contrast to the rest of the worn furnishings, and asked Ivar to allow only one of them to enter.

  A few moments later, the eloquent man appeared before him, bringing with him the smell of the streets—a mixture of mud, sweat, and desperation. Jasper kept scanning him from head to toe before asking, "So, what is your answer?" His voice resonated in the high-ceilinged room.

  The man's body trembled visibly, assuming he was left alone with a monster, yet he bravely answered, his voice catching slightly: "I... Sir, we agree to your offer. However, there are a lot of other gangs here. We can't work freely with their existence." His knuckles turned white as he gripped the edge of his tattered cap.

  "Hmm, why don't you all work together? In another word, unite them all under one banner." Jasper leaned forward, the chair creaking beneath him.

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  "That... that's quite impossible, mister. Every gang's leader is as stubborn as a mule. They would rather die than work together..." Dust motes danced in the shaft of sunlight between them.

  "Okay, take Tertius along with you and deal with them. Ask them to cooperate first—don't start the fight. If they reject, ask for a leader's fight—of course, let Tertius fight. If they still reject, well, kill them all." Jasper's words hung in the air like a death sentence.

  "Huh?" The man's surprise was plain on his face.

  "Are you afraid of fighting them?" Jasper's fingers drummed a quiet rhythm on the desk.

  "Not quite afraid. However, if the other gangs unite against us, we would be doomed." Sweat beaded on the man's upper lip despite the room's coolness.

  "Easy. Just tell them that anyone who joins you will live a good life. They'll find themselves paid in gold." Jasper reached into a drawer, the scrape of wood on wood loud in the quiet room, and pulled out a heavy pouch that clinked enticingly. "Just show them this pouch of gold, and every tie between them will be cut. After all, they're all scum who would sell their family for a few gold coins." He tossed the pouch, its weight landing with a solid thud in the man's palm.

  The man didn't like what Jasper said, mocking the ties between gang members. He felt that Jasper was including his gang too. Yet he didn't show hostility, fearing what would happen if he did. His face remained carefully neutral, though a muscle twitched in his jaw. The truth is that Jasper hit a nerve, the man felt that he could betray everyone for the sake of this pouch of gold.

  "This pouch of gold is only for show, be sure to bring it back, it contains 100g, so don't try to steal it, I'm doing this just to test your loyalty, okay?" Jasper's hand was still stained with Breeze's blood. He smeared the blood across his mouth and jaw with that hand, and with his other hand, he took off his hood, giving the man a nightmare in the waking world. Then he added:

  "So, how much time do you think it would take to control the whole area?" Jasper's shadow stretched long across the floor as the sun climbed higher.

  "I'm not quite sure about it. Probably a month or two?" The man's voice was devoid of life Yet his fingers nervously caressed the leather pouch, feeling the hard edges of coins within.

  "Oh, I forgot to tell you—Tertius is a quite strong gladiator." Jasper's smile didn't reach his eyes as he was nearly blinded by the horrific face to begin with.

  The man felt his blood run dry. His eyes widened, and his jaw started shivering as if a breath of cold winter had hit him. 'What? The one we were arguing with outside was a gladiator? The boss is a monster and the subordinate is a gladiator. If they hold a grudge against us we're really doomed.' The thought played across his face like words on a page.

  Breaking his daymare, Jasper asked, "So, how much do you think it would take?" The question cracked like a whip.

  "Ah, heh, sorry. Yes, I assume it would take us a week or two with a gladiator working with us. His name alone would make the other gangs succumb." His voice had taken on an eager edge.

  "Here, this is a pouch with 5g. Keep your word, and I'll add another 5g. If you do it in a week, I'll add 2g." The coins clinked together as Jasper handed over a second pouch, the leather warm from being close to his body.

  The man's eyes widened, forgetting all the fear he had felt during the conversation. He left the room instantly without even getting permission, his footsteps quick and eager on the stairs.

  "Heh heh heh, that was quite easy," Jasper said, smirking, as he leaned back in his chair, the wood groaning under his weight.

  ...

  The man joined his gang in front of the guild, the sun now fully risen and bathing the street in harsh light that did nothing to hide the area's decay. He got closer to Tertius, patting him on the shoulder, the gladiator's muscle hard as stone beneath his touch.

  "Excuse me, all of you." The words cut through the morning chatter.

  They all stared at him, with Tertius glaring murderously, his eyes like chips of ice. Giggling nervously, the man put down his hand, wiping his palm against his trousers.

  "Ahem, the Master asked us to unite the whole area." His voice carried clearly in the morning air.

  "Huh? Are you crazy? Did you hear him correctly?" one of the gang members asked.

  "I told you we should have joined him there—he's lost his mind," another one said, his face showing a rejection of the Idea before even hearing the reason.

  "You're the one who's lost your mind, your whole family lost their minds! I heard him perfectly well. He also asked us to take this guy with us." The man jabbed a finger toward Tertius.

  "Huh? Are you sure you heard him perfectly?" Tertius questioned, his deep voice rumbling.

  "Sigh, what do you take me for? Hey you lot, this guy here is a top-notch gladiator, and he'll help us take control over the whole area." The man's voice rose with excitement, attracting curious glances from passersby.

  The whole group felt scared for a second because they had offended him, then swiftly changed their attitude to respect and excitement at the idea of a gladiator helping them this time, their postures straightening as though they'd already won.

  "Here's the plan, though..." The eloquent guy leaned in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper as the others gathered close, their shadows merging into one on the sunlit street.

  A few days later, Breeze opened his eyes, barely conscious, trying to understand the situation he was in. The ceiling above was unfamiliar, It wasn't the same ceiling he used to see each time he opened his eyes. Realizing it, he managed a weak smirk, his lips dry and cracked.

  "A copper coin... for my life. What a bargain." His voice was a rasp, like sand on stone.

  "That's quite the deal, right? That's a merchant for you." Jasper happened to be sitting next to Breeze when he woke up, the wooden chair creaking as he shifted his weight. A shaft of afternoon light caught the dust motes swirling between them.

  "I can't deny that... let me ask you why you saved me." Breeze's eyes, though tired, were sharp and assessing.

  "I'm also in awe of what I did back then, I never did something like that in my entire life, however, when I saw you fighting with all the odds against you, and still won I couldn't tolerate the betrayal." Changing his position, the leather of his seat squeaking in reaction, he added, "I was searching for a good gladiator to work for me, it was my first time coming to such an event. All I can say is that it was a fateful encounter." The words hung in the air between them, weighted with significance.

  "Hmm, let me ask you another thing unrelated to the subject, why are you hiding your face?" Breeze's gaze fixed on the shadowed hood that obscured Jasper's features.

  Without hesitation, Jasper took off his hood only to give a shock to the laid-down gladiator. The reveal was sudden, like the dropping of a theater curtain.

  "Arrgh!" Breeze instinctively moved his body, gaining an aching pain that radiated through his chest like fire. The bandages pulled tight against his skin.

  "Ha ha ha, your reaction is one of the things that makes me hide my appearance." Jasper's laughter echoed in the sparse room.

  "Oh please, don't make fun of someone who's barely alive." Breeze's breath came in short, painful bursts.

  "My bad, wait, it's your bad not mine, you asked for it. Giggle. Anyway, now that I see you in daylight with your eyes open, you seem quite familiar. However, I don't remember where I saw you." Jasper leaned closer, studying Breeze's features in the rich afternoon light that painted everything in amber hues.

  "Whatever the place you saw me in, I'm sure it wasn't a good place." Breeze's voice was tinged with bitterness, like the aftertaste of strong medicine.

  As they kept speaking, the door creaked open on rusty hinges, and the other three entered to check on him. As soon as they entered, bringing with them the smells of cooking and clean linen, Jasper extended his hand saying, "Oh let me introduce you my co..." Interrupting him, Breeze jumped from bed, forgetting all the pain he was in, his sudden movement sending a rush of air across the room. His eyes were fixed on Lysandra, who felt scared and took a step backward, her back pressed against the rough wall. "Mother, Is that really you?" His eyes instantly got wet, glistening in the light. "Who's your mother, you stupid? Can't you see that I'm clearly younger than you." She spat behind Ivar's back, her voice shaking with indignation.

  Breeze held his head with all his emotions getting chaotic, his fingers digging into his scalp. "No! You are clearly my mother." His voice broke with certainty and desperation.

  "Is your mother that cheap or horrible in your eyes that you want to swap her with me?" Lysandra felt scared in response to his desperate claim.

  Ivar stared at Lysandra, his gaze traveling between her and Breeze. "Either he is right and you are an old grandma behind your skin, or my last claim that he was hit on the head was quite riiighhht ow ow ow." Mina pinched his side, her fingernails leaving half-moon impressions.

  "Hey, young man, are you sure she is your mother... wait a second, don't you think this guy is the male version of Lysandra?" Mina's question fell into the room's tension like a stone into still water.

  "Huh?" All of them questioned in one go, including Lysandra, their voices creating a brief chorus of confusion.

  "Her name is Lina and she is my mother." Breeze's words were clear despite his weakened state, each syllable precise.

  Lysandra got confused, stepping upfront, her eyes full of tears that caught the light like diamonds as she approached the young man. "How do you know my mother's name, where is she? Tell me! Where is my father?" Her voice rose with each question, echoing off the bare walls.

  "Wa... whaaaat..." Breeze lost balance and lost consciousness, his body swaying like a tree in a strong wind. Jasper jumped from his chair with a scrape of wood on the floor, catching him, however, he was quite heavy for someone as weak as Jasper, "Ivar, you... hold him, my spine is about to crash." Sweat beaded on his forehead with the effort.

  "Sorry," Ivar said, holding him with strong arms that barely strained under the weight. He put him on the bed again, the frame creaking in protest, with the atmosphere in the chamber getting unstable, thick with questions and tension.

  "Sigh!" Jasper's exhale was loud in the suddenly quiet room as he sat back on the chair

  "I was really confused about where I saw him." he said, rubbing his eyes with his thumb and index.

  "Let's point things out, hey Lysandra, could this guy here be your brother?" His question hung in the air like smoke.

  Lysandra's eyes, full of pain and confusion, turned to see Jasper, who instantly turned his face away, unable to bear the raw emotion there. The sun cast long shadows across her face, highlighting the fine lines of distress.

  "I don't know, I don't remember having a brother, and my parents never mentioned something like that to me. "Her voice was small, almost lost in the room's emptiness.

  "Our best solution is to wait for him to wake up again and ask him to confirm," Mina said, her practical tone a counterpoint to the emotional tension; she approached Lysandra, holding her hand softly and warmly.

  "Yeah, that's for the best. Go and wash your face, Lysandra, and change your mood. Please keep her company, Mina." Jasper's command was gentle but firm.

  "Yes, master." Mina nodded, taking Lysandra's trembling hand in hers as they left the room, their footsteps fading down the corridor, leaving the men with the unconscious gladiator and a room full of unanswered questions.

  Jasper.

  Profession: A guild master.

  Coins: 9,599g 3250s 6b -1c

  Ko-Fi ?