Ironbound

Kain didn't understand why until the leader stepped into the center of the camp, his sword gleaming in the morning light.

"Listen up!" the leader barked, his gravelly voice cutting through the air. The bandits gathered quickly, their faces eager. "Since our little rats thought they could escape, we've decided they need a reminder of where they stand."

His eyes scanned the captives, lingering on Kain for a moment before moving on.

"Tonight, we'll have some fun. Two of our little guests will give us a show."

The bandits cheered, their laughter echoing through the clearing. Kain's stomach sank as the leader's words registered.

That evening the captives were dragged from the cage and lined up in front of the bandits.

The leader stepped forward, his scarred face twisted into a grin. "Two of you will fight," he said, his voice dripping with malice. "Winner gets to live. Loser…" He trailed off, letting the implication hang in the air.

Kain's fists clenched at his sides. The old man stood beside him, his face grim. The young girl clung to the old man's arm, her wide eyes darting between the bandits and the captives.

"Who's first?" the leader mused, his eyes scanning the group. His gaze landed on Kain, and his grin widened. "You. You've got fight in you."

Two bandits grabbed Kain by the arms, dragging him forward. He didn't resist, though his jaw tightened as he was shoved into the center of the clearing.

"And who will he face?" the leader asked, turning to the captives. His gaze lingered on the old man for a moment before moving on.

One of the bandits whispered in his ear, and the leader's grin grew wider. "Ah, yes. Perfect."

He pointed at another captive, bigger and stronger than Kain, and said, "Come Forward."

A crude blade was thrust into Kain's hand. The metal was dull and nicked, but it was still a weapon. Across the circle, the shifty-eyed man held a similar blade, his hands shaking so violently he could barely keep his grip.

The dull blade in Kain's hand felt heavier than it should, but his grip was steady. Across the circle, the man, his opponent, trembled, his knuckles white as he clutched his weapon.

"Begin!" the leader roared, his voice cutting through the jeers of the gathered bandits.

For a moment, neither moved. The air was thick with tension, the bandits' laughter and taunts filling the silence between them.

"You don't have to do this," the man stammered, his voice cracking. "We—We don't have to kill each other."

The man's eyes darted around, searching for an escape. Kain recognized the desperation in his movements, the same desperation that had driven him.

The man's face twisted in fear and anger.

Kain advanced slowly, his blade held low, watching the man's every move.

The man lunged suddenly, his movements clumsy but frantic. Kain sidestepped with ease, slamming the hilt of his blade into the man's wrist. The weapon fell from his grip, clattering to the ground.

Kain kicked the blade away, his eyes narrowing. "Pick it up."

The man hesitated, cradling his injured hand. "Kain, please. We don't have to do this."

"Pick it up!" Kain barked, his voice sharp.

The man scrambled for his weapon, his movements jerky and panicked. The bandits roared with laughter, their bloodlust rising as the fight continued.

The man gripped his blade tightly, his breath coming in shallow gasps. He charged again, this time swinging wildly, his blade slicing through the air inches from Kain's face.

Kain stepped back, narrowly avoiding the strike, then countered with a sharp kick to the man's knee. The man crumpled to the ground, letting out a cry of pain.

Kain didn't give him time to recover. He closed the distance in a flash, his blade cutting a shallow line across the man's arm.

The man screamed, his weapon slipping from his grasp once more. He fell to his back, his chest heaving as he raised his hands in surrender.

"Stop! Please!" he begged.

Kain loomed over him, his blade poised.

The man's pleas dissolved into sobs. The bandits jeered, calling for Kain to finish it.

"Do it!" the leader shouted, stepping closer. His eyes gleamed with cruel amusement. "Or do you want to die too?"

Kain hesitated for only a moment.

With a sharp thrust, Kain drove the blade into the man's chest.

The man's body jerked, his hands clawing weakly at Kain's arm before falling limp. The camp fell silent for a brief moment, the only sound the crackling of the fire.

Then the bandits erupted into cheers, their voices filled with bloodthirsty glee.

Kain rose slowly, his chest heaving as he stared down at the man's lifeless body. He felt no guilt, no regret. The man had betrayed them, and this was justice.

The leader clapped him on the shoulder, a cruel grin on his face. "Good show, boy. Maybe you've got what it takes to survive after all."

Kain didn't respond. His focus shifted to the bandits, their laughter and jeers grating against his ears. They had forced this on him, and one day, they would pay for it.

When Kain was thrown back into the cage, the other captives avoided his gaze. The young girl sat in the corner, her knees drawn to her chest. She glanced at him briefly, her eyes wide and questioning, but she said nothing.

The old man leaned closer, his expression hard. "You did what you had to do," he said simply.

Kain nodded, his jaw tight.

The camp had grown quieter over the past few days, the air heavy with tension. The failed escape attempt and Kain's brutal fight had shifted the captives' focus—they now watched him warily.

That morning, the camp's uneasy silence was broken by the arrival of a new figure.

A man rode in on horseback, the sound of hooves cutting through the clearing. He was no ordinary bandit. His armor, worn but well-kept, and the sword hanging at his side marked him as something else. A mercenary, perhaps, or an enforcer from a larger force.

The bandit leader stiffened as Torik dismounted, his usual swagger replaced with veiled discomfort.

"Torik," the leader said, forcing a smile. "We weren't expecting you for another week."

Torik's gaze swept over the camp, his eyes lingering on the captives. "You weren't," he said simply. He surveyed the bandits. "And yet, here I am."

Torik moved through the camp, his gaze flicking from one captive to another. His very presence made the air feel heavier, the bandits' jeers quieter as they watched him with a mix of awe and fear.

He stopped by the cage, his boots kicking up dust as he crouched down to meet the prisoners' eyes, as if he were weighing each of them in his mind.

"You," he said, pointing to a boy no older than twelve, his thin frame barely filling his tattered clothes.

The boy flinched, his wide eyes darting to the others for help. But no one moved.

"You're coming with me," Torik said, his tone casual, as if he were inviting the boy to dinner.

Two bandits grabbed the boy, dragging him out of the cage despite his weak protests.

"No! Please, no!" the boy cried, his voice cracking.

Kain's jaw tightened as he watched the boy struggle. The young girl beside him clutched his arm, her nails digging into his skin.

"Don't let them take him," she whispered, her voice trembling.

Kain didn't move. He knew better than to intervene.

The boy was dragged to the center of the camp, where Torik waited with a dagger in hand. Its blade was slim and sharp, polished to a gleaming edge.

"Do you know why I picked you?" Torik asked, his voice low and smooth.

The boy shook his head frantically, tears streaming down his dirt-streaked face.

"Because you're weak," Torik said simply. "And weakness needs to be burned out. Like a disease."

The boy sobbed, his small hands gripping the arms of the bandits holding him. "Please... I'll do anything..."

Torik crouched down, grabbing the boy's chin and forcing him to look into his eyes. "I know you will. But first, you'll scream for me."

The camp fell silent as Torik drew the blade across the boy's arm, not deep enough to kill but enough to make him cry out in pain. Blood welled from the shallow cut, dripping onto the dirt.

The boy thrashed, his cries echoing through the clearing.

Torik tilted his head, watching the boy's reaction with detached curiosity. "Pain teaches," he said, his voice carrying across the camp. "It strips away all the lies, all the illusions. You want to survive? Learn to live with it."

The bandits watched with a mixture of amusement and unease. Some laughed, jeering at the boy's sobs, while others shifted uncomfortably, their eyes darting away.

Kain noticed the leader standing off to the side, his jaw clenched as he watched the scene unfold. The man looked uneasy, but he said nothing. Torik had the authority here, and no one was going to challenge him.

Inside the cage, Kain felt the young girl shaking beside him. Her small hands gripped his arm so tightly it hurt, but he didn't move.

"Why won't you stop him?" she whispered, her voice barely audible over the boy's cries.

Kain's expression was cold, his eyes locked on Torik. "Because I can't."

Torik stood, his dagger dripping with blood. The boy sagged in the bandits' grip, his body trembling, his cries reduced to weak whimpers.

"Enough," Torik said, waving the bandits away.

They dropped the boy unceremoniously onto the ground. He curled into a ball, clutching his bleeding arm and sobbing quietly.

Torik stepped over him, his boots kicking up dust as he turned back to the cage.

"Look at him," Torik said, gesturing to the boy. "This is what happens when you forget your place."

His eyes scanned the captives, lingering on Kain.

"Remember this," Torik said, his voice sharp. "Because next time, it won't just be a cut."

As the boy was dragged back to the cage, his blood leaving a faint trail in the dirt, Torik's cold smile returned. He turned to the leader, his tone conversational.

"You've been too soft on them," Torik said. "If you let weeds grow, they choke everything else. This camp could use a little pruning."

The leader nodded stiffly, though his discomfort was clear.

Torik smirked. "Good. I'll start tomorrow."