Chapter 10 - I will pay you back

Chapter 10

From the rooftops above, Marrow Quinn lingered in the shadows, eyes fixed on the alley below.

She had followed the setup with dispassionate interest: the thief, the ambush, and the cruel but expected beat down that followed. She had seen it all before. Lint liked chewing through its dogs.

Below, Silver bled.

In a two against one, he wouldn’t stand a chance. Varo and Torren weren’t rushing it. They pressed him like hunters, cutting off every retreat. Silver fought hard. But ultimately, he was doomed.

She didn’t flinch when he crashed against the alley wall. Didn’t blink as he slumped, beaten and broken.

He was going to die. Everyone watching knew it.

But then, something shifted.

A subtle pressure in the air. She felt it, the familiar pulse of Qi.

Quinn’s eyes narrowed as the memory of they fight resurfaced.

He had been weaker back then, clumsy. But there was a moment, just one, when his movements had surged. When he moved faster than he should have. Hit harder than he could’ve. It hadn’t lasted long. But it had been there.

Since then, she had been keeping tabs on him. Watching as he somehow grew stronger with every encounter he had in the Arena.

And now, watching him use Qi once again, albeit unconsciously, she had come to a decision.

Below, the knife danced in Silver’s hand. Torren screamed as his side split open. Then Alden ran, faster than anyone bleeding that badly should have. Even Varo, with his incredible physique, couldn’t catch up.

The Qi had lingered.

The burst hadn’t just saved his life. It had temporarily enhanced his body.

She watched until both shadows vanished into the twisting maze of Lint’s alleys. Then, a voice stirred the dark.

“Didn’t expect that, did you?”

She slowly turned her head.

A Vein agent had stepped beside her. He wore a pale coat, polished boots, and kept his gloved hands folded behind his back.

“A little dog with a little spark.” He said. “Suppose we’ll need to update his file.”

Quinn’s eyes return to the alley. “He used Qi.”

“Crude, but there.” The agent agreed. “And not for the first time, I’d guess?”

“He used it against me in the arena. Barely.”

The agent let out a soft hum. “So, that’s why he caught your eye.”

Quinn didn’t respond. But that silence was its own answer.

The agent was quiet a moment, as if weighing what to say next. Then “He’s still in debt. But if he survives this ordeal, I think we will have to reevaluate his contract.”

“I want it,” Quinn said.

That made the man blink.

“The debt?”

“I’m buying the debt,” she repeated. “Send the invoice to my family.”

The agent paused. A brief calculation flickered behind his eyes; then his posture smoothed.

He knew her family name: Thornevale. The Vein had done plenty of business with them. As long as it was in Lint, whatever it was, they could afford it. The request was abrupt, and the subject was someone suspected to have some affinity with Qi. A talent. Ordinarily he’d take it up the chain.

But men in the Vein knew where not to push. Especially with someone like her.

“It can be arranged.” The agent said at last. “I will bring it to the managers.”

“Thank you.”

He gave a small nod. “It is but a small matter.”

**************************************

Alden stirred with a groan.

The ground beneath him was cold. Damp. Something sharp jabbed at his spine through the thin cloth of his shirt. His ribs ached dully, not the blinding pain of the previous night, but a faded, manageable throb.

He wasn’t dead.

That was the first miracle.

He blinked up at a cracked sky, pale morning light filtering between chipped rooftops and rusted gutter pipes. His hand moved instinctively to his side. The bruises were still there, but the worst of it had receded.

His mind drifted for a moment.

I didn’t visit the fog...

Usually, the healing came after a trip into that strange place. But this time? Nothing.

And yet, there he was. Breathing. Beaten, but whole enough to walk. He exhaled, slow and long, like he could breathe the pain out through his teeth.

Then something hit him.

A sharp smack to the side of the head.

“Oi!”

Alden jerked up, hand raised in reflex. His eyes locked on a broom being withdrawn by a stocky man in a stained apron.

“You planning to sleep back there all day, bum?” the man snapped.

Alden blinked, still groggy.

“Thought you were a corpse for a moment.” The man went on, waving the broom vaguely like it was a sword. “If you’re done dying, go do it somewhere else. This is a restaurant, not a bloody graveyard.”

Alden sat up, grimacing as he adjusted his weight. The alley around him came into focus: crate, old barrels, and the unmistakable stench of spoiled meat and fish guts. He turned and spotted the side of the building.

He recognized the signage etched above the doorway. A small, third-rate eatery near the southern market ring.

The dumpster behind it was where he’d fled after Varo lost him in the maze of backstreets. He must’ve collapsed here. Hidden himself under crates and refuse.

Alden looked down at his clothes, and understood why the restaurant owner thought he was a corpse.

The man gave him another look, then snorted. “Stop daydreaming and get moving.”

“I’m sorry for the trouble.” Alden muttered with a sigh.

“Yeah, yeah. Just scram before the customers think I’m seasoning the soup with corpses.”

The man went back inside, door slamming shut behind him.

Alden stood slowly, his joints popping and cracking as he did. His mind started running, he thought about returning to the Mercy inn to recover and clean up. But he dismissed the idea.

Jarek and his crew were probably waiting there to see if he survived the night.

At the thought of Jarek, a well of dark emotions surged inside of Alden. For the life of him, he had never hated anyone as deeply as the bald bastard.

In truth, Alden should have taken care of the man long ago.

But he was hesitant.

Despite knowing better, there was a small part of him that hoped the man would leave him be if he showed enough potential and strength in the Arena.

Live and let live.

But… he had been stupid. And cowardly, if he was being honest with himself. He hailed from a world where violence was considered as the last course of action to be taken in case of conflict.

So, naturally, he had been scared. He thought that baring his teeth would have been enough to get Jarek off his back.

But seeing where it landed him… It was a lesson he would take to heart. The world wouldn’t coddle him and adapt to his beliefs. If he didn’t want to die. He was the one who had to adapt.

Thankfully, he didn’t sign up for any other match at the Arena yet. Otherwise, he would have to explain to Billy why he wouldn’t be showing up.

As for the Vein… He would be late on his payment. But they would have to understand. And they will also have to understand why one of their agents would die. But that was a problem for the future.

With a resolute look on his face, Alden turned back to the restaurant and started knocking on the door where the owner had previously vanished into.

The owner cracked the door open with a grunt. “Now what?”

Alden met his eyes, voice low. “I need a cloak. Something with a hood. And a blade. Doesn’t have to be pretty, just sharp.”

The man didn’t answer right away. He looked Alden over, brow furrowing. Dirty, blood-stained clothes, dried sweat clinging to every inch. He smelled like garbage and rust and something worse. He was not just a bum.

“Do I look like charity to you?”

“No.” Alden said. “But you look like someone smart enough to recognize a problem when it comes knocking.”

That made the man pause.

Alden continued, voice even. “I passed out behind your place yesterday. Nobody had seen me yet. But if those who are after me see me walking away from here, that will bring trouble to you.”

The man narrowed his eyes. “You’re saying I’d be safer if I help you?”

“I’m saying that if I walk away under a hood and keep my mouth shut, nobody will come to find troubles with you.”

A long beat of silence followed. Alden could see the gears turning inside the man’s head. Then he clicked his tongue.

“You youngsters have a hell of a way to beg for help.”

“…I’ll pay you back. First time I win a fight again.”

“And if you don’t win?”

Alden’s jaw tightened. “Then I won’t be your problem anymore.”

The man studied him. The way he stood despite the bruises, despite the limp. The quiet resolve behind the grime. The eyes of a man with nothing left to bluff with.

Eventually, the man sighed. “You arena types are all half-crazy.”

Then, with a grumble, he turned back inside. “Wait here.”

A few minutes later, Alden was wrapped in a tattered brown cloak that smelled faintly of old stew and wood smoke. It hung loose around his shoulders. A rusted machete sat in his hand.

The man handed it to him without ceremony, then muttered, “Don’t bring trouble back here. I like my place quiet.”

“Thanks, if I don’t die, I’ll make sure to repay this.” Alden said, pulling the hood up.

“... Just get going, kid.”

Then the door shut for good.

Alden turned and began his climb uphill quietly, until he found the crumbling overlook near the Mercy Inn. He found a gap between two broken chimneys, dropped into a crouch behind a pile of old crates, and pulled the cloak tight.

Then he waited.

Hours passed.

The sun crept across the sky. People came and went. Vendors shouted, carts rolled, distant bells chimed.

But Alden didn’t move.

He crouched low, motionless in the filth, watching the inn like a starving dog outside a butcher’s window.

And just as the sky began to dim, a figure stepped out of the front door.

Jarek.

His bald head gleamed faintly under the fading light. He was dressed plainly, a travel cloak and a small bag slung over his shoulder like he was heading out for a stroll. Not a hint of tension in his gait. He looked like a man without worries.

Alden’s hand rested on the hilt of the thief’s knife, still smeared faintly with dried blood from the night before. The heavier machete was strapped across his back, hidden beneath the folds of his borrowed cloak.

He waited a full minute before slipping out of his hiding place and following. Careful, making sure to stick a certain distance away.

Jarek walked leisurely through the city, past empty stalls and shuttered shops. Never looking back. Never hurrying.

But after the fifth turn, Alden realized something.

The route was winding. Too winding. It didn’t lead anywhere specific. No taverns. No markets. Just narrower paths. Quieter streets.

He had a feeling like he was being led. But he pressed on nonetheless. Jarek was walking alone. He would be hard pressed to find another opportunity like the one in front of him.

Eventually, the path opened into a half-collapsed courtyard behind an old temple ruin.

Jarek stepped into the clearing and stretched, rolling his shoulders like he’d just finished a long nap. Then he turned slowly, scanning the shadows with a grin that didn’t reach his eyes.

“Come on out, little dog.” He called, voice echoing faintly. “I know you’re there.”

He stepped forward, arms wide in mock invitation.

“Come meet your master.”