This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    Desperate for self-preservation, Gai rounded a corner at breakneck speed—but in his haste, he collided with a wall of cold metal and tough leather. The impact sent him sprawling onto his back, stars exploding before his eyes, and the sharp aroma of wet earth flooded his senses. Rough, calloused hands yanked him from the muddied pavement, while a gruff voice tried to pierce the fog of his disorientation. When that voice failed to regain his attention, a single, biting backhand snapped him further into reality with a cry of pain that tore from his throat.


    Standing over him was the village guard captain, Egbert, a man known as much for his sardonic smirk as for his duty. His polished armour, though dulled slightly by the rain, still exuded a sense of authority; droplets clung to its edges, catching the light as they fell. “Where are you off to in such a hurry, lad?” Egbert demanded, his tone laced with half-amused curiosity. Gai, cheeks burning with both pain and shame, mumbled, “I''m being chased again, sir,” keeping his gaze stubbornly at the muddy ground. Despite his humiliation, he knew that Egbert, a friend of his father, would no doubt take a dim view of the relentless bullying of Lionel’s son.


    Without another word, Egbert grunted, “Right, come with me.” A fleeting glance revealed the captain’s face twisting into a stern scowl as he clasped Gai’s elbow firmly, dragging him toward the marketplace. The wet streets, glistening under the hesitant return of sunlight, exuded the heady scent of rain-soaked earth mingled with fresh greenery as they strode through the village.


    “You turn fifteen this year, don''t you, lad?” Egbert asked as he steered Gai toward the centre of the market, where, to Gai’s growing dread, the quartet of boys had assembled like a gauntlet. Gai only nodded, his stomach twisting into knots of anxiety. The four boys huddled in the centre of the market, their eyes furtively avoiding the captain’s stern glare. With a subtle hand gesture, Egbert signalled his accompanying guards, whose silent, efficient movements soon encircled the group, spears raised and glinting ominously in the post-storm sunlight.


    In that charged moment, Egbert brusquely thrust Gai toward the group, a sharp shove that forced him into the midst of his tormentors. Gai’s pulse surged as his vision tunnelled, every nerve alerting him only to the imminent threat posed by the boys now closing in. Faintly, over the din of the murmuring crowd and the echo of his own pounding heart, he heard Egbert murmur, “No more games. Gai is right here, so do what you wanted, or share in a beating from me.”


    Time itself seemed to slow in Gai’s mind. He saw Errol being yanked away from the fray—presumably too young to be caught in such cruelty. His gaze then flickered to Louis, who made a feeble dash for escape only to be struck by the blunt butt of a spear across his legs; Louis crumpled onto the muddied ground as a couple of guards kicked him mercilessly, his hand curling over his injured thigh. Almost in a daze, Gai finally saw Roland and Boris lunge toward him; terror mingled with a confused glimmer in their eyes. In a heartbeat, Roland’s massive fist crashed into Gai’s jaw as Boris dove at him, both boys raining crushing blows upon his face and body. The cold, unyielding cobblestones offered no mercy as Gai’s senses faded; the clamour of fists, the stinging tang of blood and wet stone, and the overwhelming despair flooded him until everything went black.