Chapter 111: My Name is Bard
It was already the dead of night, but not a single person in Hope Lane slept, as the cries, footsteps, and clanging of armor resounded clearly from all directions.
Several clock towers within the city rang out their alarms. Red warning fireworks exploded in the sky, while torch-bearing groups patrolled the streets, followed by sounds of fighting, cursing, and dull snapping.
Families with little power could only lock their doors tightly, barricade their windows and doors, and tremble in prayer at home, hoping they wouldn’t be involved.
In the earlier part of the night, some ruffians took advantage of the chaos to cause trouble, breaking into homes, robbing and vandalizing several shops, stealing valuables.
However, as personnel from the Five Great Guilds began setting up checkpoints around the city, these hoodlums were killed on sight if caught in the act of robbery or assault. In times of disorder, severe measures were necessary. There weren’t enough hands to imprison these pests, so it was better to make an example of them to deter others.
Near the Nisos family brewery, Manda was sitting with a few cronies in a courtyard. A large table stood in the center, laden with roasted chickens and bottles of alcohol. The group ate meat and drank heartily.
“Boss, with all this commotion outside, something big must have happened,” one of the taller cronies said between bites.
“You don’t understand. The bigger the situation, the better for us,” Manda replied, grabbing a chicken leg and shoving it into his mouth, oil dripping down his chin.
“If we were to kill someone normally, especially someone with a bit of fame, the Guild would investigate, causing trouble.”
“But now? Who cares how many die tonight? Aren’t we happy to take a hefty sum from the Nisos family?”
Saying that, he tossed a few gold coins in his hand, which to ordinary people was a fortune. It would take years of frugal work in a workshop to earn this much, yet he had it in a single night. How could he not be pleased?
Besides, no matter how loud the noise got, their backing was the Nisos family, a prestigious clan rooted in Hope Lane for centuries. Who dared to touch them?
“Truly, boss, you’re smarter than us. Here’s to you!” One of the cronies quickly flattered, raising his bottle, and the others followed suit.
“To you!”
Manda raised his bottle, clinking it with theirs before drinking deeply. They were rough men who never bothered with delicate wine glasses.
Bang!
A tremendous sound echoed as the gate to the yard was kicked open, dust flying everywhere as the thick wooden door was sent flying until it landed far away.
“Who’s there!”
“Do you want to die?”
The drinkers slammed their hands on the table, standing up and picking up weapons nearby.
A shadow stood at the entrance, face covered, barely visible under the dim night sky.
“You’re looking for trouble, huh?”
Seeing only one person, Manda’s initial tension turned to rage. He picked up an iron club beside him.
The iron club was made from scrap metal, unevenly embedded with nails, thicker at the front and thinner at the back, roughly resembling a mace. Though ugly, its weight was enough to shatter bones. This makeshift weapon still bore traces of dried blood.
Bard looked at the revelers inside the yard, anger burning within him. When his eyes fell upon the bloodstains on the mace, his fists clenched audibly.
“Aaaah!”
He shouted loudly to steel himself and charged forward, fear and anger like crushed ice burning fiercely yet cold in his heart.
“Where did this fool come from?”
Some of the cronies mocked him, recognizing his loud shout as a sign of insecurity. They grabbed their weapons and attacked.
A chair half their height crashed down on him, making stars dance in his vision, followed by iron clubs striking his shoulders, ribs, and chest.
Others kicked his shins, trying to make him fall.
Despite the intense pain, the youth’s fear slowly dissipated.
So, this was all they had.
Though his body ached, it wasn’t unbearable. With each steady heartbeat, he could feel the powerful strength coursing through his blood.
An understanding grew within him—this was the feeling of having power, so beautiful, no wonder countless people yearned for it, losing sleep over it.
What once seemed unbeatable now appeared as weak as insects to him.
He reached out and grabbed an iron club, letting the wooden chair fall apart above his head and slide off.
One of the cronies tried to pull the club back but found it immovable, as if welded tight by a vise.
With a casual flick, Bard pulled the man towards him, kicking his legs out from under him, then smashing the club against his knees.
Crack!
The club splintered into pieces.
Witnessing this astonishing scene, the remaining cronies froze, even Manda hesitated.
Bard stared at everyone present, his gaze fierce, as if memorizing every face. Through gritted teeth, he said,
“You, unforgivable. All of you will die!”
These people had been committing evil deeds for a long time, starting with petty theft, growing bolder with every success, escalating to robbing and beating others, and recently dabbling in blood-soaked businesses.
The grim images of Great’s death replayed in Bard’s mind. If he spared them, who had spared Great?
There were neighbors around at the time, but none dared to speak out. They, like his former self, feared bringing calamity upon themselves.
Since no one dared to punish them, he would do it. Now, he could withstand any blow.
Bard roared and charged forward, veins bulging, face flushed red. Grabbing one man, he hurled him against the wall, leaving a trail of blood as the body slid down.
Lowering his shoulder, he rammed into another, the sound of broken bones accompanied by a spurt of blood.
He continued his assault, blood spattering everywhere as opponents fell one after another. The courtyard filled with cries of agony, leaving only Manda standing.
Realizing the situation was dire, Manda attempted to flee. But just a few steps later, a heavy wooden table was lifted by Bard and smashed onto his back, pinning him to the ground.
Struggling to rise, Manda found the masked youth blocking his path.
“Who are you?”
Manda asked in a coarse voice, his hand inching towards the mace.
The youth remained silent. Seizing the opportunity, Manda swung the mace down with all his might.
Slap!
The mace was caught mid-air, halted by a firm grip. The youth squeezed hard, crushing the spikes and embedding his fingers deep into the iron shaft.
Unable to pull the mace free, Manda quickly let go and tried to escape again. Before he could turn, a powerful kick sent him sprawling. As he attempted to rise, a heavy foot stomped down on his hand, eliciting a pig-like scream of mercy.
The youth removed his mask, revealing a bloodied face. He grabbed Manda by the hair, forcing him to look into his eyes.
“My name is Bard. I come from Graythorn County.”
Just like the first words he ever spoke to Lolan Hill, but the speaker was no longer the timid person he used to be.
Manda, recognizing the familiar face, screamed in terror, pleading and explaining, but the other showed no mercy.
Picking up the mace, Bard swung it down with great force. Blood sprayed everywhere, and silence returned to the courtyard.
