Chapter 9- The thief

Dale and Maxi looked at each other for a long time after Wilson had left. Dale looked at Maxi with an expression that he only showed when he had no idea how to react.

"Dale, I know you meant it in a good way, but your words came out COLD. Like midnight, on-the-mountaintop cold. You really hit him hard there with your choice of words. I mean, outrightly telling him to give up his dream? That was too much!" Maxi said while looking at Dale. Dale tried to sound persuasive but his words seemed to have had an adverse effect on the boy's morale.

"What do we do?" Dale was confused. He did not know what to do and could only ask his friend for advice.

"Give him some space to gather his thoughts. He'll come around…..I hope!" Maxi said with a dismissive shrug and went towards the door.

"I will be leaving now! Try to have a good sleep! Wilson will definitely come back! He has nowhere else to sleep!" Maxi said as he waved his goodbyes and left the room for his house.

Dale nodded and sat on the couch positioned beside door. He had decided to wait for Wilson. He had to inform him about his need to travel. He waited impatiently. He had never had to wait for anyone, so he was not used to having to worry about others. He waited for hours until he fell asleep.

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Wilson slept by the side of an ever-busy road, filled with moving vehicles and carriages, as well as local pedestrians who all looked at him like he was a plague to be wary of. He did not wake till the next day when the sun shone brightly on his face, bringing with it a lot of noise from early birds and late night workers. He woke up with a fuzzy headache. His body ached from yesterday's stress. He could feel that he had overworked himself both physically and psychologically. As he began to recollect the previous events, he slowly stood up, ignoring the wary stares of passers-by, who avoided him at all cost as if he carried a highly infectious plague with him. He remembered his last thoughts before he fell asleep. He was not going to give up simply because he was injured. He would fight in the tournament and give it his all. His physical state did not matter to the academy anyway. Nothing was beyond fixing as long as you had the right resources. He believed that the Academy would take great interest in him and take good care of him if he could prove his worth. His injured state could even serve him his purpose. After all, a fighter getting into the top twenty despite entering the match in a weak state could not be taken lightly. All he had to do was get the ticket Dale had gotten for him to participate. With all these in mind, he smiled widely disregarding the pain on his face. Lots of people saw him smile with a pain-filled look on a face with dried tears on it. They immediately assumed him to be going crazy, slowly but surely.

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Dale heard shuffling sounds from his sleep and slowly opened his eyes. He could see a silhouette of a person searching through his belongings. His merchant brain immediately clicked. Wasn't that where he had stored all his money and most expensive commodities? What audacity! Stealing someone else's belongings in broad daylight from inside an inn! This thief definitely had some guts! With the speed of a phantom, he drew out a long sword from underneath his robes and pounced on the thief. The thief jumped out of the way as his sword swung vertically downwards.

'This thief is quite skilled!' Dale thought to himself as he once again swung the sword to his side attempting to cleave his opponent in two. But his opponent was indeed skilled. The thief jumped backwards and took hold of another of Dale's robes with the obvious intention of using it as a weapon.

'How shameless! Attempting to use my own clothing against me!' Dale thought once again to himself. He raised his sword high above his head and with a grunt, swung his weapon down. Before the sword could reach its victim, Dale saw something flash before his eyes, too fast for him to follow. He heard a loud thud and felt blood gushing from his body. He slowly fell unconscious as deep, bloody and painful cuts appeared all over his body. He knew this was the end. He could feel his very soul forcing itself out of his body, just like his grandfather had always told him happened when people died prematurely.

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Wilson looked at the inn and walked inside moving towards the same room he had been using since he arrived at Forest city. He was hoping Dale would not continue the unfinished conversation from last night. As he got nearer to the door, he heard sword slashing through the air multiple times in quick succession. With a frenzied look on his face, he opened the door to see a man clad in all black with a bloody sword in his hand and stains of blood everywhere around him. He looked to the pool of blood at his feet and saw his fellow villager lying cold on the floor, covered in his own blood and with deep gashes all over his body. His robe had been tattered and bloodied, changing it from its usual brown to deep, blood-red colour.

"UNCLE DALE!" Wilson screamed at the top of his voice inviting the attention of every person in the large, spacious inn. They quickly ran to see the cause of such a horrifyng scream. What could have caused for such a noise as that? That was the question on their minds. The thief became worried about the rapidly approaching footsteps of several people all at once. He looked outside the window and dove through it so quickly, he could be compared to a blur. But Wilson was not having any of it. He closed in on the thief, disregarding his own physical pain, took the sword the thief dropped on the floor and jumped after the bastard that killed Dale.

The chase took Wilson through different streets and buildings. The thief in a bid to get Wilson off his back climbed to the roof of a small shop and jumped from there into a big house and out of it through a big open window on the other side. He stopped to rest but had no chance as he saw the boy that had been chasing exit the same way he had out of the house. The thief ran round a bend and began running back the way he came, through the various streets towards the direction of the inn. That was his mistake. He was immediately intercepted by some people who had witnessed the chase and was tied up fairly quickly. He was identified because he had not yet removed the clothing he always wore to steal and his mask that accompanied it. He was beaten to stupor. Just when he thought things could not get any worse, he heard his nemesis' voice.

"YOU BASTARD! Did you really think you could escape after murdering my uncle? I WILL KILL YOU!" Wilson roared and raised his sword above his head and slashed downwards, pouring all his anger, pain and frustration into that one cleave.