CHAPTER 5- Rising Determination
The stench of the slums enveloped me as I opened my eyes to the harsh reality of my surroundings. Battered clothes clung to my small frame, a stark reminder of the life I had been forced to endure for the past two years since my mother's untimely death. Memories flooded my mind—images of her passing, alongside recollections of a peaceful existence in a distant world, and the promise I made to my childhood friend Serena.
My thoughts were interrupted by the raucous laughter of passing thugs, their mocking voices slicing through the air. "Look, the brat's still alive," one of them jeered, his words dripping with contempt. "We thought he'd kick the bucket after that fever yesterday."
The others joined in their laughter, raising their mugs of alcohol in a mocking toast. My gaze fell to the ground as they continued, one of them barking at me with a harsh tone, "Get away from here, brat. You're spoiling our meal with that stench of yours."
Shame washed over me as I stumbled away, the weight of their disdain pressing down upon me like a suffocating blanket. I found solace in a secluded spot, where I hastily washed my body with a wet cloth, each stroke a painful reminder of the harsh realities of life in the slums.
Donning my tattered clothes once more, I scoured the bushes for berries, a meager meal amidst the squalor. With each bite, I muttered to myself, "Yes, my name is Sylven, and I must avenge my mother. These peaceful memories mean nothing in the face of my reality."
My resolve hardened as I sharpened my focus on the memory of the man who had taken everything from me—the man with the sword. "I'll definitely kill him," I vowed silently, my hands trembling with the weight of my determination.
Retreating to a secluded area, I began my training once more, the familiar weight of the stick in my hands a comforting presence. For hours, I practiced tirelessly, each strike fueled by the burning desire for revenge. Though I lacked the skill to wield a sword, memories of my past life flooded back, guiding my movements as I refined my martial prowess.
As dusk descended upon the slums, I made my way back to my makeshift resting place, exhaustion weighing heavily upon my shoulders. Despite the weariness that gnawed at my bones, I endured, knowing that each moment spent honing my skills brought me one step closer to my goal.
Days passed in a blur of monotony, punctuated only by the occasional encounter with the thugs who roamed the streets, using me as bait in their nefarious schemes. Yet, through it all, I clung to my purpose with unwavering determination, a beacon of hope amidst the darkness that engulfed me.
But fate had other plans in store. One fateful day, as I returned from my training, I stumbled upon a scene of chaos—a sudden raid by knights, their armored forms cutting through the murky haze of the slums.
Without hesitation, I found myself thrust into the midst of the fray, a knight chasing a criminal running toward me. In a moment of instinctive reflex, I used my branch to skillfully knock the criminal to the ground, surprising both myself and the knight.
As the criminal lay pinned beneath the knight's chain, cursing and struggling in vain, I belatedly realized the gravity of my actions. With a sinking heart, I attempted to slip away unnoticed, but the knight's gaze fell upon me, halting me in my tracks.
Caught off guard, I braced myself for the consequences of my impulsive actions, uncertain of what the future held in store.