Tales of the Linchpin

weight of the fist

( ONE MONTH LATER)

The morning sun cast a brilliant, piercing light over the silent forest clearing. Standing at opposite sides, David and Lazarus faced each other once more. Three full months of nonstop, grueling training had completely transformed the young man. The gaunt, broken frame of the slave was entirely gone, replaced by hard, defined muscle and a gaze that held a dangerous, unwavering focus.

"Ready for another fight, David?" Lazarus asked, loosening his shoulders. "I won't be going easy on you this time."

David dropped into his stance, his fists clenched tight. "Let's get started."

"Loving the energy today," Lazarus smiled. "Let's see if it carries you to the end."

David charged. He launched a vicious right hook, but Lazarus leaned smoothly to the side, letting the punch whistle harmlessly past. David immediately followed through with a heavy kick aimed at the ribs. Lazarus blocked it with his forearm, instantly grabbing David's leg and tossing him through the air like a ragdoll.

David tumbled a few feet away, immediately catching his balance and driving a low kick toward Lazarus’s legs. Lazarus leaped over the sweep, delivering a mid-air counter-kick straight toward David's face. David threw himself into a low roll, planting his hands on the earth to push himself up, and launched a side-kick into Lazarus's flank.

Blocked again.

Lazarus countered with a blinding punch. David narrowly dodged the first, but a follow-up strike slammed squarely against his defensive forearm. A blinding flash of pain shot through David's arm. Before he could reset, Lazarus drove a heavy fist deep into his gut.

The air exploded from David’s lungs. He stumbled backward, his knees buckling as he crashed onto his all fours, gasping violently for air.

"Had enough yet?" Lazarus asked, standing over him with his arms crossed. "Your punches still have no meaning behind them. You fight entirely without purpose."

David slowly lifted his head, his vision blurring as sweat and blood dripped from his jaw. "Wh... what is the point of all this?" he rasped, his voice raw with pure exhaustion. "I'm tired. I don't know where I'm going, and I don't know why I'm even here. I didn't ask for this power, nor did I ever want to be here!"

Lazarus walked closer, looking down at the broken boy. "Then give up. Run away from the truth if you are not ready to face it. Stay with me in this forest forever, away from the world and all of its cruelty. Because with that mindset, the moment you step back into the world, you will be utterly crushed."

Lazarus turned his back, placing his hands behind him as he began to walk toward the cabin.

Rage—pure, unadulterated, and fiery—flared deep within David’s chest. Grinding his teeth, he surged forward from the dirt, launching a desperate punch from behind. Without even turning around, Lazarus fluidly leaned to the side, caught David's wrist, and violently slammed him flat onto his back.

"You're completely exhausted, yet you're overflowing with rage," Lazarus observed, staring down into his eyes. "Why are you so angry, David?"

"Because I hate myself! And I hate the world!" David screamed, the raw trauma finally ripping out of him. "All my life I have been looked down on, abused, and beaten to near death! I saw the true nature of men and I hated every second of it! I didn't even have a name—I had to give myself the name David! I was always told what to do, my entire reason for living completely decided by others!"

Lazarus went entirely silent. He studied the trembling, furious boy for a long moment, the sternness completely leaving his posture. Slowly, he sat down in the dirt right beside him.

"I was once the strongest warrior in Valnic," Lazarus began, his voice dropping into a low, haunted register. "Praised across the kingdom for my strength, my honor, and my duty to protect. I had a beautiful wife, a young daughter, and another child on the way. I truly believed my strength was enough to protect everyone I loved. I was wrong."

Lazarus looked away toward the southern horizon, his eyes burning with ancient, agonizing memories.

"Demons attacked a cluster of boundary villages. My unit was deployed to stop the chaos. We fought for hours, holding the line, until news reached us of a secondary breach. I ran all the way back to my house. The front door was completely broken off its hinges. There was blood... everywhere. My wife was lying motionless on the floor. And beside her... my daughter. Her face was so ruined, so utterly destroyed... I couldn't even recognize her."

His weathered shoulders sagged, the words falling from his lips like dead ash.

"The ones I swore to protect... the ones who needed me most... were gone in an instant. So, I ran away from everything. I abandoned my kingdom and sought out this isolated place."

David stared at him, his breath catching. "The photograph inside... they were your family?"

"Yeah. They were."

"Then why... why are you helping me?" David asked quietly.

Lazarus looked at him fully. "Because the path your life takes from this moment on will be decided by *you*, and no one else. You can choose to train, or you can choose to walk away. But in this life, every decision you make comes with consequences. You must force yourself to be strong enough to face whatever stands in front of you without ever backing down."

Lazarus placed a firm hand on David’s bruised shoulder.

"You lack an identity and a purpose, and you feel suffocated by the heavy pressure of existence. But that pain, David... it is a tool. It will either sharpen you into a weapon, or it will destroy you completely. You decide whether to get back up, or let the weight crush you into the dirt. The moment you choose, everything will become clear."

Lazarus stood up, turning to walk away. But before he could take a step, a massive, vibrant surge of energy erupted behind him.

He turned around. David was standing. His dark grey Presence was fully activated, humming tightly and flawlessly around his skin, his eyes completely clear and focused.

"I believe our training session for today isn't over yet," David said, his voice remarkably steady.

Lazarus’s lips curved into a wide, proud smile. "Haha... I see you've finally chosen your path. Let's see where we left off."

David charged. This time, the dynamic shifted entirely. Every punch and kick flowed with definitive meaning, intent, and absolute purpose. David launched a fierce straight punch, which Lazarus blocked. Lazarus countered with a heavy side-strike, but David ducked beneath the arc, launching a powerful roundhouse kick.

Lazarus caught the leg, but David immediately used his momentum to twist mid-air, unleashing a secondary kick that smashed directly into Lazarus's defensive guard. The sheer force of the blow pushed the veteran back several feet.

"Finally!" Lazarus shouted with pure excitement. "Your punches actually carry weight!"

Lazarus rushed in, unleashing a blinding flurry. He threw a heavy kick toward David’s legs—David dropped to block it, but it was a feint. Lazarus instantly transitioned into a high strike to the face. David leaned back to evade, but Lazarus anticipated the movement, driving a vicious, rising uppercut directly into his jaw.

The impact launched David off his feet, and he landed harshly against the forest floor, a fresh streak of crimson painting the corner of his mouth.

Lazarus approached calmly, kneeling beside the fallen boy. "You did exceptionally well today. Your training here is officially over. Come back to the house when you're ready... I have something important to tell you."

Lazarus stood up, placing his hands behind his back as he walked away. David lay flat on his back, staring up through the canopy at the vast sky. He was bleeding and broken, but for the first time in his life, he felt entirely unbroken.

---

(Southern Command – Benrin)

Meanwhile, far to the south within the sterile, stone walls of the Southern Command fortress of Benrin—a military outpost where newly promoted warriors of the Valnic Kingdom received their directives—a high-ranking Commander stood before a heavy iron map table.

Two men stood at absolute attention before him: “Hiron”, a man with sharp, calculating eyes, and “Peter”, a scout wearing standard-issue leather gear, his face a mask of grim determination.

"Your mission is clear," the Commander stated, his voice firm and clipping. "The two of you will team up immediately to investigate the sudden, unexplained disappearance of villagers at the northern region state of Imo. Over the last ten weeks, multiple outer boundary citizens have vanished without a trace."

The Commander leaned forward, placing his hands flat on the iron table, his eyes narrowing.

"If any threat appears, or if you locate the exact cause of these disappearances, you are authorized to eliminate it immediately. When the mission is successfully completed, you will both receive a formal promotion and a permanent assignment to the central elite teams. Good luck, Peter and Hiron."

"Yes, Commander," both men replied in unison, saluting before turning to exit the war room.

Walking down the echoing stone corridor, Hiron glanced over at his new partner. "Who would have thought we'd be paired together on a mission like this?"

Peter didn't smile. His mind was entirely fixed on the opportunity before him, his heart hammering with a desperate focus.

"I didn't think so either," Peter replied quietly, tightening the straps on his gauntlets. "Let's get this mission started."