Zenos let out a small sigh and gave an exasperated shrug. “Some things never change, do they?”
“Gaaah!”
“Uuugh!”
“Damn, he’s tough!”
Shouts echoed through the dim underground mine as a full-blown brawl broke out between Aston—previous leader of the Golden Phoenix—and the faction prisoners. The former swordsman roared to psych himself up as he knocked down two men in front of him.
“Stay out of this, Zenos, you hear me?! I don’t need your help!” he bellowed.
“I wasn’t gonna interfere anyway,” Zenos replied.
“You weren’t?!”
Aston turned around to see Zenos standing calmly by the wall, arms crossed.
“I thought about it for a second, but then I remembered how you treated me back in the day, so I changed my mind.”
“Wait, what?! Hey! You prick!”
“But I mean, if you ask nicely, I might reconsider.”
“Shut your mouth!” Clenching his fists, Aston charged back into the crowd of prisoners. “Raaaaaaaah!”
Yeah. These bastards aren’t wrong, Aston thought, gritting his teeth and glaring at the prisoners around him.
After losing his little sister to illness because his family had been too poor to afford medicine, Aston had trampled over everyone in his path, using others to claw his way up from poverty. He’d cozied up to powerful people, manipulated his party members, and even tricked Zenos into working for free. That was how he’d made his way to Gold Class. But then he’d kicked Zenos from the party, failed a quest, gotten manipulated himself by a shady bastard from the Black Guild, been arrested, and next thing he knew, he was down in this dark hellhole doing forced labor.
He was a loser.
In the end, he hadn’t amounted to anything at all.
“Guh!”
Someone grabbed Aston from behind, locking his arms in place as fists began to rain down upon him from all sides.
“Aaaaaargh!”
He broke free through sheer brute force and body slammed the mob.
“Fuck this! I’m not gonna rot down here, dammiiit!”
Aston punched and punched, the taste of iron coating his tongue. His vision blurred, his breath came in ragged gasps, and his whole body throbbed with pain. By the time he dropped to one knee, twenty men were already down around him.
But more kept coming, one after another.
“Shit! How many are there?!” he hissed, wiping the blood from his mouth.
A commotion could be heard from the back of the crowd.
“The boss is here!” someone shouted.
Tension instantly filled the air.
“What the hell’s going on here?” came a voice like a deep, low growl.
“Heh. Decided to come out, did you?” Aston said, pushing himself up with his palms and slowly lifting his head.
Immediately, he fell silent.
The man was huge. Easily twice the already-tall Aston’s height. The prisoners’ boss was covered in thick white fur with black stripes reminiscent of a tiger’s. His face wasn’t human, but that of a ferocious beast—he was catfolk, a massive tigerlike beastman.
Suddenly the rumor about him having been a top Black Guild executive seemed painfully likely.
“I told you idiots not to disturb my nap,” he growled.
The prisoners around the massive catfolk went pale and pointed at Aston.
“S-Sorry, Mr. White Tiger, sir! This guy went wild and...”
The White Tiger cast a cold glare at the former swordsman and stepped forward. He was so intimidating that Aston nearly flinched—but managed to clench his fists and plant his feet firmly on the ground instead.
“Are you the boss around here? Sorry, but you’re gonna have to step down.”
“And who are you?”
“Aston Behringer, and you won’t be forgetting my name anytime soon!”
With that, Aston staggered forward and drove his fist into the White Tiger’s side. But the man didn’t even twitch. The White Tiger was a wall of muscle, and Aston felt like he’d just punched solid steel.
Damn. I’m out of strength...
“You have the right of it. This world runs on survival of the fittest. The strongest stands at the top,” the White Tiger said. “But that’s not you.”
With a light swat, he sent Aston’s body spinning through the air.
“Gaaah!”
He crashed into the rocky ground, blood gushing from his forehead. But even as the White Tiger turned his back to walk away, Aston crawled toward him.
“Wait,” he called out weakly. “This...isn’t over yet...”
“Why resist? Wouldn’t you rather avoid pain?” the White Tiger asked.
Aston paused, then said bitterly, “You’re right.”
“What do you mean?”
“I just remembered that I’ve never earned anything through my own strength.”
Aston clenched his fists as though trying to grasp something and pushed himself to his feet once more.
Every title he’d ever received, he’d gained by using someone else. Now he finally understood—all of his achievements had been but a cheap veneer, easily peeled away. He glanced at Zenos for a moment. Aston had once driven out the healer with a single gold coin as a consolation prize, and yet Zenos had found his place in the world through his own strength.
Aston kicked off the ground.
“I’m never gonna amount to a damn thing if I give up noooooow!” he yelled.
“No holding back this time,” the White Tiger said, slowly raising his right arm.
The razor-sharp claws on the catfolk’s fingers swung down toward Aston’s skull. The former swordsman was at his limit—he had no strength left to dodge, and was moving on willpower alone. He could feel death brush up against him.
And then a figure leaped in from behind and intercepted the White Tiger’s blow.
“Wh—”
Aston looked beside him at the man cloaked in black and raised his voice.
“Z-Zenos! I told you to stay out of this!” he snapped.
“Yeah, I was going to, but you do know what I do for a living, right? I can’t just let someone die in front of me. Not even you.”
The words seemed to drain what fight Aston had left in him, and he dropped to his knees, exhausted.
“Who are you?” the White Tiger asked, stepping forward. “Friend of his?”
“Not at all,” Zenos replied.
“You didn’t have to say that!” Aston protested.
“But thanks, Aston. That helped, actually. You’ve changed a little after all, huh?”
“No, I’m the exact fucking same,” Aston muttered. “Still haven’t achieved a damn thing.”
“Maybe not, but every step forward is a step closer. And you took one today.”
Aston scoffed, slowly raising his right hand in front of him. “Heh.”