The Bat Tribe village clung to the high mountains. Houses built from medium-sized stone lined the cliffs, their rooftops covered in thick green grass. Twisting, uneven roads ran between the homes, some sloping sharply upward, others dipping down like inverted paths. Nearby, a river flowed quietly from snow-capped peaks far above.
few days later, on the training ground, children lined up in a straight row.their ages ranged from 7 to 10.
a man came in, he was around thirty, short about one and a half meters, with sharp black eyes and a thick black beard, not too long.
He wore dark layered armor fitted tightly to his body, reinforced with leather and metal plates. A wide belt secured the armor at his waist, while thick bracers protected his arms. The outfit was heavy, battle-worn, and built for close combat.
"I'm Mort, for those who don't know me," he said, his gaze briefly landing on Imre. "i will train you here 3 days a week in the morning, you'll help with village chores other 3 days untill dawn. My friend here—"
Another man stepped up.
Lidon had long black hair that reached his shoulders and dark, observant eyes.
"I'm Lidon," he said calmly. "My lessons focus on world knowledge—"
"My lessons are at night. During the day, you'll help the villagers—farming, building, feeding horses, anything that's needed. Every three months, you must rotate chores. Your first choice is up to you."
Mort: "Questions?"
The kids shook their heads.
Lidon: "Those who don't find a chore will wait another three months."
Mort: "Go. Come back tonight for lessons."
The children scattered into the village, everyone heading in different directions.
(Imre thinks: What kind of chores does the village have? why we have to do chores? but it is not for only me, that i should work to pay my living, it is like everyone have to help village to be part of village, maybe learn something from village people, whatever the reasen, I should choose something easier physically.)
He found a man working in a field, tending to crops.
(Imre thinks: Looks good. Maybe he needs a trainee.)
He spotted a man working in a field, tending to crops.
Looks good. Maybe he needs a trainee.
Before Imre could speak, another child rushed in front of him. shouted:
"He already chose his trainee! Go find someone else!"
Imre left the field.
I have to hurry.
He approached a woman cooking for a group of toddlers.
"Ma'am," Imre said politely, "do you need a trainee? I can help with anything if you teach me."
The woman laughed. "Nope. I don't need anyone."
That's the second one…
He went from house to house, asking again and again. Some villagers refused. Others already had trainees. By afternoon, he had asked fourteen people—and failed every time.
How is it this hard? Imre thought, frustration rising. Am I doing something wrong? Or am I just not welcome here?
At the edge of the village, he noticed a man carrying a knife enter a large house. Curiosity pulled him inside.
The room was filled with knives of all shapes and sizes, each wrapped in a safety cover made from animal skin. The man sat at a table, carefully crafting another cover.
"Sir?" Imre asked.
Before the man could answer, someone appeared from the back door.
"Oh, Imre," Arlan said. "Did you already choose a chore and pick a knife for yourself?"
"Actually—"
"This shop already has a trainee," Arlan interrupted. "If you want this spot, you'll have to duel me." confident in his words
Imre froze.
A duel? No one mentioned that…
The sun was already sinking.
"I have no choice," Imre said quietly.
They stepped outside.
The sky burned orange as the sun hovered near the horizon.
"I'm Arlan," he said confidently. "Son of Lidon. If I lose, I give up my spot."
"I'm Imre," he replied. "Son of Hiro Sorena. If I lose, I give up this spot."
The duel began.
Bare hands clashed.
Arlan moved first—his kick sent Imre lose his balance. A sharp punch followed, snapping his head to the side.
"It's over," Arlan said.
"No!" Imre shouted. "I didn't say I lost!"
Another strike.
By the end, Imre lay on the ground—bruised, bleeding, and unable to stand.
That night, the children lined up for lessons.
Imre stepped forward in torn, dirty clothes, one eye swollen shut.
"Step forward," Mort said, "those who couldn't find a chore."
Imre obeyed.
"You are dismissed," Mort said flatly. "You may join after three months."
"Teacher!" Arlan shouted.
"Speak."
"It's unfair to dismiss Imre," Arlan said. "I saw him try. People refused him because he's not from our village. He worked hard. He deserves another chance."
Imre looked at him with face of "what are you dooing?"
"Those who agree," Mort said, "step forward."
No one moved.
Only Arlan stood.
"I give my spot to Imre," he said.
"Are you stupid?" Imre said. "I lost. I should follow the rules."
"Arlan is dismissed," Mort said.
Arlan left.
Later that night after first lesson , Imre found him.
"Why did you do it?" Imre asked. "You won. You deserved the spot. i didn't ask your help or anything."
Arlan laughed.
"Ahahaha… you really want to know?"
"I do."
"I don't want to work," Arlan said casually.
"What nonsense! You'll miss lessons too."
"The first three months are just basic village knowledge and farm animals," Arlan shrugged. "It's a waste of time. I'd rather watch senior trainees train."
end of chapter 3