"Welcome, welcome everyone." Qyler called out heartily with a wide smile. There was a large spread of several dishes that could make one salivate, on the long table.
It was a chilly evening. Qyler Zhu, the village head, had prepared a lavish banquet for the elders from the Sanctum of Physicians. The physicians that'd arrived earlier in the afternoon were also present. Now officially qualified as disciples, the four winners of the examination— including Simon who was looking as bored as hell— were present. Clara was dressed in a pretty robe that her mother had reserved especially for a night like that. She sipped on her cup of wine, eyeing Simon at intervals.
She had a plan already and couldn't wait for it to unravel. What right did her useless have to become a disciple? He even stole her spotlight. She was the one who was supposed to be favored by the two elders from the academy. The more she thought about it, the angrier she felt. Just then, the first son of the village head—Tristan— walked in. His eyes met hers, and they both shared a look of agreement. Simon was going to be killed that night!
Tristan walked over to where Simon and the other disciples were sitting, with a haughty expression on his face. He'd been absent when Simon had treated his father, so he was still unaware that the young man leisurely looking around, was the expert he'd praised to the heavens.
"You, can't you see that the prince is standing before you?" Tristan asked arrogantly. Clara was the lady he fancied, and of course, he'd heard of how useless her brother was. He was determined to put him in his place, and scare him away from the banquet. Outside, he'd already prepared some hoodlums that'd beat him to death.
Simon ignored him and continued chatting with Gabriel. That served to further anger the arrogant prince. He was about to speak, when Simon beat him to it.
"To interrupt the disciples of the Sanctum of Physicians while they're having a good meal, despite being an incompetent prince, don't you have regards for your elders?" Simon asked calmly. He'd seen the prince around, and knew of his secret relationship with his sister. He was also aware that the duo had planned the poisoning of the village head. The incident had led to his capture, and so, if there was any feeling he bore towards this pompous fellow, it was hatred.
Tristan was taken aback by Simon's remark. As the latter had never talked back at him before, he didn't regard him too highly. When had he grown so confident? Anyway, he soon recovered. "You're at a banquet prepared by my father, so you have to treat me like your host." He sneered. He knew that Simon had been selected as one of the disciples, but knowing his record, he couldn't possibly have performed well. Tristan was certain that Clara had begged on his behalf. Thinking about Clara made him smile. Such a benevolent soul.
"Is that so? Are you asking me to leave?" Simon asked.
Tristan scoffed. "Stop acting like an expert. If the elders know how incompetent you are, they'll surely kick you off." He said confidently.
"Are you trying to say the elders chose me out of whim, and are incompetent?" Simon retorted, putting Tristan in a spot.
The prince's eyes rolled in panic. Everyone was looking at them at this point. When did the useless fool become tongue-powerful? Sweat poured down his back. He knew that whatever he said would push him deeper into the pit he just dug for himself.
"Haha, I'm sure my son was just making a casual joke. It's nothing to fight over. Allow me to invite the fairy maidens over. Music, please!" The village head called out at that moment. He wanted to give his son a hard knock on the head. He'd seen how respectful the elders were towards Simon, and he'd be a fool if he didn't know that there was about him. Yet, before he could forge a good relationship with him, that arrogant son of his just had to go and cause trouble. He'd teach him a lesson after the banquet.
"But Father–" Tristan started to protest, when his father slammed the table in displeasure. That shut him up. He went to his chair, seething in anger. He was initially hesitant about killing Simon, but now, every little pity he felt, vanished. He'd make him pay for embarrassing him in front of the guests. What he had to do now, was convince Simon to go outside. Once that was done, the rest would be a breeze. He sat impatiently, waiting for a moment to strike.
Simon stood up from his chair, whispered something to the elders, and left. Tristan heard their words clearly. Simon had told them that he was getting sleepy, and wanted to retire for the night. Tristan almost jumped up in happiness. He'd been thinking of ways to convince the idiot to leave the banquet hall, but it turned out he was worrying for nothing. He exchanged a smile with Clara, and even raised a cup of wine in her direction. Now that Simon was about to be killed, she didn't have to worry anymore.
…
The moon hung brightly in the sky, as Simon walked down the path that led to his parents house. Although a residence had been prepared for them—the new disciples— there was something he needed to pick from his room. His ears perked up just then, he had a feeling he was being followed. His lips curled into a smile. Fools. He didn't show any panic, instead, he began whistling. The path he was walking on was deserted, so there was only the chirping of nocturnal birds and insects to break through the silence at intervals. He clasped his hands behind his back, and on second thought, strolled towards the outskirts of the village. If he wanted to deal with the men following him, he wanted to do so without disturbance.
The leader of the hoodlums directed the others. "Remember what the prince said. Do not hold back. Beat him to death."
"Yes." The others whispered beneath their breath.
"What is he doing?" One of them questioned in panic when they saw that he was moving in another direction.
"Isn't that the path that leads to the outskirts of the village? What is he up to?" Another asked. They were moving through the bush, trailing behind Simon, and making sure he didn't move out of their sight.
"It doesn't matter if he has noticed us or not. We are seven in number. He can't possibly defeat all of us." Their leader bragged.
They followed the young boy until he stopped, then he turned towards their direction and called out, "You all can come out now." His voice was calm and collected, and they couldn't help being slightly fearful.
"He's trying to scare us. What strength can a little boy like him possess? We've dealt with stronger people, and killed them even with their resistance." One of the hoodlums snorted, as they surrounded Simon.
He chuckled. "To what do I owe this pleasure?" He roamed his eyes over the masked fellows. He was certain that he hadn't offended anyone recently. And even if his sister was mean sometimes, she couldn't possibly send—
He shook his head, pushing the thoughts away.
The leader stepped forward. "Stop speaking, and start begging for your life. Indeed, it's your honor to die by our blades." He grinned wickedly, showing off his yellow teeth.
"I have somewhere to be tonight, so I can't deal with you all individually. Why don't you all–" he paused and smiled brightly. "–come at me at once?" He suggested.
The men roared in anger, pulling out their swords from their belts.
"Shut up! You'll die tonight." The leader spat, his veins bulging on his head in anger. He exerted his might.
"Cultivator six realm? Not bad. Unfortunately, you're not a match for me." Simon chuckled. He shrugged. "Like I said, everyone, come at me at once. And if you won't, pardon me in advance." Then, his figure blurred. A sudden whirlwind filled the spot.
The men who'd been standing at their spots started falling down one by one as a great force struck their faces, crotch, and shoulders. Everywhere. Wherever he passed, someone would yell and fall down. Their cries of agony filled the night air. Shaking on the ground, they found that they couldn't move their bodies no matter how hard they tried. The leader of the group who'd been arrogant moments ago now had a horrified look on his face. He was a cultivator six realm expert! A cultivator with a strength comparable to the village head. Yet, he'd been defeated by this young boy that couldn't be up to twenty years old. Worse still, the others had been defeated too. From the start to the end, the boy didn't even exchange blows with them. When had such an expert appeared in the village?
Back at his position, Simon looked down at the men groaning on the ground. He patted the nonexistent dust from his robe, clasped his hands behind his back and asked.
"Who sent you?" His voice was icy.