Chapter 11
"Ow, ow, ow! My body aches all over," Zen could be heard screaming as he slowly opened his blurry eyes. He was staring at the clear blue sky with shrouds of white clouds drifting lazily across it.
The smell of fine dust wafted through his nose and almost made him sneeze, but he held it in because of the dull pain coursing through his aching body. Turning his head to the side, he saw a tree and then, in the blink of an eye, it zoomed past him.
Again, he caught sight of another tree, and before he could blink again, it vanished and was replaced with another. His eyes darted rapidly around the place in a panic as he immediately tried to sit up, only to be met with immense pain that caused him to yelp loudly.
"Be careful there. Otherwise, you'll reopen the wounds I managed to painstakingly patch," a voice sounded from nearby, and Zen quickly spun around to see the B-ranked Reaver sitting across from him.
His greatsword gleamed beside him in its sheath as he sat with one leg raised and the other lying freely on the soft board of some kind.
"Huh? Wh… wait! We're moving?" Zen muttered as he leaned forward and glanced down at what they were on.
They were on some sort of moving vehicle. It was a wagon that Zen had seen used in several animes of an old era, and now, he was actually in one.
The wagon rumbled along a dirt path in the forest, its large, iron-rimmed wheels creaking under the weight of its wooden frame.
At the front sat the driver, perched on a worn leather bench just behind the reins of two snorting horses. His seat was slightly raised, giving him a clear view of the road ahead, his shoulders gently swaying with each bump the wheels hit.
Behind him, the back section stretched like the bed of a primitive truck—broad and open, yet enclosed by wooden side panels that rose to about waist height.
The planks were old but sturdy, held together by thick iron bolts and reinforced with worn leather straps. A faded canvas canopy had once covered the top, but now only its frayed edges remained, fluttering weakly in the breeze like torn flags from forgotten battles.
Inside the wagon bed, Zen and Tom sat on simple benches fixed to the sides, their legs dangling or stretched out depending on the ride's bumps.
A few sacks of grain and worn traveling packs were crammed in beside them, swaying and shifting with every jolt the wagon took.
The scent of oiled wood, dust, and horse sweat clung to the air, mingling into something uniquely rustic and oddly calming.
Though it offered no luxury, the wagon was dependable and was built for both man and cargo. It was the kind of vehicle seen on trade routes, used by traveling merchants, soldiers on the move, or peasants relocating with everything they owned.
"Where are we headed in this thing? Wait! Have I been kidnapped?! Help!" Zen suddenly shouted as he slowly backed away from the B-ranked Reaver, who simply stared at him like he had lost his mind.
"Huh? Did that troll hit you on the head that hard?" Tom asked with a raised eyebrow, causing Zen to freeze as the memories of the past few hours finally came flooding back. "Weren't you the one that accepted my invitation?"
"Invita… ohh!" Zen muttered after realizing his mistake, then lightly facepalmed himself, although the motion still stung. "So we're headed to your clan?"
"Yes," Tom snorted as he crossed his arms in mock irritation, while Zen finally relaxed on the bench, breathing a deep sigh of relief.
"How is the hand?"
"Hand?" Zen asked, then turned to glance at his left hand. He could see the broken arm wrapped in a cloth of some kind, but surprisingly, he felt no pain anymore.
'I didn't even feel any pain.'
"It's fine for now," Zen muttered.
"I did what I could at the moment. When we get back, the clan will heal it up," Tom replied as he picked up his sword and twirled it lazily along the ground, letting the tip carve shallow trails in the dirt.
'So they've got healers? Interesting,' Zen thought, when a question suddenly popped into his head.
"Wait! Have I become a Reaver already? Just like that?" he exclaimed, causing Tom to chuckle loudly before that chuckle turned into a full-blown laugh.
"You're really a funny kid... I like you," Tom said, still laughing as he wiped a tear from the corner of his eye. Zen raised an eyebrow, not sure if he should feel offended or flattered.
"What's so funny?" Zen asked, frowning slightly.
"Do you think it's that easy to become a Reaver?" Tom asked, still chuckling. "If it was, all the inhabitants of this world would've become one by now."
"So how does one become a Reaver then? And why are you taking me to your clan?" Zen asked, one eyebrow still raised in suspicion.
"I'm taking you to my clan for your baptism. Since you've decided to join us, you need to go through a Baptism, which will determine if you're worthy of becoming a Reaver or not," Tom said with a smirk.
"Baptism? What does that mean? Wait! Am I going to be dipped into a river or something? Hold on! Is that where the name 'Reaver' came from? Since one needs to be dipped in a river to become one?" Zen asked, his tone a mix of confusion and wild curiosity.
Tom stared at him blankly, unamused. "You're kinda retarded, you know that? Baptism isn't about being dipped into a river or whatever your imagination is cooking up.
It's just another term for an assessment. You'll need to go through a specific trial so the clan can figure out what rank to place your dumb ass in."
"Oh! That's what you meant." Zen chuckled nervously, rubbing the back of his head.
"Yes, that's exactly what I meant," Tom scoffed, twirling his sword on the ground again, this time with a little more flair.
"So, for me to become an official Reaver, I have to go through this 'Baptism' thingy, and it'll determine what rank I'll be placed into, right?" Zen asked as he watched Tom, who had now settled comfortably on a bench across from him.
"Yes... your point?" Tom replied with a raised brow.
"No point, just asking. How many ranks are there? And will I be able to gain that cool ability of yours?" Zen asked, his eyes lighting up with eager curiosity.
'My best bet to defeat the Game Lord is to become a Reaver and not just any Reaver, but a strong one. I need a power similar to Mister Tom's if I want to survive in this world.'
"There are ten Reaver ranks," Tom said. Then he grinned, leaning forward slightly. "And to burst your bubble, no, you're not going to get any cool power just for becoming one."
"Wait, what?!" Zen shouted in utter shock, his jaw nearly hitting the ground.