Arnesh stood like a doll, stiff and uncertain, his eyes fixed on the commotion near the riverbank. The entire village had gathered, drawn by the sudden arrival of strangers. Their clothes were unlike anything the villagers wore—dark, fitted robes with faint stitching that shimmered when the light caught them. They moved with discipline, their voices sharp, their hands carrying tools and weapons. Some of them began raising simple houses with speed, setting up a camp as if they had done it a hundred times before.
Whispers rippled through the villagers.
"Hunh, who wants to learn from them?" one man muttered, arms crossed. "Just farming and fishing are enough for us. No need for their strange ways."
But others leaned closer, their curiosity winning over caution. "They say they only stay for a short while. Last year, they stayed two days, and then they vanished. Maybe this time it's different."
Mala nudged Arnesh's shoulder. "Hey, do you want to join? They'll be here only for one week. Didn't you always say you're happy when you learn new things? Go, it will be fun."
Arnesh shook his head firmly, his expression blank, though his hands signed quickly 'no'.
Mala smiled knowingly. "If your mother hears you learned something new, she'll be very happy."
His eyes lit up faintly. He signed again, hesitant: Really?
"Yes, really."
He tapped his fingers against his palm, forming another question. Come with me?
"I don't want to learn," Mala said, shrugging.
Arnesh lowered his hands at once. Then I'm not learning either.
A voice boomed from behind them. "Why are you trying to trick him, you bad girl?" It was Jaban-uncle, leaning on his stick with a grin that didn't quite hide his unease. "Go on, learn with him. Don't push him away."
Mala shook her head stubbornly. "I'm not coming. Their training is too hard."
Arnesh glanced between them, his small frame frozen, his silence deeper than words.
The strangers' camp was taking shape fast. Stakes hammered into the earth, canvas stretched, smoke rising from small fires. Some of them came forward to ask many things for help.
Then one of them spoke clearly, calling out to the villagers in a firm voice. "If there is any discomfort, if there are any ghosts or demons near your homes, tell us. We will clear them."
The crowd stirred uneasily. People pressed closer, pushing against each other to see. Mothers pulled their children by the wrists, men argued in hushed tones. Word spread quickly, and soon even people from the nearby village arrived, bringing their boys with them.
That woman in white and black robes, taller than the rest, climbed with calm ease onto a branch of the riverbank tree. She sat there, legs crossed. Her hair caught the evening light like steel. With one hand she rested a long sword against her shoulder, then, without warning, she unsheathed it and hurled it into the dirt. The weapon landed point-first, humming as it sank into the earth.
Her voice was cold and steady. "Check their pulse. Recruit the strong. Form five lines. If anyone takes a bribe…" Her eyes narrowed as she looked at the men around her. "…I'll know."
The recruiters and villagers near her shrank back, sweat breaking on their brows. No one doubted she meant every word.
The camp shifted into order. One by one, the boys and girls were pulled into lines, guided by sharp shouts. "Everybody in line! Hands out! Pulse check!"
Arnesh tugged Mala's sleeve, his signs sharp and hurried. Where is my mother? Did she come?
Mala sighed, shaking her head. "Didn't I say already? Your mother will come after seven days. Now it's only six. Do you know how to count?"
Arnesh nodded quickly and began showing her, tapping each joint of his fingers one by one. His focus was intense, his lips parted slightly in concentration.
Mala's tone softened. "Good."
He paused, then gestured again toward the strangers. What are they doing?
"They're selecting candidates," she explained, lowering her voice. "Those who pass will learn martial arts."
Arnesh frowned, his hands moving again. But nobody was here just now. How did so many come so quickly?
"They came from everywhere," Mala said, watching the crowd thicken around the camp.
Arnesh signed once more, sharp, insistent: From where?
Mala pointed across the riverbank. "They came from those nearby villages. Where were your eyes wandering just now?"
Arnesh followed her finger and froze. A group of boys and girls were moving in ways he had never seen before. Their bodies flowed like water, bending and turning with grace. At times they danced like petals drifting in the wind, other times they struck out in anger, fierce and sharp. One moment they laughed, spinning freely, and the next they moved as if weighed down by sorrow. Opposites collided in their movements, yet somehow it all looked like magic.
Arnesh's mouth hung open. He tugged at Mala's sleeve and signed quickly: Can I learn it?
Mala smirked. "Didn't you just say you didn't want to learn?"
He scratched his head twice, sheepish, then signed again: I want to learn.
Mala chuckled. "Then go to that line. See? Our village boys are standing there."
Sure enough, a few boys he'd seen that morning were already lined up. Five lines had formed in total, each village gathered together. Jaban uncle leaned in, voice booming, "Do you want to learn, boy?"
Arnesh nodded eagerly.
"Then go!"
Arnesh wasted no time. He darted off and squeezed himself into the line with his village boys, grinning as wide as the river.
Just then, the sharp-voiced girl who had been giving orders earlier leapt down from the tree. "Wait! This is boring!" she declared. "Let's make it fun for everyone." Her eyes scanned the crowd. "Is there any big place in this village?"
One man raised his hand nervously. "Near the river, where the fair takes place."
The girl clapped her hands. "Perfect! Everyone, move there!"
And like children at a festival, the whole crowd erupted in chatter and laughter, rushing toward the river.
....................
The woman balanced herself on the hilt of her sword with standing on it. Her gaze swept across the crowd of children and villagers who had gathered, and she raised her voice.
"So," she asked, grinning slightly, "do you all want to learn?"
There was an awkward silence until a skinny boy in the front blurted, "Yes, miss—but… what is it exactly?"
That opened the floodgates. A dozen whispers burst at once.
"What's she planning?"
"She just wants to scare them off."
"Maybe she'll make them wrestle ghosts!"
"No, no, she'll make them carry stones on their heads!"
The woman ignored the chatter, though her smirk widened, as if their nerves were already amusing her.
"Lines," she commanded suddenly. "Make three lines!"
The students shuffled into place, muttering and bumping shoulders. But when a few more children came running in, the woman tilted her head. "Hmm. Too many. Five lines. Seventeen each."
The villagers blinked. How did she count so quickly? But sure enough, after some shoving and counting fingers twice over, the children managed to form five uneven lines.
"Make some distance," she ordered.
They did, though the moment space opened, the chatter started up again. A boy leaned to his friend. "What's she going to do, make us swim across the river?" Another whispered back, "I bet she'll ask us to fight each other with sticks!"
The woman clapped her hands, silencing them. "There are too many of you. Testing one by one will take forever. So, I'll give you a single test. Watch carefully."
She dropped into a squat, her knees bent at a perfect right angle, arms stretched forward, back straight as a board. She held it for several seconds, then rose as smoothly as a reed swaying in the wind.
"Do this," she said simply.
The children looked at one another. "That's it?" someone muttered, almost laughing.
But the moment she barked "Now!" they all bent their knees, arms out like wooden dolls. Some wobbled immediately, others tried to act proud, but the whole formation looked more like a flock of confused birds than a disciplined group.
The woman calmly lit an incense stick, planting it in the dirt where the smoke curled up. "This will burn for one hour," she announced. "That is your time. A test of willpower. If you fall, you're disqualified. If you sleep, disqualified. If you push or cheat—disqualified. And time has already started."
Gasps and complaints rose at once.
"One hour?"
"My knees will break!"
"I thought training was about punching, not sitting like a frog!"
The woman didn't care. She sat back on her sword again, pulled out a fruit from somewhere in her robes, and began to eat, swinging her legs like a child perched on a wall.
Soon enough, the village heads shuffled forward, looking anxious. One cleared his throat politely. "Miss… forgive us, but can you not make it a little easier? In this way, many children will fall too quickly."
The woman raised her brows. "Easier? When I was selected, they made us hold bricks on our hands. If they slipped, we were finished. And each hour they added more bricks. Do you want me to bring bricks for these ones too? Shall we make it faster?"
The chiefs paled, shaking their heads. "No, no, that's not what we meant."
"Good," she said cheerfully, taking another bite of her fruit.
A few of her companions, standing behind, shifted uncomfortably. One finally stepped forward. "Miss, it's still too hard for them. Don't compare yourself with us. We're just common folk."
She waved her hand dismissively. "I know, I know. Don't flatter me. Don't worry. It's just a little test. See? They're standing fine."
Except they weren't.
Already, a boy in the second line was trembling like a leaf, his arms jerking forward and back. His friend whispered, "Straighten your back!" The boy whispered back through clenched teeth, "I can't feel my legs!"
Another child sneezed, almost toppling sideways, and the girl next to him hissed, "If you fall, I'll never forgive you!"
Behind them, villagers had started treating the whole thing like a festival. Some brought stools, others brought roasted corn, and a few children not in the lines began imitating the pose, wobbling dramatically and making everyone laugh.
One old man, squatting next to the line, muttered, "Hah, I could do this for two hours in my day." Five minutes later, he tried it himself and promptly toppled backwards, earning chuckles from the crowd.
The recruiter who had been quiet all along finally approached the woman. He was old, his back slightly bent, but his eyes sharp. "Miss," he said, voice dry, "if you keep sitting up there eating fruit while these children cry like frogs, the villagers will think you came to amuse yourself, not to recruit."
The woman glanced down, smiled, and tossed her fruit core into the river. "Amuse myself? Of course. But that's the point. If they can't handle even this, why waste time on them? Better they cry now than cry in real battle."
She didn't even bother to turn her head when she spoke, her voice carrying a sharp edge of restrained anger."Then why," she asked, each word slow and heavy, "did you not take the bribe to sneak his son inside, while pushing the good one out? And now, because of that, he even joined the demon practitioners."
The old recruiter shifted uncomfortably, his face twisting like a man caught with his hand in the grain jar. But instead of shame, he wore a shameless grin."He chose that path himself," he muttered, shrugging. "As for bribes, I don't know anything about that. Don't pin it on me. If the boy was truly good, he would've made it to the top quality. That's his failure, not mine."
Her lips twitched, almost a smile, but it was anything but kind."That boy you defended? He's fallen twice already. The other one—whom you dismissed—hasn't stumbled once." She tilted her head slightly, finally fixing him with her gaze. "Now tell me, who is the better one? Or shall I cut that foul mouth of yours, so you too can join the demons in their vengeance against me? Do you think I don't know about your dealings with them?"
For a heartbeat, silence hung.
The recruiter froze, face red, jaw clenched, eyes narrowing into slits. His stare was full of anger—but behind it was the panic of a secret dragged into daylight.
The others around them, villagers, assistants, even fellow recruiters, shifted nervously. A few exchanged glances, whispering behind their hands. Nobody dared speak aloud, but the suspicion was written all over their faces. The old man, once respected, suddenly looked very small in the crowd.
Meanwhile, on the training ground, the students' knees were wobbling. A few had gone stiff as scarecrows, others trembled like leaves in the wind. She saw it all and let out a short laugh, clapping her hands once."Now," she said, "it will truly begin."
The incense stick had almost burned down. Fifty-five minutes had passed—most of them spent with the children glaring at one another or whispering to themselves, wondering why they agreed to this madness. Then it happened.
A thud echoed from the tenth row. One boy hit the ground, groaning. Another from the eleventh row crumpled right after him, then a girl in the sixteenth row, and suddenly the line of strength cracked. One after another, they dropped like flies. Some went down singly, some in pairs, and once an entire row collapsed together like dominos.
From the first row to the back, bodies toppled. By the time the stick's ash trembled on its last breath, twenty-seven had fallen.
She raised her hand. "Go silently," she instructed. And those who had failed dragged themselves out without a word, heads bowed, faces pale.
The survivors stood panting, their eyes wide, hearts thundering.
"Don't sit down," she warned sharply, her voice cracking like a whip. "The next stage begins immediately. Those who quit now, remember—you might still have potential, but this path is not for you."
She leapt down from the sword in one fluid motion, the blade itself shooting skyward, spinning before she caught it effortlessly. With a single sweep, she sliced through nearby branches. Thick limbs and smaller sticks rained down upon the students.
"Hold them!" she ordered.
Branches of different weights and lengths landed in their arms. Some unlucky souls got massive chunks thicker than their own arms, while others clutched thin twigs. A few dared complain until they saw her eyes glittering—then they shut their mouths quick.
She planted herself on a pile of leaves and lit another incense stick. "Second round," she said casually, popping a fruit into her mouth.
The students groaned but obeyed, standing stiff with branches across their arms. Minutes crawled like hours. On the seventh fall, the moment the stick had nearly burned down, she snapped her fingers.
"Stop. Enough."
Out of the original crowd, forty-three still stood. Sweat-soaked, shaking, some near tears, but standing.
She hopped lightly to her feet and surveyed them with the look of a general choosing soldiers for war. Then she smiled for the first time, wide and dangerous."So, we've got it. Our journey begins tomorrow. Seven days. It may be extended, if I discover any jewel among you along the way."
The students looked at one another nervously, unsure whether "jewel" meant glory or more torture.
"Disperse now," she said with a dismissive wave. "Come back tomorrow morning. The bell will ring."
As they shuffled off, she called after them with one last sharp question, almost teasing:"By the way—where are you all going to stay tonight? Hm?"
The village head raised his hand gently and spoke with calm authority."Don't worry. We have a place for you all to stay."
Arnesh turned at the sound of his name. His sister hurried toward him, her eyes flicking up and down, checking for bruises."Did you hurt yourself anywhere?" she asked breathlessly.
He shook his head, a smile slipping across his lips. "No. I'm fine. And… I was selected."
Her shoulders eased as if a weight had been lifted. She placed a hand on his cheek. "Very good. Let's go home now. You'll understand everything tomorrow."
But their quiet moment was broken. A sharp voice rose above the crowd."Elder sister! Didn't you say you would punish the one who beat me?"
The crowd turned. It was the general's son, puffed up with arrogance, his voice piercing through the chatter. The girl's expression hardened as she looked his way."Who?" she asked flatly.
He jabbed a finger toward Arnesh. "Him!"
Her gaze followed the boy's hand, landing on her brother. Without hesitation she replied, "Go. I am not interested."
The general's son stomped his foot, his face red with anger. "You promised me!"
Her voice stayed calm, unflinching. "I never promised you anything."
"You did!" the boy screamed, his words tangled with childish fury.
Before anyone could speak further, a fat pig-like creature, strange yet oddly nimble, leapt onto the girl's back. Its squealing voice rang out, "I will not get down until you fix a match with him. I want to beat him!"
She tilted her head slowly, her eyes sharp. "Did you learn all this only to beat someone? Hmph. I will put you to sleep and throw you into the river. Perhaps you'll float somewhere far away, or perhaps you'll drown. I don't care. Do you want that? Just like him?"
The pig's eyes widened. It gave a startled squeal, then scrambled down from her shoulder and waddled straight to its master, the general. The boy burst into tears, wailing loud enough for every villager to hear.
The crowd stiffened. They wanted to laugh at the ridiculous sight, but none dared. This was the general's son, the same man whose cruelty last year had left scars in the village. He had killed two men for failing to deliver revenue and burned down homes for his elder son's amusement. No one dared mock him, no matter how pathetic he looked.
The general's face darkened. He pointed directly at Arnesh."Catch that boy!"
Five soldiers broke into a sprint, their armour rattling. Dust kicked up behind their boots as they lunged forward.
For a moment, Arnesh stood frozen, his heart thundering. But instinct carried him. His body moved like water, slipping sideways, smooth and silent. A soldier's hand swiped at him, but he was gone, gliding like a fish darting between reeds.
Another soldier lunged, yet Arnesh's body twisted again, his movement almost unconscious. To the villagers watching, it was like he wasn't fighting at all — only flowing.
The general roared. "What are you doing? You can't even catch that boy? Why did I raise you all? Just a bunch of donkeys!"
His rage only fuelled the soldiers' desperation. They fanned out, circling Arnesh. Dust clouded around them, the crowd holding its breath.
One soldier finally managed to corner him. Arnesh bent suddenly, scooping a fistful of dirt. He snapped his wrist, sending dust spraying into the man's eyes. The soldier stumbled back, cursing, clawing at his face. In the same motion, Arnesh's hand darted forward like a dagger, striking the side of the man's neck. The soldier collapsed with a muffled groan.
Gasps echoed.
Another soldier charged, teeth gritted. Again Arnesh used the earth, hurling sand into the man's eyes before driving a quick jab across his face. The man staggered, blood welling from his nose as he fell.
The last three came together this time, no longer underestimating him. Their arms shot out from different angles, and this time, Arnesh could not slip free. Hands clamped around his wrists and shoulders, pinning him. His body strained, but the grip was iron.
The villagers flinched. Some wanted to cry out, but the general's burning glare held them silent.
Mala, who had been shoved aside earlier in the scuffle, stumbled toward the front. Her breath came heavy, her eyes darting toward the village head. Desperation filled her face as she pressed her palms together. She was about to plead, to beg the elder to intervene before Arnesh was broken before their eyes.
The square was silent except for the soldiers' heavy breaths and the boy's muffled struggling. The villagers' legs trembled, hearts torn between fear and justice. The general's son smirked through his tears, satisfied that vengeance was near.
...............
The general leaned back on his chair, the rough edge of authority etched into his voice as he asked,"Then tell me—what do you want from him?"
The challenger spat into the dirt and pulled a rough circle on the ground with his boot, glaring as though the dust itself were his enemy."I'll beat him to death," he said without hesitation, "even if I lose to him. I'll crush him after."
The general barked a laugh that sounded more like contempt than humor. "So you admit already you'll lose? Fool. Very well. Surround the circle!" His order cracked through the crowd like a whip. Soldiers moved at once, forming a wall of iron and leather around the ring. "When my son loses, you'll be allowed to beat him. And you—" his eyes locked on the boy standing quietly to the side, "you will fight him."
The boy frowned. His voice came out calm but puzzled, "Why?"
"Because that is my order," the general snapped. "That is it."
Before he could object further, the soldiers shoved him into the circle, throwing him into the dirt. Across from him stood the brute already waiting, broad shoulders, belly hanging like a sack of meat, eyes sharp with cruelty. The pig boy grinned, showing crooked teeth, and raised a single finger toward him in mockery.
The general folded his arms, sneering. "What's that? Some condition? Don't ask for forgiveness, boy. It's funny you think you can bargain. Speak it."
The boy stayed silent, only gesturing with his hand.
The general blinked. "Wait… you're signing?" His eyes swept across the crowd. "That girl. You understand this foolish tongue, don't you?"
Mala hesitated, then nodded.
"Then tell us."
Her voice trembled as she translated, "He says… if he loses by his own mistake, then that means he has won. And he'll walk away."
A pause.
Then the general erupted into laughter, booming, mocking. The sound caught the crowd like dry grass to a spark, and soon the air was thick with jeers and laughter. "Did you hear that?" the general bellowed. "He thinks this counts as a victory!" Soldiers slapped each other's backs. Villagers shook their heads. Even Mala lowered her gaze, her face burning.
Jaban, the old uncle by her side, grunted. "Why didn't he just beg forgiveness? Even that bastard brute is human… better to bow your head once than be broken."
Mala whispered back, her throat tight, "I don't know. He's being foolish. Or maybe…" She could not finish.
The general raised his arm. "Enough talk. Begin!"
Silence crashed over the crowd. Dust lifted in the circle as the two locked eyes.
The pig boy snorted, stamping his feet like a bull, then charged forward. His punch landed deep into the boy's stomach before he could react. The sound was a hollow crack, and the boy's body flew back, rolling across the dirt before crashing outside the circle.
The crowd exploded, cheers, whistles, laughter. Some mocked him openly, shouting insults. Soldiers grabbed him by the arms, dragging his dazed body and tossing him back into the ring as if he were no more than fodder.
The brute wasted no time. Another punch. Another fall.
And again.
And again.
Five times the soldiers threw him back in, and five times he was struck down, blood splattering from his mouth on the fourth, his body trembling with each impact. Mala clutched her chest, every blow burning into her as though her own ribs were shattering. She tried to move, to push through, but the soldiers barred her path with the flat of their spears.
By the sixth punch, the boy collapsed in the centre of the ring, sprawled and gasping, crimson soaking his lips. Dust clung to his skin, sweat running into his wounds. The brute loomed over him, laughing, the cheer of the crowd swelling behind him like a storm.
"Bastard!" the pig shouted, grabbing the boy's head by his hair and yanking it up. "Where is your power now? Did you not eat today? Fool! Weakling! Take this!"
He slammed the boy's face into the ground with a force that made even the earth groan. Then the beating began in earnest—kicks into his ribs, fists into his back, stomps to his legs. Each strike was brutal, messy, fuelled by arrogance. The boy's body jerked with each blow, yet he never raised his hands to block, never made a sound.
The crowd roared approval. Their voices blurred into a single violent chant, feeding the pig's frenzy. Victory was certain, or so it seemed.
But arrogance is a blindfold.
So consumed with his triumph, the brute forgot the ring's boundary. He stepped back after a particularly vicious kick, arms raised high, roaring with pride, his heel sliding just past the circle's edge. The soldiers didn't notice. The general didn't notice. The crowd was too busy screaming.
Only one person did.
That woman who was taking the test.
Through the blur of her tears, she caught it, the boy's lips curling into a faint, bloody smile. He lay broken on the ground, yet that smile was sharper than a blade.
And the boy, battered and bleeding, lay there smiling.
............
............
So what truly happened after that? Did he really lose, or was the pig boy the one who walked away defeated? What secret was hidden behind that faint smile?
How will the training unfold after this, under the harsh eyes of the general, or in the shadows of something greater?
For knowing it, read Nirbindra.
To be continued…