The following morning, the dense Backlund smog had barely begun to lift when Shen arrived back at the Brass Hound Mercenary Club.
He had changed out of his tailored waistcoat and expensive overcoat from the previous day, opting instead for a loose-fitting linen shirt with the sleeves rolled past his elbows, durable canvas trousers, and sturdy leather boots.
Zayros was already waiting for him in the center of the large indoor training yard.
The massive mercenary had wrapped his knuckles in thick, stained linen cloth and was casually stretching his arms, his muscles rolling beneath his scarred skin like thick steel cables.
"You look a little more dressed for the occasion today, kid," Zayros called out, dropping his arms and turning to face Shen. "Let's get right to it. How much do you actually know about fighting? Have you ever been in a real brawl, or just read about them in those fancy books of yours?"
"If by 'real brawl' you mean throwing a punch with the actual intent to hurt someone, then yes, I did throw a few punches here and there," Shen admitted honestly, dropping his leather bag near the wooden benches. "Also, I can run quite well, and my balance is excellent, but my formal combat experience is nonexistent."
"Honest. I like that," Zayros grunted, stepping forward. "We'll start from the bottom, then. Put your hands up."
For the next hour, Zayros walked him through the fundamentals of close-quarters combat.
He showed Shen how to position his feet to maintain balance, how to keep his chin tucked to avoid a knockout blow, and how to guard his ribs without blinding his own line of sight.
He slowly and carefully explained how to throw a proper punch—driving the force from the floor, through the hips, and into the knuckles—and how to shift his weight to create openings.
Shen listened intently; his good memory allowed him to memorize the instructions with perfect clarity.
Then he tried to mirror Zayros's stances, adapting his body to the unfamiliar sensation slowly.
"You mimic the movements quite well," Zayros noted, his sharp brown eyes evaluating Shen's stance.
"But a fight isn't all about mimicking others. And knowing where to put your feet means absolutely nothing if you freeze when someone tries to cave your face in. Books and words can only teach you the theory of violence."
Zayros cracked his neck, a loud, heavy sound echoing in the quiet yard. "Many things can only be taught through experience, Shen. And the only way to truly gain that experience is to feel the consequence of a mistake."
Wait. What does he mean by—
Before the thought could even finish forming in Shen's mind, Zayros moved.
The massive mercenary lunged forward with a speed that completely defied his enormous size. A heavy, linen-wrapped fist blurred through the air, aimed directly at Shen's jaw.
Shen's eyes widened in sheer panic. He controlled his body on instinct, forcing himself to throw his upper body backward at an impossible angle.
Zayros's fist sailed mere inches over Shen's nose, the sheer wind pressure of the strike rushing over his face.
Shen didn't even have time to breathe before Zayros followed up with a sweeping kick aimed at his legs.
Using his extreme flexibility, Shen pushed off his back foot, twisting his torso mid-air and launching himself into a desperate, acrobatic handspring to avoid the sweep.
He landed a few feet away, panting heavily, his heart hammering against his ribs.
Zayros paused, lowering his fists slightly. The mercenary stared at Shen for a moment before letting out a booming, genuinely amused laugh.
"Damn, what the hell was that, kid?" Zayros chuckled, highly entertained by the display. "You dodge like a circus clown! I've never seen a man bend his spine like that without breaking it. Your flexibility is absolutely insane."
"I told you my balance was excellent," Shen wheezed, keeping his hands up.
"It is," Zayros agreed, his grin widening into something distinctly predatory. "But dodging like an acrobat takes too much energy, and it leaves you completely airborne and vulnerable. Let's see how well you flip when I stop holding back."
Holding back?!
Shen screamed internally.
Zayros surged forward again, and this time, the speed and ferocity of his attacks were suffocating.
Shen tried to rely on his footwork, desperately attempting to implement the defensive maneuvers Zayros had just taught him.
He ducked under a heavy right hook, completely intending to create an opening and counterattack the ribs, but Zayros was already there.
The mercenary seamlessly transitioned the missed hook into a devastating elbow strike that shattered Shen's guard.
Shen's arms were knocked aside, leaving his center completely exposed.
Zayros drove a brutal, piston-like punch directly into Shen's stomach.
The impact sounded like a heavy wooden mallet striking a slab of wet meat. Shen's eyes bulged from their sockets as all the oxygen was violently forced from his lungs.
His feet actually lifted off the floor. Saliva, mixed with a frightening spray of blood, shot from his mouth as his internal organs felt as though they had been thrown into a blender.
The sheer force of the blow flung Shen completely across the training yard. He crashed heavily into the dirt, rolling several times before coming to a halt.
Before Shen could even curl into a fetal position to manage the blinding agony, a heavy boot slammed directly into his ribs.
Crack!
Shen choked on a scream, his vision flashing violently with dark, suffocating spots.
He tried to scramble backward, completely abandoning any semblance of proper technique, but Zayros was merciless.
The mercenary grabbed him by the collar, hauled him up, and threw him back down onto the hard-packed dirt, following it with a series of heavy, calculated strikes that systematically dismantled Shen's ability to move.
By the time Zayros finally stepped back, Shen was lying flat on his back, staring blankly at the high ceiling of the warehouse, seeing illusory figures waving at him from beyond who knows where.
His entire body felt as though it had been trampled by an out-of-control steam carriage. He couldn't draw a full breath without his ribs screaming in agony; his face was rapidly swelling, and his head spun so violently he thought he might vomit.
Why did I decide to do this again?
Shen thought in a daze.
I should have just put all my effort into acting, digested the damn potion, and advanced to Sequence 8. Surely the next Sequence would have given me some actual fighting ability, right?
As he wallowed in his pain and deep regret, the heavy, thudding footsteps of Zayros approached him.
Shen couldn't even lift his head to see what the man was doing. A moment later, Zayros crouched beside him, unsnapping a small leather pouch at his belt.
He pulled out a tiny glass vial filled with a pale, shimmering green liquid.
"Open your mouth, kid," Zayros ordered gruffly.
Without giving it a single conscious thought, driven entirely by his dazed, pain-addled state, Shen parted his bloody lips. Zayros poured the cold, herbal-tasting liquid down Shen's throat.
The effects were instantaneous.
A wave of soothing, deeply comforting warmth exploded from Shen's stomach, rushing outward through his bloodstream.
The agonizing, sharp pain in his cracked ribs vanished. The swelling around his eyes receded, his bruised muscles knitted back together, and the metallic taste of blood in his mouth completely disappeared.
Within ten seconds, Shen felt exactly as he had when he first walked into the building.
He sat up abruptly, his eyes wide with shock. He patted his chest, finding absolutely no trace of the catastrophic damage he had just suffered.
"What... what was that?" Shen asked, his voice trembling slightly in disbelief.
"A healing draught from the Church of the Earth Mother," Zayros explained casually, tossing the empty glass vial into a nearby bin. "It's highly effective for dealing with minor injuries and keeping a training session moving."
Shen stared at him, his lips twitching violently.
Minor injuries?!
Shen lampooned furiously in his mind.
You punched me so hard I literally saw my ancestors waving at me from the afterlife! I had internal bleeding and cracked ribs! In what twisted, psychotic world is that a 'minor injury'?!
However, as the shock of the miraculous healing faded, a sudden realization crashed over Shen like a bucket of ice water.
He froze, staring at his own trembling hands.
I just drank an unknown, suspicious potion given to me by a complete stranger,
Shen realized, a cold sweat breaking out on his neck.
I didn't ask what it was, didn't inspect it. I just opened my mouth and swallowed it because I was in pain.
It had been a healing potion this time, but what if it had been something else? What if Zayros was an enemy?
What if the vial had contained a lethal poison, or a Beyonder potion that would have caused him to lose control and mutate into a monster?
Sigh... I cannot afford to be careless like this again.
Shen reprimanded himself harshly, gripping his knees tightly.
This is not a game. A single moment of thoughtless trust in this world will cost me my life. I have to be careful.
Taking a deep, steadying breath, Shen looked up at Zayros, making sure to ignore his mixed emotions. "That potion... it must have been incredibly expensive. How much did it cost? I can pay you back for it."
Shen hated being in debt, especially in a world where debts could sometimes carry mystical consequences.
If he could settle the ledger right here and now, he wanted to do it. Of course, if Zayros was just handing out free, life-saving items, Shen wouldn't refuse, but he needed to know exactly where he stood with this free gift.
Zayros casually waved his massive hand, dismissing the concern. "Don't worry about it, kid. The hundred pounds you paid me yesterday was more than enough to cover it."
Shen blinked in surprise. "You used my training fee to buy a healing potion for me?"
"I don't need a hundred pounds just to throw you at the dirt for a few hours," Zayros snorted, crossing his arms.
"I took half of that money as my actual training fee. The other fifty pounds went toward buying a small batch of those Earth Mother potions specifically for this. If I'm going to beat the combat instincts into you, I need you conscious and unbroken."
Shen stared at the mercenary, a complex feeling rising in his chest. Zayros was brutal and intimidating, but he was also surprisingly honorable and entirely practical.
Zayros cracked his knuckles again. "Alright, you're fully healed. Get up. Let's go again."
Shen looked at the man's massive fists, a nervous sweat breaking out on his forehead. "Zayros, that training was absolutely brutal. Can I at least take an hour break to process what just happened? I am still injured, you know."
Zayros threw his head back and laughed, a booming, merciless sound. "No! You are completely healed from those minor injuries, kid! Your body is perfectly fine. The only thing hurting right now is your pride. Get your hands up!"
And just like that, the second beatdown commenced.
Shen tried to implement the defensive guards, but Zayros broke through them with terrifying efficiency. Shen was systematically dismantled from his arms down to his legs.
He felt the terrifying, sickening sensation of his bones actually fracturing under the mercenary's heavy strikes.
At one point, as Zayros delivered a spinning backhand that sent Shen crashing into a wooden support pillar, Shen genuinely saw the blurry, welcoming gates of death flashing before his eyes.
He was given another potion to be healed. Then he was immediately beaten again.
By the time the fourth round began, however, something changed.
He started to sense and adapt to these fast, heavy punches, and respond fluidly to them.
As Zayros lunged forward with another heavy hook, Shen didn't panic. He saw the slight dip of Zayros's shoulder, the pivot of his lead foot.
With extreme ease and a perfectly fluid motion, Shen slipped entirely under the massive fist, shifting his weight flawlessly.
He created a textbook opening and drove his fist directly upward into Zayros's exposed liver.
The punch connected perfectly.
But it had absolutely zero effect.
Zayros didn't even flinch. Instead, the mercenary used Shen's extended posture as an opportunity, grabbing Shen by the collar and shoulder, lifting him entirely off his feet, and thrashing him into the dirt with a devastating hip toss.
Shen hit the ground hard, his head spinning dizzily from the impact. But he quickly stabilized his breathing, rolling backward and springing to his feet.
He fought back faster now, abandoning his previous hesitation. He kept his guard tight, ensuring he left absolutely no openings for the older man to easily utilize. He couldn't hurt Zayros, but he could definitely avoid getting beaten up by him.
By the time the fifth round concluded, the pale light of the afternoon sun was filtering through the high windows of the warehouse.
Shen was completely exhausted, his lungs burning and his shirt drenched in sweat, but he remained standing.
He was now exceptionally good at utilizing the footwork Zayros had taught him, seamlessly adapting his movements to dodge, parry, and survive this man's overwhelming assaults.
Zayros finally lowered his hands, signaling a break.
Shen collapsed onto the wooden bench, his stomach letting out a loud, demanding growl. The rapid healing and intense physical exertion had burned through his caloric reserves entirely.
Zayros tossed him a heavy package wrapped in brown paper. Inside were several thick, spiced meat sandwiches and a loaf of bread.
Shen didn't even care about table manners; he tore into the food with aggressive gusto, eating like a starved animal.
Zayros walked over, pulling up a wooden crate to sit opposite Shen, laughing quietly at the display.
"Look at you, eating like a man condemned," Zayros praised, wiping sweat from his own brow.
"I'll be honest, kid. You learn so fast it's almost terrifying. You have a genuinely monstrous talent for physical combat. Most grown men would have quit after the first broken rib. You took five rounds and figured out my footwork."
When Shen finally finished eating, his stomach comfortably full and the exhaustion settling into a pleasant, heavy warmth, he offered a tired, happy smile. "I prefer not to get hit, so learning quickly seemed like the best option."
Zayros chuckled, standing up and stretching. "Ok, we will end the session here for today. You did good, kid. Go home and take a good rest."
Shen didn't need to be told twice. He agreed readily, grabbed his coat and bag, and practically sprinted for the exit before Zayros could change his mind and offer him another 'minor' beatdown.
Seeing the young man fleeing so quickly, Zayros just chuckled deeply, shaking his head in amusement.
Shen took two full days off to let his mind and spirit rest from the sheer trauma of the training.
When he returned to the Brass Hound on the third day, he was fully prepared for another grueling session.
However, Zayros changed the curriculum.
"Your flexibility is your greatest strength, Shen," Zayros explained, circling the young man in the yard. "Last time you dodged like an acrobat with flashy movements, which I mocked before because it wastes energy and leaves quite a lot of openings that could be exploited. Which is still true."
"But if we use that flexibility more thoroughly, we can create a martial arts style suited specifically for your flexible kind of body."
For the next session, Zayros abandoned the standard boxing forms. He taught Shen how to utilize his unnatural agility to dodge attacks while simultaneously creating unpredictable openings.
More importantly, Zayros taught him how to take advantage of those openings using absolutely any means necessary.
"Listen up, Shen, and drill it into your head; there is no honor in a real fight," Zayros barked, sweeping Shen's legs and nearly dropping him. "If you find an opening, take advantage of it! I don't care how; use any cheap, dirty, or unfair tricks. Throw dirt! Stomp on their toes! Feint a surrender and break their nose!"
Keeping that brutal philosophy in mind, Zayros became significantly more aggressive.
He utilized dirty tricks himself—feinting low to strike high, stepping heavily on Shen's boots to pin him in place, using his superior weight to crush Shen's guard, and throwing dust in his eyes.
He kept forcing Shen to learn how to notice these subtle changes in rhythm and take advantage of them.
Teaching him how to identify and mercilessly attack vital areas—the throat, knees, liver, nose, and eyes.
He taught him how to maintain relentless pressure, placing a heavy, suffocating burden on an enemy to ensure they never had the time to think about their next move.
Shen absorbed it all like a sponge.
Though the beating still continued, he was no longer a helpless punching bag. He used his sharp mind to analyze the dirty tactics, adapting to them with terrifying speed.
By the end of that brutal session, Shen dragged himself home, his entire body aching. Yet, he was satisfied because, after these two sessions, he had become good enough at close-quarters combat to properly defend himself.
After that, he booked four more sessions with the mercenary.
Over the next two weeks, Shen spent his days at the Brass Hound, training from early morning until the afternoon, taking a brief rest to eat, and continuing to fight until the evening shadows stretched across the yard.
During his breaks, he practiced his shooting skills, seamlessly blending his exceptional marksmanship with his martial arts.
By his seventh session, he was no longer a beginner; he was well-versed in hand-to-hand combat.
He and Zayros had also become very familiar with one another. The initial professional distance had faded, replaced by the easy, comfortable camaraderie of two men who regularly punched each other in the face.
During a late afternoon break, as they sat on the wooden benches drinking water, Zayros suddenly lowered his voice. The yard was empty, but the mercenary leaned in close, his sharp brown eyes entirely serious.
"Let me ask you something quietly, kid," Zayros murmured. "Are you... a Wild Beyonder?"
Shen stiffened instantly. His heart skipped a beat, his muscles tensing as he prepared to either fight or flee. He forced his face into a mask of total, innocent confusion.
"A Beyonder?" Shen asked nervously, making his tone sound ignorant of the term. "What is a Beyonder? Are you talking about those occult myths from the tabloids?"
Zayros stared at him for a long moment before throwing his head back and laughing loudly.
"Relax, kid, relax!" Zayros chuckled, waving a massive hand to calm him down. "Your acting is terrible when you panic. You don't need to worry about being found out by me. I'm a Beyonder myself."
Shen blinked, genuinely surprised by the casual admission. "You are?"
"Yep, I am a Sequence 8 Pugilist of the Warrior Pathway," Zayros revealed proudly, tapping his heavily scarred chest. "That's why you couldn't hurt me no matter how perfectly you landed those strikes. My skin and muscles are practically armor."
Shen let out a slow, deeply relieved breath.
"Don't worry, Shen. Your secret is completely safe with me," Zayros promised, his tone shifting into genuine sincerity. "I won't ask what Pathway you belong to, or what Sequence you are, as long as you don't want to tell me. We all have our secrets."
"Then why did you bring it up?" Shen asked cautiously.
"Because the thing is, I need a favor. And you're the only person I trust right now who has the skills to handle it," Zayros explained, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees.
"I'm incredibly busy tracking down a bounty target right now with my men, but I need an ingredient for my advancement to Sequence 7, Weapon Master."
Shen's interest was immediately piqued. "What do you need?"
"The ear of a Six-Armed Gray Ape," Zayros answered. "It's the main ingredient I'm missing. I need someone to go to a specific Beyonder gathering and purchase it for me."
Zayros reached into his heavy coat and pulled out a thick envelope filled with cash. He tossed it onto the bench beside Shen.
"Here is a thousand pounds in there," Zayros said. "That is more than enough to buy the ingredient. The gathering is being hosted in two days by a man known as the Eye of Wisdom."
Shen's eyes widened slightly in shock.
Eye of Wisdom's gathering?
Shen recognized that name instantly. It was one of the most prominent and reliable Beyonder gatherings in Backlund, hosted by the wealthy detective Isengard Stanton—the very same gathering that Klein would eventually frequent under the alias of Sherlock Moriarty.
"I will accept this commission," Shen agreed, picking up the heavy envelope.
Zayros grinned widely, winking at the young man. "Good. Use that thousand pounds to buy the ear. And hey, if you manage to haggle the price down with your silver tongue, you can keep whatever is left over as your payment."
Zayros let out a booming laugh, clapping Shen on the shoulder one last time.