Someone in the back laughed nervously, but abruptly stopped.
The man brushed past the kid and stared at me with eyes that plainly showed something was deeply wrong with him – at least mentally. I have come across people like that before, and some of them I knew personally. They had neverexperienced the more common feelings of remorse or even sadness. They were built differently, and incapable of such emotions. They saw the world as one big playground where the strong always dominated the weak, and derived pleasure from the sufferings of others.
When dealing with sickos, it was important to stay calm. They always let their rage control the fight, making it easy to anticipate their next move.
“Care to repeat that?”
“Like hearing it?” I smiled.
“I will mess you up so bad that your red haired whore will not recognize you.”
Instead of answering, I flicked the towel from off my shoulder and whipped his face with a wet corner. I clenched my teeth, summoning all of my self-control not to beat his face to a pulp. I really wanted to. I would enjoy splitting his skin, and breaking his bones.
So much for keeping my cool.
“My eyes! My eyes!” he wailed, covering his face.
I stepped closer, watching his face.
“If I ever see you talking to anyone here. I will cut your body into pieces. And feed you to the crawlers outside the walls,” I promised in a low voice.
I threw the towel back over my shoulder, and walked through the room, not caring to check what his friends were up to.
“Look at his back!” someone whispered when I was picking up my boots.
As I walked down the corridor, I could hear someone running after me. I stopped and turned my head slightly, almost welcoming a second round. But it was not to be. The kid I had just helped appeared from around the corner.
“Mister?” he said as his voice cracked.
“What do you want?”
“Thank you.”
“Sure.” I resumed my walk.
“Wait! Can I . . . Can you . . .?”
“What? You have to speak up.”
“Can you teach me how to fight?” he blurted out and bowed, waiting for my response. “I know I don’t look very promising, but I’m a good scholar, I can learn anything.”
“You're joking, right?”
“Please, sir. I need to get stronger if I want to survive the year.”
“Year?”
“It was the only path to become an officer.”
“Why officer?”
“My family, sir. I’m the youngest son and I had to enlist. My grades are excellent, but I’m lacking military training and did not pass all the tests to skip private.”
“Is that so?”
I don’t need this. I don’t have the time. I need to concentrate on what’s really important. Whenwould I have the time to help out the kid?
“Sorry, I don’t have time for you.”
