Lord of Caldera

The tension in the village is palpable as the village chief, furious and nursing his bruises, gathers the villagers to march toward Sylas's hut. He arms them with farming tools—sickles, pitchforks, and pickaxes—turning them into makeshift weapons.

One of the younger men hesitates, voicing his concern,

"Chief, isn't this a bit much?"

It was hard to justify twenty men against a fifteen-year-old boy. It seemed excessive, almost absurd.

"What do you mean, too much?" the chief snapped, pointing to his swollen face. 

"You see this? That brat Sylas hit me with a club ! I'm bruised all over !"

"Did Sylas really do that?"

Another villager asked, still skeptical.

"He's always been quiet; why would he suddenly act like that?"

The villagers had a simple perception of Sylas. While he may have had his grievances, he was sensible enough not to act on them openly. It was difficult for them to believe he had attacked the village chief.

"He went wild when I mentioned his debt!"

The chief continued, seething.

"He should have just accepted it if he owed it, but he dared to lash out! That ungrateful brat!"

Ralph, the mill owner, grumbled in return,

"Well, why did you have to bring up the debt? Everything was fine until you stirred things up."

The chief's face twitched with irritation.

"You think I mentioned his debt just to squeeze a little more out of him?"

"What other reason would you have ?" Ralph asked.

"I was trying to keep him tied to the village !"

The chief explained, clutching his chest in frustration.

"Think about it! That boy might obey us now, but how long do you think that'll last ? It's obvious he's only going along with it because he has no choice."

"But where else would he go ? This village is the only place where he can sell his goods. Traveling elsewhere would be much more difficult for him," Ralph argued.

The chief's expression darkened.

"He could leave the village altogether. Have you already forgotten about Norman, the outsider from fifteen years ago?"

The villagers flinched. Norman and his family had come from the north years ago, and while Sylas was born here, there was no guarantee he wouldn't leave just as his family did.

"Logically, it makes sense for him to stay,"

The chief continued.

"Starting over in another village is no easy feat. But do you think a hot-headed boy considers those things?"

The older villagers nodded, recalling their own youthful recklessness. They knew how impulsive young men could be.

"That's why I tried to tie him down with debt. That way, he'd be stuck here, unable to leave. But who could've predicted he'd react like this?"

The villagers' faces turned grim. The chief had a point—if Sylas had gone so far as to strike him, he had likely made up his mind to leave. And if he did, where would they get their supply of cheap meat and hides ?

"Now that I think about it, this is quite a serious problem."

"It is. But, now that things have come to this, it's actually a good thing."

"Huh? What do you mean by that?"

If Sylas's mind was already set on leaving, he must be preparing to flee at any time. But what did he mean by saying it's a good thing? The villagers, confused, looked to the chief for an explanation.

"We won't have to depend on that brat Sylas any longer. We'll beat him up to show him what's what, and in exchange for forgiving him, we'll make him teach the kids how to hunt."

"H-hunt?"

In this era, people would never teach their skills to anyone other than their own children or apprentices. A well-learned skill could support someone for a lifetime. Moreover, if one taught their skill to others, it would increase competition and reduce the skill's scarcity.

Naturally, people kept their trade secrets tightly guarded, and if someone tried to steal them, they might even resort to murder. Especially when it was a skill like hunting, which could sustain a livelihood despite the exploitation the Norman family endured.

"Do you think he'll teach them so easily?"

"What choice does that brat have if he refuses? We'll just break one of his legs so he can't run and threaten him. If he wants to live, he'll eventually give in."

"Oh, I see."

The villagers' faces brightened. If they had more hunters, the price of meat would drop, and the village's overall income would increase. Though they wouldn't be able to gouge prices like before, in the long run, it was a profitable plan.

"Wow, I didn't understand the chief's grand plan before."

"Ahem! As long as you understand now. We're almost there, so let's get ready."

"Yes, sir!"

To anyone with common sense, these words would be appalling. But no one in Brick Village pointed that out. The entire village had been rotten for a long time.

***

Sylas's hut was located on the outskirts of the village. While being close to the hunting grounds was one reason, the fundamental cause was the villagers themselves. They had prevented him from building a house within the village, treating him as an outsider.

The chief and his party arrived at the village outskirts and stared up at the hut on the hill.

"Alright, we're here," the chief said.

"What should we do? Should we storm in right away?"

"First, we need to scare him. When I give the signal, we'll all shout for him—"

Before the chief could finish his sentence, an arrow shot down from the hill and landed among the villagers.

Thwack, thud.

"Ahhh!"

"What happened!?"

"Rick's been hit by an arrow!"

The young man called Rick clutched his thigh, tears streaming down his face. A small arrow had pierced right through his thigh.

"I-it's Sylas!"

"That bastard is shooting—Ahh!"

Thwack.

As another arrow flew in, screams echoed among the crowd. The villagers scattered and hid behind cover. Andy, who was the first to regain his composure, yelled from behind a rock.

"Sylas, you bastard! What do you think you're doing!?"

"What does it look like? I'm driving off the armed thugs who've gathered in my yard."

"Armed? Does this look like a weapon to you!?"

Andy raised a farming tool slightly above his head. Sylas smirked as he saw it.

"A sickle, a pitchfork, and a pickaxe. Did you all come to plow the field at a hunter's house? Huh?"

"…."

Andy bit his lip. It was a direct jab, and the tools, while farming implements, could easily be used as weapons, making his excuse ineffective.

"You scum! Don't think you'll get away with this!"

"Did you ever plan on letting me off peacefully in the first place? You were going to use the incident with the chief as an excuse to force me to cough up my hunting skills, weren't you?"

"Well, that's…."

As Sylas continued to hit them with the truth, Andy struggled to find words, as if Sylas had been watching the whole time.