Beyond The Waning Light of Paradise

Chapter 10: The Lesson in Blood

Adrenaline still surged through Silas's veins as they returned to the inn, his heart pounding with the echoes of the alley ambush. Each step sent a sharp pain through his neck, a constant reminder of how narrowly he had escaped death. His mind was racing, replaying the events of the ambush in a loop he couldn't shut off. The shadowy figures, the cold steel, the brutal efficiency with which Kael had dispatched the attackers—everything seemed surreal, like a nightmare he couldn't wake from.

When they finally reached the quiet safety of their rooms, Kael turned to Silas, his expression unreadable. Uncle Chen followed closely behind, his face unusually stern. He could sense the calm before the storm was about to end and braced himself for what was coming.

Kael broke the silence first. "Sit down, Silas," he ordered, his tone as sharp as a blade.

Silas did as he was told, wincing as the movement aggravated the wound on his neck. Kael remained standing, his intense gaze never leaving Silas's face.

Before Kael could speak, Uncle Chen stepped forward, pulling a small vial from his belt. "Let's take care of that wound first," Uncle Chen said, his voice betraying a softness that his stern expression didn't match. "This is a Recovery Salve—it'll heal the wound quickly."

Silas nodded, grateful for the relief. Uncle Chen uncorked the vial and applied the salve to the wound. The cool liquid soothed the burning pain instantly, and Silas felt the flesh around the cut start to knit together, the sharp sting fading into a dull ache. As Chen worked, Silas could feel the wound closing. Still, the sensation of something being left behind—something more than just the physical mark—lingered.

Once the salve was applied, Uncle Chen stepped back, and Kael took his place, his expression as hard as ever. "You had a moment of advantage,' Kael said, his voice hard. 'You could have ended it. You had the opening, the advantage, and instead of finishing him off, you hesitated. You slashed his arm."

Silas swallowed, the weight of Kael's words sinking in. He knew Kael was right. In that critical moment, he couldn't follow through to deliver the fatal blow that could have saved him from harm.

Having set the salve aside, Uncle Chen now crossed his arms, his eyes filled with disappointment and concern. "Kael's right, young master. When you're in a fight for your life, there's no room for hesitation. If you don't take your enemy down when you have the chance, they'll come back at you twice as hard. What you did—striking his arm—was reckless. You let him live, and he nearly killed you for it."

Silas tried to respond, but the words stuck, heavy with the weight of his upbringing. He had been taught to value life, to understand the gravity of taking it—but in the shadowed alleys of Temptshire, that idealism felt almost childish.

"I..." Silas finally managed to say, his voice shaky. "I wasn't ready to kill him. I thought—if I just wounded him, maybe—"

"Maybe what?' Kael cut him off, his voice like steel. 'That he'd just surrender? That he'd beg for mercy? This isn't a sparring match, Silas. Out there, it's kill or be killed. Those men didn't come at us to scare us; they came to end us."

Uncle Chen's expression softened slightly, but his words were no less firm. "Young master, you've got the skills, and you've trained hard, but in the real world, that's only half the battle. It's your resolve that counts—the willingness to do what needs to be done."

Chen paused, his gaze steady as he continued, "In assassin guilds, they train their recruits by making them fight each other to the death. It's brutal—like throwing venomous insects into a pit and seeing which one survives. That's how they hone their killing intent, by forcing it into them from the start. But you, young master—you can't be brought up in the same manner. We won't force you to kill, but you need to find that strength within yourself. The resolve to end a fight when it's necessary. That's something only you can develop."