The voice that came was louder than thunder and piercing as lightning.

People turned their heads and cringed back when they saw Gande rushing at them with two giant cleavers in her hand.

“Take your hands off of him or I’ll butcher you all like the animals you are!” Her words shuddered people's hearts.

Pandit and Khargosh were right behind her. Pandit looked panicked, while his father was helpless. The man had tried to stop the woman, but it was in vain. They, unlike, Gande, the gargantuan machine of terror, hadn’t brought their weapons, as they were not planning to go to war with the village. What if they had accidentally killed someone? Would they also pack their bags and leave the village?

If only Gande thought so too. The woman believed, if the village could declare a sweet and harmless sheep-like Mannat a murderer, then everyone else was also a murderer and had to be treated as such.

“It’s the butcher!” A panicked scream twanged through the crowd. People fled in droves. The sea of people parted at the center and opened a wide gully between her and Raesh.

The red tunic gang saw her rushing through the sea of screaming people, and their faces turned pale.

“She’s bluffing. Don’t let him go!” The Sarpanch told his goons, but they knew the truth. The Sarpanch was a city born and bred and had only recently returned to the village, while they grew up with her. They knew her. They had seen her put unscrupulous people into their place.

She never pulled her punches or spared anyone.

Kids in her childhood used to call her a cow because of her round figure. She later made the same kids apologize to her one by one. The families wanted to punish her, but that was when the villages went to war with one another. They knew her as the hotheaded, revengeful daughter of the butcher. She joined the war and quickly gained popularity, or infamy, as ‘The butcher’ of Vrindavan. Those who had seen her in action called her a monster with a blade in hand.

Sarpanch’s face fell as his goons backed off and scattered in multiple directions. Some rushed into the group of onlookers and others ran toward the Sarpanch to save their lives.

“Stop running!” The Sarpanch had just yelled when he saw Gande swing her cleaver and slap one of his men with the face of the weapon. The man fell to the side looking silly and stopped moving. The merciless act sent a shiver down his spine.

Pandit rushed after his mother and helped Raesh up on his feet.

“Are you all right, sir?” Pandit asked only to be questioned back.

“Where is Mannat?”

Pandit glanced at his mother for help before Raesh grabbed his shoulders and asked him again. “Where is he?”

“I thought he ditched our morning run and went straight to the smithy.” Pandit blurted out.

Both stared at one another. Raesh exhaled and released him. He stood up and looked around. Pandit stepped back toward his mother and gulped a mouthful of saliva.

“Perhaps, he’s still sleeping at the Witch’s hut, unaware of everything that’s going on.” Pandit gave out a defeated laugh. He knew the possibility of his words being true was next to negligible.

Raesh turned back toward him and asked, “Will you go take a look?”

Pandit froze where he stood. He recalled the helplessness he had felt that day he woke up on the bed, unable to move. “I—” He didn’t know what to say, but Raesh’s words made him sincere.

“I only trust you.” The man said and how could Pandit say no when Raesh looked at him unfazed and undeterred, like the accusations that had been cast at him and his son didn’t worry him at all.

Raesh’s confidence was contagious, and it made Pandit’s blood warm.

“--take Bhadur. Tell him you want to find Mannat, and he’ll take you.” Raesh told the boy.

Pandit nodded and ran away. It was the best he could do. He passed his father on the way who asked him where he was going.

“To the Witch’s,” He answered and left the two men in each other’s company. Surprised, Khargosh grabbed Raesh’s shoulders. He noticed the worry cresting Raesh’s eyes and ended the silence.

“The boy will be fine.”

A nod was all Raesh could give.

“Silence!” The Sarpanch yelled back to back and on the third time, there was a response. The chatter died out and dissolved into whispers. The villagers turned toward him one by one to hear what he had to say.

“You two are very good,” Sarpanch raised a shaking finger at Raesh and Gande. The veins of his forehead were swelling. Anger bloomed inside him like a plume of fire, but he restrained himself. He couldn’t let his thoughts be known. At least he needed to act impartially.

He had expected some resistance from Raesh. Everyone resists at first, be it men or women, but they all give in eventually when threatened with death and torture. Raesh had never caused big trouble, so he had thought it would be easy to get rid of them. He was wrong.

“You two have turned this council into a circus!” Sarpanch yelled.

Raesh countered. “You are the one who is creating a performance to put the blame on my son. Did you think I wouldn’t resist your evil plan?”

“Your son is the only evil here. He did this,” Sarpanch pointed at the half-dead boys. “We have proof!” This was not how he wanted to do this, but it would have to be. “Bring the boy,” Sarpanch told his assistant who ran down the podium and toward a family of three. The thin man grabbed the hand of a shot and plump boy and dragged him to the podium under everyone's eyes. The boy’s sister cried behind him, but her mother quickly covered her mouth.

Flea looked back at the sound of his sisters crying. He wanted to rush back but saw a man in a red shirt standing behind her and turned back around. He stopped resisting and quietly followed the wiry man with his eyes cast toward the ground, mind lost in thoughts.

“Quickly come here and tell everyone the truth,” The Sarpanch gestured toward the people. His assistant stopped near the council and pushed Flea forward.

Flea stepped up and raised his head. The sight of a thousand people staring at him almost brought him to his knees He clenched his fists and fought the fear. He would be facing the devil if he fell there.

The Sarpanch put a hand on his back and addressed the crowd. Flea didn’t grab what he was saying.

He searched for Mannat in the crowd with a frantic heart, but the same heart grew cold when he saw Raesh glaring at him. He was sorry toward the man. They didn’t deserve to go through with this. If Mange were in Mannat’s place, he would have never let him go. However, the world was cruel and the people were unfaithful. Friends, family, it was the same. He hadn’t hurt anyone either, but he was still targeted for being fat. If only his mother had also stood up for him like Raesh. Perhaps, he wouldn’t hate her so much then.

He raised his head just in time as Sarpanch looked at him. The man was smiling from his mouth, but his eyes were telling a different more menacing tale.

“Tell the truth,” Sarpanch said and pushed him forward. Sadly, the truth that the Sarpanch wanted him to tell and the truth he knew were not the same.

Flea wanted to run, but there was no place to run. When the Sarpanch’s men found him dragging Tick they didn’t’ care if he was hurt or not. They only cared if Mannat was injured and then told him and Mange, who had found them first, that they only needed one person. He thought he would be free if he won, but there he was, doing other's bidding again, only his master had changed.

“We had a grudge with the Witch-boy.” Flea started emotionlessly. There were many who had a grudge against them. Even he hated himself for everything he had done in fear of being hurt. He was also a tool for them once upon a time. They used to beat him and others to improve their skills. Then one day, Mange had this great idea of owning a slave. They chose him.

Flea continued. “We had made fun of him once for selling his soul to the Witch. He didn’t like it.” The crowd started to pay attention. They weren’t alone. He saw many people look around to share their guilt. Everyone was the same. No one cared for others.

“The boy sent his raven after us and this,” Flea pointed at claw mark that went down half his face. “--is the mark of that.” The villagers talked. He saw some sneers but also pointed fingers. “We forgot about him, but he didn’t forget about us. He found us outside the village yesterday. Don’t know what he wanted, but my friend Mange,” He looked at the half-dead boys on the bedsteads. “--didn’t like the way he looked at us. We asked him what he wanted.” Flea paused. “He said he wanted revenge. He didn’t bring a weapon. We thought he was a fool. Mange laughed and sent tick to take him down. However, the Witch-boy was not foolish. He had not come with empty-handed. He had brought Witch’s magic!” He said excitedly. He still remembered. It was impossible to forget. “He raised his hand and then Mange fell to the ground. That’s why he has a red welt on his stomach.”

The crowd gasped in return. Flea felt like an actor in a stage play. The crowd’s reactions made him confident.

“Mange didn’t like that Tick was hurt. He quickly dashed toward him. The witch boy raised his hand, but Mange didn’t let him do his witch magic. He--”

He was interrupted.

“You have said enough!” Raesh yelled and took off. This time the whole crowd heard him. The way between him and the Sarpanch was clear. He climbed the stairs and landed on the podium. No one tried to stop him. People wanted to see more. They wanted to know the truth. Who beat the boys black and blue? Was it really the Witch boy? They hoped it was. So they could pick up torches and burn the Witch’s place to ash.

Khargosh exhaled and went after him, to hold him back if he tried to fight the Sarpanch.

Raesh glared at Flea on his way up, but ignore him once he was on the podium and only stopped near the boys. He put a hand on Mange’s chest and loudly invoked ‘Inspect’ so everyone could know what he was doing.

“What are you trying to do?” Perhaps, not everyone could. The Sarpanch tried to stop Raesh, but a glare put the man back in his place.

Raesh inspected the other boy similarly and then addressed the villagers.

“A level 3 thief, and a level 4 Brawler, this is the identity of the boys that are laying half-dead over there. How many of you below the age of eighteen has the confidence to take both of them on at the same time? Raise your hands,”

Only one person raised his hand, but even he quickly pulled it down when he saw that no one else had.

“Hmm, thought so,” Raesh commented and turned toward Flea.

Suddenly, a quiet spread among the crowd. Eyes turned toward the Sarpanch. ‘Your turn,’ they seemed to be saying. Meanwhile, Sarpanch's face fell. He glared at his assistant and saw him whittling, his face pale. He stood in shock. He had no answer.

“And you,” Raesh asked Flea without a hint of emotion. “My son wanted revenge you said,” Flea kept quiet. “Then why are you not in the same condition as them.”

“Because I fled when he was fighting Mange,” Flea said. “I’m a coward, that’s why Mange nicknamed me flea.” He had said the same thing many times since he joined Mange in his deeds, and never had anyone suspected him – until then.

“You look more like a liar to me,” Raesh said. “A coward wouldn’t have the courage to stand in front of the whole village and face the crowd.” The boy shook and knew it was time to hammer him into shape. “Tell me truthfully, who broke their bones?”

“They did? I-I guess, your son did it.”

Finally, Raesh caught something. “Do you know only someone with over twenty points in strength can break someone's bones, and only if they unlocked an active skill? Did you know that?”

Flea looked at Sarpanch, but even the man seemed puzzled. Meanwhile, many people in the crowd were nodding along.

“And did you know My son doesn’t even have ten points in strength? He hasn’t even unlocked his first skill in strength!”

Noise erupted in the crowd. Sarpanch could see cracks appearing on the lie he had created.

Flea couldn’t believe him. Even he had higher strength than ten points. He knew they were exposed. Raesh had caught their lie. He wanted to run away but he couldn’t move. His legs were like two stiff stumps. He looked at the crowd and didn’t find his mother or his sister. They were gone.

Suddenly the Sarpanch’s assistant found his voice.

“That’s a lie!” He shouted, smiling, nodding to the Sarpanch in confidence before facing Raesh with a gleam in his eyes. “One needs ten Points in strength to become a blacksmith’s assistant. Your son is an assistant, everyone can attest to that. So how did that Witch-boy become your assistant if he only has ten points in strength?”

Raesh couldn’t help laughing. His behavior puzzled the onlookers but made Khargosh sigh in relief. “What can I say,” Raesh looked at the Sarpanch and proudly announced, “The boy’s a genius. He got the job with all his attributes under the required limit.”

The Sarpanch wasn’t going to let him off so easily.

“You want us to believe that? How can you prove that?”

“I don’t need to prove it?” Raesh pointed at the villagers. “Ask anyone and they will tell you. They called my son a freak when he was a kid because of his low physical attributes. Now they call him ‘Witch-boy’ because of his high intelligence. The boy didn’t care about what you called him then, and he doesn’t care about what you call him now. BUT I DO!

“His name is Mannat. If anyone can’t remember it they can come to visit me at the smithy, and I’ll engrave it upon your flesh with a blade. As for you” Raesh faced the Sarpanch, “Pray nothing has happened to Mannat or there will be another council, and you will replace the boys on the bedstead.”

The people talked. The more they talked, the louder they reacted, and rowdier the crowd became. Those who knew Sarpanch’s real nature were sneering or shaking their heads. Those who were still doubtful kept their eyes peeled on the podium, keeping watch of Sarpanch every movement while Raesh jumped off the podium.

Gande was among the crowd and looking at Sarpanch like he was an idiot.

The Sarpanch on the other hand was starting to turn red like a tomato – whether it was from shame or anger at someone standing next to him was something only he could tell. One thing was sure. This wasn’t the first time he had acted against someone and it wouldn’t be the last time either.

However, the people were talking. Many eyes were upon him. Thankfully, his men had dropped the two useless boys outside the village, and it was the villagers who had found them. Nothing connected them to him. He could always blame the fat boy for crying wolf, and the two could die in their sleep. There was no need to keep them around.

He just did what he wanted. Who thought things would turn this way. Perhaps, they had been extorting the poor, skill-less people for so long they had forgotten how to deal with those who had actual useful skills.

At this time, Khargosh found something odd about the bruises that covered the boys. He told the elders he wanted to see if it could be poison, and they readily agreed. Khargosh checked their pulse, heard their breaths, and then looked into their eyes. He poked their bruises. Their swollen tongue gave it away.

“They have been given poison berries. The inside of their mouth is already starting to swell.” Khargosh told the elders, “They need a doctor and fast. They will suffocate if the swelling blocked their throats. Give them honey, it will relax the swelling, but won’t stop it completely.”

The elders called a few people who rushed to the podium and took the boys away for care. Flea had long run off and disappeared into the crowd. The council elders also started standing up one by one, announcing the end of the council.

“It’s the witch-boy people. Believe me!” The Sarpanch cried, only for someone to throw a shoe at him, which hit him right on the face. He ran from the stage as more and more people threw shoes at him.

As for Mannat, by the time he reached the village, the crowd had dispersed and the council had ended.