[1% LIFESTEAL] Chapter 36 - Assistance

Freddy glanced at the five men rushing at him and the one still on the ground. They had all covered their faces in brown, make-shift cloth masks. Three had short, two had longer hair, and the man he toppled was bald.

Before he could discern anything else, he turned around and ran through the maze of tents.

"Help!" He yelled. "Help me!" He yelled louder.

His thigh bled, people rushed out of his way and past him, and his pursuers were hot on his trail. The tents rose high enough that one couldn't see above them, and they were packed tightly enough that maneuvering around them made for a dizzying trip.

"Get him!" One of them yelled.

He grabbed and pulled anything he could get his hands on to slow the men's approach, collapsing a few tents in his efforts, and while they were faster than he was, he stayed ahead, albeit not by much.

Suddenly, with a sharp whistle—and likely, talent-aided precision—one of the daggers flew and struck his back. "Ack—!" It didn't stick deep, but it stalled him enough for one of the men to reach him with a baton, just slightly grazing the back of his head but hitting hard enough to blur his vision.

He continued running, ignoring the pain as he charged into a thick crowd of workers, ramming through them like a bowling ball through pins. The mass of screaming, confused men presented a considerable obstacle to his pursuers.

"Stop! Where are you going!?" Another of the assailants screamed, but Freddy had no time to see who he was referring to.

Having turned once, then twice, and finally, past another small crowd of workers on high alert, he thought he was safe—until a knee suddenly slammed into his side, sending him tumbling straight into a tent, collapsing the structure on him and burying him in the thick cloth.

"Shit, shit, shit—" he wheezed as he desperately tried to claw his way out of the heavy fabric.

"Don't worry!" Someone screamed, and for a fraction of a moment, Freddy was relieved, until— "I can see him!"

A dagger stabbed right through the fabric, nearly getting him in the eye, but a quick reaction made it strike his forehead, luckily failing to pierce the bone but still sending him reeling.

He lifted his hands to defend his face, and the dagger mercilessly shredded his arms, but thankfully, his Hundred-Wet-Hells-tempered physique made the wounds too shallow to bleed him out—but they were quickly accumulating.

A second knife joined the first's efforts, albeit with far less precision, and eventually, the men shredded the cloth enough for Freddy to pull himself out.

Only three men remained, the two with longer hair and the bald one, but he had no time to contemplate where the others were. A man to his left lunged at him, and, with little to no grace, Freddy swung his right hand with a Flowing Strike, open palm, and somehow landed a near-perfect slap, knocking the man out instantly.

An attack he failed to notice in the heat of battle pushed through, and the bald figure stabbed his stomach. Reflexively, he swung a backhanded counterstrike, but this fighter proved to be much more experienced and, with relative grace, dodged back, out of the way of the attack, and made some distance, just in time for his companion to slam Freddy in the back of his head with a metal baton.

He felt bone crack, but it still wasn't enough to take him out, so, with adrenaline-fueled rage, he grasped the man's weapon and then his arm, trying to push him to the side. Suddenly, it was as if the man was rooted in place, and, as a quick glance revealed, it turned out that he indeed was—with literal roots tying him to the ground, courtesy of a nature-affinity ability.

Those same woody tendrils wrapped themselves around Freddy's arms, and he was kept firmly in place as the bald man approached to finish him off. Left without much choice, he triggered a Flowing Strike and swung his head back full force.

His physical weight, combined with the momentum of his ability, aided him in pulling the man out by his roots and in the way of the incoming attack, making the bald man accidentally strike his own companion, but not without severe consequences.

Likely, if Freddy didn't have Hundred Wet Hells, that stunt would have outright killed him. With the Flowing Strike pushing so much water into his head, he felt dizzy and lightheaded, with large black spots appearing in his vision.

For a moment, he blanked out, and an instant later, he was on the ground with a dead—or dying—man stuck on top of him.

With an enraged roar, the bald figure pushed a dagger straight toward Freddy's face, who barely defended by putting a hand in the man's way. The blade went clean through his palm and out the other side, nearly through his eye, and Freddy gripped, preventing the extraction of the weapon.

The man's attacks whistled as he decided to swing wind-boosted punches into Freddy's exposed side instead, but, frankly, he was failing to do any real damage.

After finally getting his other arm out from under the limp figure on his body, Freddy grabbed the bald man and threw him over to the other side as he crawled from beneath the other figure.

The man threw punch after punch at Freddy's face, but his expression visibly paled as he quickly noticed how ridiculously tough his target was. And, without any more grace than the bald man, Freddy imitated him, throwing his flurry of punches, too frenzied to correctly time Flowing Strike.

Most of the hits failed to add any extra momentum, but as the number piled up, the man's face bruised like a peach, and eventually, the punch and ability aligned. Freddy felt the rush of lifesteal, so he knew the man was knocked out, if not dead.

Panicked, he lifted his head and glanced around, looking for the other three. Failing to find them, he rushed to get up and run away. As soon as he reached his feet, his vision blanked out, and he regained himself only after falling face-first to the ground.

He had lost a lot of blood. None of his wounds were deep, but there were enough to threaten his life. Gritting his teeth, he got back up to his feet and, with a wobble to his steps, strode forward.

He flatly refused to pass out and leave himself at passerbys' mercy.

"Whoa, what the hell happened to you!?" Someone asked, but Freddy couldn't be bothered to turn around.

Silver hair and piercing blue eyes caught his attention, however, as the figure walked in front of him with his hands raised and offered to help.

"You're the…" This was the assistant who helped with lectures—as well as one of Freddy’s coworkers.

“Yeah, yeah, uhm…” The man said, eyeing Freddy's""Freddy's bloody body. "You're bleeding pretty bad. We have to get you some help."

"Don't worry," Freddy said. "I can get there."

"No, wait," the man insisted as he crouched before Freddy, back turned, offering him a piggyback ride.

Freddy tried refusing, but in trying to turn in a different direction, he fell over and draped over the man's back.

With strange, almost practiced ease, the man lifted him up, and Freddy surrendered, pretty much helpless to refuse the help.

While he carried him rather confidently, it didn't take long for Freddy's weight to slow the man down. By their journey's end, he looked haggard, struggling to catch his breath and sweating profusely.

Once they reached the tent, the man dropped him to the ground. "Man…" he said as he blinked the sweat out of his eyes. "You're heavy," he observed, fighting to catch his breath.

Soon enough, a medic brought Freddy in, and his wounds were treated. As enough witnesses retold what had happened, the cost of his treatment was waived as thanks for dealing with several troublemakers. The three other men were nowhere to be found.

Thankfully, he was alright. Nothing that wouldn't heal well enough on its own that his talent would become suspicious. He felt quite panicked as he was left to recover on a bed, alone. Fucks sake, six men just dropped him while he was sleeping—and nearly killed him.

Had his reputation really gotten that bad? Maybe their boss was indeed the person Freddy had snitched on, but it could very well be entirely unrelated. But, no… these people didn't need evidence or a solid reason to blame him. They wanted, no, needed a target.

"And it has to be me," he lamented. "It just has to be me, doesn't it?"

It had been his numerous visits to the elite healer that had sparked suspicion. Those were unavoidable, so he had taken the hit to his reputation as inevitable. Things had gotten bad enough. But… how the hell did he go about fixing it?

After several more hours of rest, he was finally sent out. His wounds still ached, and he felt dizzy, but a high-quality recovery potion had dealt with the most pressing injuries.

As he walked out of the tent, he headed in one specific direction. The more he thought about it, the less value he saw in wasting his time on fixing his reputation. But he didn't want to—

"Oh, thank God!" A voice called from behind him. "You're alive!"

Freddy turned around, only to spot the silver-haired man getting off the ground nearby. "Uh…" he started, rather bemused. "Hi?"

The man patted some dust off his forager uniform as he stepped forward and gave him a handshake. "My name is Peter."

"Ok, Peter… uhm… why are you still here?"

"Oh, I—" the man appeared taken aback. "I helped bring you here, so I was rather invested in seeing—"

"Thank you… for your help, I mean," Freddy said. "But uhm… I'll be fine now."

"I see," he replied, his gaze scouring the state of Freddy's body. "Say, you're pretty strong, right?" He asked with such expectation in his eye that Freddy almost felt like he was talking to an excited toddler.

But he winced. Indeed. He was pretty strong. But judging by his shameful display from earlier, he had a long way to go with using that strength.

"I'd say I'm pretty tough, yeah," he confirmed, carefully wording his statement.

"I have to admit," the man started with a shy smile. "I saw your fight at the Wastes. You were pretty badass."

"At the what?”

“The… Wastes?" The man frowned. "The arena?"

"Oh! Right, the Wastes, yeah." He had no idea that was what they were called. "Look, uhm, are you here for a reason or—?"

"Yes!" The man confirmed. "I was wondering, you know, uhm… are you going to be returning to fight? Now that you're healed, that is?"

His brows furrowed at the question. "I don't know…" he reached cautiously. “Why should I?"

There was really no reason for him to waste his time at the—

'Wait,' he suddenly realized.

"I was just thinking, you know," the man rushed to explain himself. "If more people knew of your capabilities, fewer would be willing to mess with you. Besides, it's not a bad place to make some allies. You could probably use those, I think…"

That wasn't the worst idea. But several things bothered him with it. First, he had to reveal his skillset publicly. Second, if he ever got severely injured, a speedy recovery would be awfully suspicious. And third, while that could be a way to make some allies…

Knowing Freddy, he'd probably just make even more enemies.

"Uhm," the man started but suddenly looked highly reluctant.

"Hmm?"

"I… You know, there is something of a rumor surrounding the arena in the Wastes."

His curiosity piqued, and he gestured to go along, but the man glanced around. "Uh… Maybe we should go somewhere a bit more private."

So they did, going to a secluded area in the corner of the main cavern.

The man started. "Have you ever wondered why the officials allow the arena to exist?"

Not really, was what he wanted to say because he didn't concern himself with it until now. Didn't those men say that they just didn't care? Actually, when he thought about it, it did seem rather suspicious that they wouldn't.

"Yeah…" he offered tentatively.

"Right?" the man said, pointing at Freddy. "Like, people often showcase growth that they shouldn't have achieved just by doing their job, but the staff still overlooks it, despite it being an undeniable violation of the rules."

"Wait, really?" He couldn't stop himself from asking. Had he known that before, he would have had way more questions. "What about ascending?"

"No, that still means exile." Peter clarified. "And two-stars like myself are watched way more carefully, but other than that, they don't seem to care about anything else."

"Honestly, that just feels like a tax write-off sort of situation to me, where, if you squint enough, anything can be seen as a business expense. As long as those improvements made workers more productive, of course they will ignore it," he said, somewhat dismissive.

"Well, maybe, but… there is a rumor."

"Go on."

"Several times before, some of the best fighters in the arena simply vanished. The staff said they likely got lost in the caves or eaten by a monster, but it happened enough times for it to get suspicious."

"So I should fight in the arena because… it'll make me disappear?"

"It's the truth behind why they disappeared that is the target of rumor," Peter explained, a few beads of sweat appearing on his forehead. "There are good reasons to believe that they had been recruited."

"For what?"

"We're in Faralethal," he stated the obvious. "There are plenty of uses for talented warriors."

Freddy simply scoffed in response, however. So what? If he showed himself to be capable enough, he would get a job as a death squad member? Whoo wee, it sure sounded like an exciting upgrade.

"Look, I'm not very interested in that. I'd prefer slowly repaying my debt."

"I—" Peter started, suddenly seeming extremely anxious.

"If that's all you wanted to talk about, I'm off," Freddy said as he nodded and turned around.

"I— Wait!"

But Freddy didn't stop.

"There—there is another rumor!"

And then, he paused, slowly turning to face the blubbering man.

"What do you mean?"

"I…" the man shifted, his eyes dodging around as he gulped. "They… they say that you might… you know… You might not be set free after paying your debt back…"

Freddy paused and carefully asked, "What do you mean?"

"You know… There isn't really a guarantee that they'll just release us."

"And where did you hear that rumor?"

"I… Just conversation, you know."

"Uh-huh," Freddy said. "Just wondering, you said you were a two-star, right?"

The man nodded.

"Ok," he said, nodding and licking his lips. "I'll think about joining, then."

There was a subtle hint of relief that washed over the man.

Freddy waved him goodbye, turned around, and frowned deeply.

So… what were the odds that that man was a staff member in disguise?

He was a two-star, an assistant who helped in the foraging class, and he seemed to know that this place was a death trap…

For a moment, hypothetically, he presumed his hunch was correct. If that was the case, then… what the fuck was this all about? Was it an extension of the death squad recruitment thing he mentioned? But why did he seem so distressed? Should he not have shared that information with Freddy?

Eventually, he carefully made his way back to his tent. There, he picked up his stuff. It was too dangerous to stay here, clearly. So, at least for a while, he would be moving to the abandoned cave.

On his trek out, every person that glanced at him seemed suspicious. Anyone who even as much as lifted their arm as they passed him was treated the same as if they were holding a dagger.

How little would it take for someone with a specialized ability or talent to kill him in a crowd like this? And, if several men ganged up on him like that, how likely was he to win again?

While he wasn't sure about the whole recruitment ordeal, he knew one thing. He needed to learn how to properly defend himself, and swinging at empty air without any guidance was quickly reaching its limits.

His reputation seemed to be unsalvageable—but who said that he needed to fix it?

Perhaps the better option would be to ensure that everyone knew that Freddy Stern wasn't to be trifled with.