The circle tightened. Madara and the five children were now completely hemmed in by the gap-toothed man's crew. Mean, crooked smiles flashed on their faces as they looked down at the small, trembling figures pressed against Madara's legs. Some just stood there, puffing out their chests, trying to look tough and project dominance over the newcomer.
"Are you sure about that?" Madara's voice was level, almost bored. "From where I stood, he put his foot in my path." He wasn't scared, not even slightly. Annoyed, maybe. This was wasting time. But the children... they were terrified. Tears welled in the eyes of the smallest girl. They had just escaped one nightmare, only to stumble into another threat before they could even catch their breath.
"What crap are you spouting!?" the biggest muscle-man bellowed, his face turning red. "You tripped him! Broke his damn foot while he was just minding his own business! Everyone here saw it!" He glared around the room, his eyes sending a clear message to anyone watching. He jabbed a thick finger towards a lone man nursing a drink at a corner table. "Hey! You! You saw it, right? This punk attacked him!"
The man at the table flinched, clearly wanting no part of this. But getting on the wrong side of this crew was likely worse than lying. He mumbled, eyes darting away, "Uh... yeah. Yeah, it was his fault." He quickly turned back to his drink, though his eyes kept flicking towards the unfolding scene, curious to see how badly the black-haired stranger would get beaten.
"Did I ask for his opinion?" Madara directed the question coldly at the big muscle-man standing directly in front of him.
The muscle-man scoffed, flexing his arms. "Still got a mouth on ya, huh? Look, hand over everything you got – that pouch of coin, and uh..." He eyed the children greedily, "...those demi-human brats too. Do that, and we'll be nice and forget this whole thing."
"Yeah! Yeah, that's right!" piped up another thug, emboldened by his leader. "Give us the cash and the kids, and you can crawl outta here!"
"Heard demi-humans fetch a good price," added a third man, his gaze slimy as it lingered on the children, particularly the little girls. "Especially young ones... yeah, a very good price."
The talk shifted quickly from demands for money to openly discussing selling the children like cattle. The kids, who were already scared, started crying softly, clinging desperately to Madara's legs, trying to hide behind him.
"Do you even get the spot you're in, boy?" the muscle-man sneered. From their point of view, Madara looked young, maybe nineteen or twenty. His build was lean, not bulky. Even the dark, samurai-like armor he wore didn't make him look overwhelmingly strong to these thugs used to judging strength by sheer size. If anything, he looked like an easy target, maybe some rich kid playing dress-up.
The muscle-man clamped a heavy hand down on Madara's shoulder, intending to intimidate, maybe force him to his knees. He squeezed, putting serious pressure into his grip, expecting the younger man to wince or buckle.
But Madara didn't even flinch. His expression didn't change from that look of faint, growing annoyance. It was like the crushing grip was nothing more than a fly landing on him.
Humiliation flickered across the muscle-man's face. Being ignored like this, his strength having no effect... it stung his pride. He drew back his other fist, ready to punch this arrogant punk senseless.
But before the punch could even start, a blinding flash of pain exploded in the arm gripping Madara's shoulder. It registered a split second late, his brain struggling to understand what had happened. He looked down. His hand, the one that had been clamped on Madara's shoulder, was now twisted backwards at a completely unnatural, sickening angle. The bone had clearly snapped.
"Ahhhhhh... MY... MY HAND! AHHHHHH!" The pain hit him fully then, unimaginable agony. Nothing came out of his mouth but raw, choked screams.
Seeing their leader suddenly crippled sent a wave of shock through the other thugs. They instinctively recoiled for a heartbeat. Then, rage and maybe fear took over. They lunged forward, a messy wave of bodies charging at Madara from all sides.
It was over before it really began.
Thud. Crack. Thump.
One moment, six or seven men were rushing him. The next, they were crashing to the floorboards. A fist here, an elbow there, a swift kick – Madara moved with blurring speed they couldn't track. Blood sprayed from mouths, teeth skittered across the dirty floor. In seconds, all of them were down, unconscious or groaning incoherently in pools of their own blood and spit.
The only one left standing – well, conscious – was the big muscle-man, now clutching his broken arm, his face paper-white with shock and terror. He stared at Madara, then at his fallen comrades, then back at Madara. He'd never seen anything like it. Someone looking so... normal... taking out seven grown men in the blink of an eye? Without even breaking a sweat?
This wasn't normal strength. This was something else. Like a high-level mage using instant-cast spells, maybe? Or one of those legendary heroes you heard stories about? Or a top-tier adventurer? None of those possibilities felt good right now.
The muscle-man stumbled backwards, tripping over his own feet, and landed hard on his backside, scrambling away like a crab.
Madara took a calm step forward. "You were asking... what situation I am in?"
He reached down and effortlessly lifted the massive man off the floor with just one hand clamped around his throat. The man choked, feet dangling, eyes bulging as he gasped desperately for air, unable to make a sound.
Madara didn't wait for an answer. He didn't expect one. His other fist shot out, connecting squarely with the man's face. CRUNCH. Teeth shattered, spraying blood.
He punched again. CRACK. The nose flattened, more blood erupted.
Again.
Again.
Again.
Again.
Again.
...
...
...
When Madara finally dropped him, the man formerly known as the muscle-man was just a heap on the floor. His face was unrecognizable, a swollen, pulpy mess of blood and broken bone. Maybe one or two teeth remained way in the back. His nose was completely crushed. His eyes were swollen completely shut. He was still breathing, somehow, shallow, ragged gasps, but barely alive.
Absolute silence filled the inn. Every patron was frozen, staring wide-eyed. No one dared move. No one dared breathe too loud. The innkeeper stood behind the counter, pale and trembling, making himself as small as possible. No one was coming to help the fallen thugs.
Then, a figure pushed through the stunned onlookers. It was a girl, dressed in clothes that looked strangely out of place here – a clean, white sailor-style top with blue stripes on the collar, a red ribbon tied neatly at her chest, and a pleated skirt. Knee-high socks and polished black shoes completed the look. She seemed young, maybe sixteen or seventeen, with an air of naive innocence.
She knelt beside the horrifically beaten muscle-man, ignoring the blood and gore. A soft, green light emanated from her hands as she placed them gently over his ruined face, beginning to heal him with magic.
As the light pulsed, she looked up at Madara, her expression a mixture of fear and disapproval. "Even if they started it... how could you?" Her voice trembled slightly, but held a note of accusation. "How can you do that to another human being? Don't you have any kindness? Didn't your parents ever teach you better?"