"They say a good offence is the best form of defence," Kratos started while trying to suppress the squirming uneasiness in his heart. He stood before Murugan, who in turn was looking up to him with rapt attention. It was an odd feeling for Kratos to be on the receiving end of such a gaze. Sure, his soldiers would look at him in a similar fashion, but the intention was different. That was a subordinate looking up to his superior for the next command. This was a student looking up to his teacher for guidance. While both carried respect, the latter felt more earned. But it also carried with it a very heavy burden, one that Kratos was finding difficult to carry.
"I say that those who think that way are idiots," Kratos finished with a derisive smirk. "Relying only on offence to garner victory is like trying to peel a banana with just one hand. You will achieve what you want, but not always in the way you want to achieve it."
"The reason why this school of thought is so common is that people do not know the right way to defend. First off, you need to understand what the purpose of defence is. It is all about momentum," he declared. He gestured for Murugan to assume a fighting stance. Currently, the duo were unarmed, so this spar would be a bout of fisticuffs.
"One punch of mine can deal damage," he stated. "The first objective in any fight is understanding how much damage this is. The next step is to understand how frequently the opponent can output this damage. Unless magic is involved, these two variables will play a crucial role in understanding what kind of defensive manoeuvres one must favour."
He then commanded Murugan to attack him. The boy threw a flurry of five consecutive strikes that were easily dodged. Kratos did not dodge the sixth, as it hit him on his lower-right rib. It resonated with a loud thwack, but he did not flinch one bit.
"I know how much damage you can deal. I know how frequently you can output it. I judge that I can take this damage without breaking a sweat. This is my defensive manoeuvre. What can you do now?" Kratos asked with a scrutinising gaze.
"I can't do anything," Murugan concluded. "I have to figure out another strategy."
"And thus your momentum is halted," Kratos concluded in kind.
"You could have just as easily retaliated with an offensive flurry of your own and taken me down," Murugan challenged.
Kratos growled and admitted, "Maybe this wasn't a good example to teach you the value of defence."
Truly, pedagogy was turning out to be a beast that he just couldn't trounce.
"The issue is that I am outclassed here," Murugan responded while scratching his forehead. "And theory really isn't my forte."
"I agree, we need to find a sparring partner who can help you practise what you are learning," Kratos expressed while deep in thought. As seconds passed, a memory resurfaced from his youth.
There were very few pleasant memories from that point in time. However, this one was especially distasteful. It was the time he was taught how to swim by the paidonomoi. "Teaching" wouldn't exactly be the write word to describe the process. He was basically carried into the deepest and roughest part of the Mediterranean, along with his brethren, and tossed into the salty waters.
The feeling of burning, salty liquid entering his lungs and then being violently ejected as he struggled for breath resurfaced alongside those painful memories. Though ultimately, the objective was achieved. He became an excellent swimmer. Would he have preferred things had gone differently? Unfortunately, Kratos didn't know if there WAS another way to learn how to swim.
"Maybe being tossed into the deep end may have some value here," Kratos theorised out loud.
Murugan pondered on the idea for a split second before letting out a shrill whistle. Within the following second, his peacock landed beside him.
"Come, Guruji, let us search for a partner!" Murugan declared as he leapt atop his ride with a manic smile.
___
For the past six weeks, Kumar's fortunes had soared. Since he took the bold step of separating from the family business and starting his own venture, his wealth had steadily increased.
With a small loan of a few hundred gold coins, he consolidated several independent traders and their trains of ox-drawn carts, forming his own trading union. Through shrewd negotiation, he secured lucrative contracts, transporting spices, textiles, and precious stones along the ancient routes connecting the kingdoms. With only one contract disrupted by severe weather, he had established a stellar reputation.
Seeing the initial investment multiplying before his eyes didn't give him the comfort and elation he thought it would, though. Because deep down, he knew that this was just a prelude before the other shoe dropped.
A business is never without its failures. The sooner one experiences it, the better. His uncle taught him this fact, something that man had learned through personal experience. The universal truth holds true not just for beasts and flora, but for businesses, kingdoms and empires: "The bigger they are, the harder they fall. But the sooner they fall, the stronger they grow."
Kumar suspected he was the only merchant who prayed to Lord Ganesh for a brush with misfortune. As the ground rumbled beneath the caravan and the oxen whinnied in fear, he wondered if the deity had answered his prayers.
"What are we waiting for? Let's scram!" Kumar urged the escort. The man looked back with his good eye, the one that wasn't carved out by a stray arrow. The man's face carried the battle scars of many wars, but his pitch-black hair betrayed the fact that this man was much younger than he appeared.
"Where to, my Lord?" The escort replied with a calm voice despite the growing tension. He casually surveyed the landscape of dense shrubbery of sal and teak trees, their intertwined branches creating a shadowed canopy. "We are surrounded," he stated, his tone flat. The oppressive stillness pulsed with a sense of unseen eyes, and the heavy scent of damp earth and decaying leaves filled the air.
A deep, guttural rumble echoed through the trees, and the earth trembled with increasing force. Then, a chorus of chilling shrieks and yelps erupted, morphing into a mocking, high-pitched laughter that descended from the canopy above.
The escort released a weary sigh, retrieving his shield and spear from his horse.
"You pay us to stand as your shield," he said while signalling to his comrades to form a defensive line. "We will carve a path. When I give the word, flee, and do not falter."
"But what -" Kumar began.
"These aren't animals, my Lord," the man explained, his eyes narrowing into thin slits as he focused on the rustling branches. "Victory isn't assured. Death is imminent."
Kumar had barely a moment to gather his thoughts when the man yelled, "NOW!"
A spear blurred mere centimetres past his left ear, before an audible twang and gurgle resounded from behind him. As he turned, he came face to face with a winged Rakhsasa - a demonic creature with leathery skin connecting its palm and torso forming gliders. The spear went through its agape mouth, revealing rows of razor-sharp teeth, and embedded itself into the tree behind it.
"I SAID NOW!" The command jolted Kumar into action. Letting his instincts take over, he bolted past the impaled Rakshasa. He did not care for the branches and thorns tearing at his exposed skin as he fled with his heart pounding a frantic rhythm against his ribs.
He had no idea how long he had been running - minutes, hours, an eternity. His body moved on instinct alone until, at last, his legs buckled beneath him, and he collapsed into a small clearing. He sprawled against the jagged surface of a rocky outcrop. The silence that followed was deafening. No birds, no insects, no whisper of wind through the trees. Only his own raw and uneven breathing could be heard.
Gradually, his breathing slowed, and the pounding in his ears subsided.
Then, he heard it. A low rumble.
Followed by those same chilling shrieks.
His blood turned to ice.
Panic surged through his veins as he scrambled to his feet, but his limbs betrayed him. His knees wobbled, his muscles screamed in protest, and he crumpled back to the ground, utterly spent. The sounds crept closer. The rustling of leaves. The crack of a branch snapping beneath unseen feet.
Then, a figure emerged from the foliage.
Kumar exhaled sharply.
It was the escort.
The man staggered forward, barely upright. His spear arm hung limp, crushed beyond recognition, and his other hand clutched the surprisingly intact shield, though painted with blood both human and inhuman. His face was pallid, streaked with dirt and sweat, but beneath the grime, there was something else. A flicker of triumph in his one good eye.
He had survived. The man let out a victorious smirk.
But the relief was short-lived.
The air split with a primal roar, and before Kumar could react, the trees behind the escort exploded outward in a shower of splinters. A massive, clawed hand - pale, sinewy, and dripping with blackened ichor - shot forth and seized the man in a vice grip.
There was a single, terrible pause.
Then, a sickening crunch.
Bone shattered. Flesh tore. The escort's body convulsed once before going limp.
The bloodstained shield tumbled from his grasp, rolling to a stop at Kumar's feet.
Kumar did not move.
He did not breathe.
The arm retracted, pulling the limp man into the darkness between the trees.
The sound of bone crushing and flesh squelching echoed out with a morbid rhythm, with each staccato beat causing Kumar to flinch.
The shrieks did not cease.
If anything, they multiplied.
The rustling of branches overhead grew frenzied, a chaotic symphony of scraping claws and whipping leaves. Shadows darted through the canopy, twisting and flickering in the dim moonlight. The air thickened with the pungent stench of damp fur and blood.
Then - silence.
A single breath of eerie stillness.
Kumar barely had time to react before a blur of leathery wings and glinting fangs hurtled toward him.
His body moved before his mind could catch up. With a strangled cry, he raised the bloodstained shield, his lips moving in a desperate whisper:
"Lord Ganesh, protect me -"
A screeching howl filled the night as the Rakshasa dove, its outstretched talons gleaming in the dark.
But just as he braced for impact, another sound cut through the chaos - a metallic hum, as something whirled and sliced through the air with deadly precision.
It grew louder. Closer.
Then -
A wet, meaty thwack.
The weight of the Rakshasa collided with him, knocking him onto his back with a force that drove the breath from his lungs. He let out a yelp, struggling against the limp, sinewy mass pinning him to the ground.
He waited for the tearing of flesh. The sharp agony of claws rending him apart.
But nothing came.
The creature atop him did not move.
Panting and with his heart hammering against his ribs, Kumar hesitantly shifted his grip and peeked over the rim of his shield.
Glazed, lifeless eyes stared back at him.
The Rakshasa's mouth hung open in a frozen snarl, and its forked tongue lolled out between rows of jagged teeth. Its body was limp and shuddered once before going completely still.
And then he saw it - a dark steel axe buried deep into the creature's spine. The blade was embedded into the creature, splitting its flesh and bone like dried parchment.
A heavy boot crunched against the undergrowth. The weight bearing down on Kumar was lifted suddenly, as the corpse was hauled off and tossed to the side.
Kumar barely had time to react before a strong, calloused hand seized his arm and yanked him upright as if he weighed nothing. His legs threatened to give out, exhaustion and terror still gripping his body, but the sheer force holding him steady kept him from collapsing.
The man before him was a warrior - there was no mistaking that. Broad-shouldered, battle-worn, his body wrapped in thick muscle. His face, half-shadowed in the faint light of the sun filtering through the canopies, was impassive. But what appeared odd was his skin. It was ashen, uncannily so. Even more ashen than the ascetics who practically lathered themselves in ash. Except for the twin spirals of red, which appeared to be birthmarks, the man's skin was completely white.
Kumar parted his lips to speak, but before he could utter a sound, the warrior wrenched the shield from his grasp. Without even glancing at him, he tossed it across the clearing.
A boy caught it - a teenager.
This one was younger, leaner, but clearly no stranger to battle. His stance shifted instinctively as he adjusted to the shield's weight, though his frown betrayed his displeasure.
"You will fight the smaller ones," the warrior declared, his voice a low rumble, firm as stone. "Your weapon will only be the shield."
The boy scowled. "That's not fair—"
"If you cannot defeat these weaklings," the warrior interrupted as his tone cut through any protest, "then I have seriously misjudged your capacity."
The boy's lips pressed into a thin line as his fingers tightened around the shield's worn leather straps.
For a moment, they simply stared at each other.
Then, to Kumar's surprise, the boy smirked.
"You aren't just going to watch now, are you, Guruji?" he challenged, tilting his head slightly.
The warrior exhaled, his gaze shifting past them, past the fallen Rakshasa, past the trees.
Kumar followed his line of sight.
The forest was thick with shadows, but there, just beyond the line of trees, a large shadow moved. The darkness pulsed with the sound of deep, rasping breaths. The thick and metallic scent of blood clung to the damp air.
The warrior rolled his shoulders in a deliberate motion.
"The bigger one is growing restless," he murmured.
The boy's smirk faded.
A loud crack exploded through the forest as trees split open. Branches snapped like dry sticks. Something huge crashed into the clearing, sending leaves flying everywhere in a whirlwind of green and brown.
Kumar froze.
The creature that stepped into view was a nightmare. It stood twice as tall as a man, with a huge, swollen body. Sagging leathery skin stretched over bulging muscles, making it look like a half-melted candle. Its belly bulged out like an overfilled sack, swinging heavily with each step. Yet its arms and legs twisted with raw power. Its long arms hung past its knees, ending in huge curved claws as black as old blood.
Its head looked too small for its massive body. Unblinking yellow eyes locked onto Kumar. Jagged teeth stuck out from its hanging mouth, thick spit dripping from black gums.
The smell hit Kumar first. It was like rotting meat left in the sun, causing his stomach to turn.
Then the giant charged.
Despite its size, it moved shockingly fast, making the ground shake with each step. It swung one clawed hand through the air in a wide arc - the kind of lazy swipe that could still cut a man in half.
Kumar couldn't move. Couldn't breathe.
A shadow blurred past him.
The big stranger - the warrior - dodged the attack smoothly, like he'd faced this exact move a hundred times before. At the same moment, the boy sprang into action.
___
Defence can come in three forms: blocking, dodging, and parrying.
Murugan steadied himself as he stood facing the gliding Rakshasas that looked down at him from the branches. There were four in total by his count. And his senses captured another lurking out of sight.
According to his Guru, "Combat, like any physical activity, is all about expending energy optimally. Attacking is all about using energy to inflict damage. Defending is about using your energy to block the opponent's expended energy. A good defence is when you walk out of an exchange with a net profit."
What did that mean?
One Rakshasa leapt from the branch and dove towards Murugan. He raised his shield and blocked the creature's claws as it was about to tear into his arm. Blocked!
For enemies weaker or of smaller stature, blocking is most efficient. Blocking, in essence, is a form of tanking an attack. For powerful enemies, attacks that can deal significant damage are a trivial task. But for a defender, protecting against it through a block would expend more energy. This is the opposite for weaker opponents. A block has the potential to stagger weaker opponents.
Murugan timed a shield bash right as the Rakshasa's face was inches away from the shield, eliciting a gruesome crack as its skull caved in. As the creature staggered and fell, Murugan leapt onto its chest, causing its ribs to collapse, and slammed the edge of the shield into its agape mouth, causing the metal to tear into its cheeks.
He raised his other foot and slammed it into the erect shield, causing the metal plate to slice through the Rakshasa's skull and split its head in two.
He strafed out of the way, as another Rakshasa dove where he stood, just in time to see his Guru dodge a slash of the dark-skinned giant's claws.
Dodging was preferred if the opponent was stronger or larger. This was because movement is easier for smaller beings than it is for larger ones, since expended energy is proportional to the size of the object being moved.
But Murugan didn't have time to gawk at his Guru's battle, since he was being swarmed by the remaining four all at once.
He weaved left, letting one breeze past him, however, the creature was as nimble on the ground as it was in the air. It swung around, but he caught its claw swipe just in time and parried it towards the second attacker. He clobbered the third attacker with his shield as it dove at him, redirecting its weight into the fourth.
Parrying was tough. It required skill and an excellent instinct towards battle. It was not just about absorbing the momentum or letting it flow through. It was about redirecting an incoming momentum towards the enemy. It was the most energy-efficient of all forms of blocking, but also the most difficult to execute.
But battle came as a second instinct to Murugan. It was as easy as breathing. Right as the second attacker was getting up, he stomped hard into the back of its head, causing its skull to explode like an overripe watermelon. He then rushed forward with his shield raised and tossed aside the first attacker, before leaping up and bringing the end of the shield down on the fourth that was still getting up, using the momentum from his falling mass to amplify the damage. He overshot his ascent, but still managed to cleave the creature's head right off its neck.
The third crawled towards him in a frenzy, but he bashed it away with his shield. He picked up a large rock by the side and brought it down repeatedly on its skull. Once all that remained was a stew of brain matter, he turned his attention to the final enemy.
And for the first time, Murugan saw what fear felt like. He looked deep into the inhuman beast's eyes and all he saw was his own reflection, and overwhelming fear.
It felt exhilarating. And equally odd.
As he walked up to the thing, it started to skitter away in fear. It stumbled as it tried to get on its hind legs. But a rock in its path caused it to stumble and fall.
As he was upon it. It looked back at him, and for a split second, Murugan could see its humanity.
He hesitated.
He only barely managed to raise his shield to defend himself as a set of gaping maws closed in on his face.
But something burst past his ears and, with a loud thwak, embedded itself into his attacker's face.
"There will be time for mercy," his Guru said as he approached him from behind. "But do not mistake fear for surrender. That is how you die."
Murugan looked past his teacher and saw the corpse of a large Rakshasa leaning against a large tree, its face split in two.
He did not have time to evaluate the state of his teacher's dead opponent, as the man did not waste time dishing out his criticisms. "Your performance was sub-par. I counted over five unnecessary movements, two of which were blatant wastes of energy. You did not have to leap, only to give away the elevation advantage and match your opponent on the ground. You used a rock when you had a perfectly fine shield, wasting unnecessary movement on what could have been finished in two well-placed hits."
"The shield is very limiting," Murugan responded with a wry smile. "I am not left with many options."
"That is not the limitation of your weapon, but of your imagination," his teacher reprimanded. The two exchanged a silent glare before the man walked into the forest. A few moments later, he returned with another shield, fastened to his right arm. "We are leaving now."
Murugan nodded and whistled to call his mount.
"M-My Lords!" The merchant stuttered as he cautiously approached them. "T-Thank you for saving my life! Oh, thank Lord Ganesh for sending you-"
"It was a coincidence," his teacher interrupted. "We did not stop to save you. We were here to fight those things. If we were not looking to practise our combat, we would not have stopped. You would have died."
"B-But-"
___
Kratos guided Murugan away from the blithering merchant and mounted the large peacock. As they ascended towards the skies, Murugan spoke over his shoulder, "Did we have to be so harsh with that man?"
"It is best to nip such delusions in the bud," he responded with a growl. "Do you think your brother would take action personally to save that man's life? Do you think he would save every person who ever prays to him when they are nearing death?"
"Well..." Murugan said with a drawl.
"If people think that the gods they pray to will save them as long as they pray to them, what do you think they will do if, at their time of greatest need, the gods do not pay heed?" Kratos proposed.
"What if it gives them hope?" Murugan reasoned.
"Hope is the poison that kills slowly," Kratos said with a bitter frown. "It makes people go to extreme ends even if their endeavours are meaningless. It is best that people accept reality for what it is."
The duo stewed in silence, though only for a bit, as they spotted another group of targets nearby.
"If your performance this time is equivalent to or poorer than your previous attempt, I will hit you, boy," Kratos threatened before leaping off the bird.
___
Kumar abandoned his plans and retraced his steps back to his caravan. Or what remained of it - a wreckage. His escorts had all died, and so had his horses. Except for a singular mule that he'd purchased last minute to fill in his ranks. Somehow, it had survived the ordeal, none the wiser.
Swallowing his pride, he mounted the beast and urged it to retrace their journey from where they started.
Within three hours, he'd returned to the town from which he'd departed. Or what remained of it - a wreckage.
The town square lay in ruins beneath a sickly yellow sky. Wind whistled through splintered roof beams, carrying the stench of rot and iron. Kumar's mule brayed nervously as its hooves clattered over broken pottery strewn across the road.
Every stall stood empty. Bright silks that once fluttered from market awnings hung in tattered ribbons, stained black with dried blood. A child's wooden cart lay overturned, its wheels still spinning lazily in the breeze. But there were no children. No voices. Only the low, persistent hum of flies.
Kumar dismounted, and his sandals sank into the mud thickened with ash. The trader's office loomed ahead. Its door dangled from one hinge, lazily. A signboard swung creakily above the entrance - Vishwakarma Mercantile Union - the letters blurred under claw marks that had torn through the wood.
His reflection wavered in a shattered windowpane as he approached. Inside, shadows pooled thickly behind the counter. Something glinted in the darkness - a brass scale. Its trays were strewn with cowrie shells... and severed fingers. Kumar gagged, and his hand flew to his mouth to block the vomit from escaping. Then, he heard movement. A hunched shape shifted behind the counter, with its back rising and falling in ragged breaths.
"H-Hello?" he whispered, leaning forward. "Is someone—?"
The figure snapped upright.
Crocodilian eyes locked onto his. Looking below, he saw leathery skin stretched taut over a skull that was far too elongated, and jaws bristling with needle-teeth. It hissed a sound that matched steam escaping a pressurised vessel, and lunged.
Kumar stumbled backwards, crashing into a splintered pillar. The creature scrambled over the counter on all fours. Its limbs bent backwards like a spider's. Its talons screeched against the floorboards as it closed the distance with terrifying speed.
He fled, tripping over debris as the thing's wet panting echoed at his heels. Sunlight blinded him as he burst into the square. His foot caught on the child's cart. He fell hard, and his palms scraped the sand and gravel. He scrambled to crawl, but a weight slammed onto his legs. Hot drool splattered his neck.
'Lord Ganesh…' he prayed, squeezing his eyes shut. 'Let it be quick-'
But then the air split as an object flew past him.
The creature's shriek pierced his ears but was cut short by a sickening crunch. Warm liquid sprayed Kumar's back.
As he cautiously opened his eyes, he saw the Rakshasa lying twitching with a familiar axe buried to the hilt between its eyes. The ashen-skinned warrior wrenched the blade free with a wet slurp, and flecks of black blood arced through the air and splattered across his face.
The warrior loomed over Kumar with an impassive gaze. Behind him, the teenager sat crouched atop a collapsed roof with a shield strapped to his arm while surveying the carnage with a frown.
"C-Coincidence?" Kumar croaked.
The warrior growled audibly before letting out a sigh. He wiped his axe on the creature's hide and reluctantly admitted, "Yes."