Chapter 32: Remember to Smile (2/2)

Roughly about the time Brenden had reach the age of fourteen he had an encounter that would change his life forever. He had found an injured old man, lying in the gutter of a city he had never bothered to learn the name of.

The man was bearded and dirty, with matted grey hair, wearing effectively nothing but rags. His pained breathing and sightless eyes spoke of one who was not long for this world.

As was his habit at the time, Brenden started carefully, rifling the man's pockets. He had run into a few of these dying vagrants on occasion and had learned to be careful of them. Despite their appearance, there was a lot of fight left in them.

However, despite his best efforts, he couldn't escape the lighting fast grasp of the dying man, nor the terrible strength in his grip.

The man looked a Brenden with eyes half mad with pain, and did the most unthinkable thing. He smiled.

Brenden was so shocked by this, that he momentarily stopped struggling, and was face down on the ground before he knew it, arm twisted behind him.

He felt the hot, wet breath of the man on the back of his neck as his aggressor whispered into his ear. ”You have some excellent eyes.”

He paused, as if considering something. ”Do you want to be strong, boy? Do you want to take what this life has to offer, rather than begging for the scraps of refuse left to you? I can make that happen.”

And that was how Brenden met the man who became his master. Erin, as his named turned out to be, was once a famous duelist until he lost, and in the process lost the lower portion of his right leg. He was able to work as a swordsmanship instructor for a while, but became addicted to gambling. In time he ended up on the streets. Homeless, and friendless.

After he had nursed the injured old man back to something resembling health, Erin began to teach Brenden swordsmanship, seeing in the young beastman a great deal of potential.

”You have been blessed, Brenden. The Warrior class, while not rare, is a solid and dependable one that will provide you a great deal of benefit so long as you put in the effort. So why is it that you still can't defend yourself properly after weeks of training.” The old man harangued his charge still sprawled out on the ground.

”I'm trying master, but you always attack when I'm not expecting it.” Brenden said while getting up.

”That's the whole point, boy. Fighting, and dueling especially, is all in the mind. When your enemy is focused on you, everything you do becomes a means of influencing his behavior. A single gesture or facial expression at the right moment is often all it takes to decide the outcome of a duel.”

”I don't really understand.” Brenden grimaced.

The old man took a swig from his jug, before continuing. ”Try to think of it this way. Your face is grim and menacing. Like an unsheathed blade. This can be useful in certain circumstances, but wearing that sort of expression all the time can cause more problems than it solves. Build a mask to hide your true thoughts and intentions.”

Brenden simply listened attentively.

”Try playing the fool. Smile and nod. Act as if you haven't a thought in your head, and your enemies will underestimate you, think that you are incompetent. Use that against them.”

The old man's face broke into a feral smile. ”Remember to smile. Smile so that they don't see the killer underneath.”

For some reason that lesson always stuck with him, long after the memory of that day had faded.

This training continued until Brenden was 16, at which point his master declared. ”I've taught you what I can for now. Come back once you get some experience.”

With little else he could do, Brenden joined the Adventurer's guild and was able to advance to Rank 2 after a short delay. His sword skills proved sufficient to complete the basic subjugation quests necessary to advance.

Lacking adequate options to continue practicing, he decided to travel to Wyrport and try his luck in their famous dungeon. Unfortunately his bad habit of oversleeping surfaced again.

He entered the guild, sprinting past the protesting guards, asking for quick directions from a bewildered receptionist before running up to the waiting room door. Walking through it would be the next step on his path to true power.

As he paused to catch a breath, he thought he could hear a quiet, serpentine voice whisper, ”Murderer.” For a moment, Brenden's true face returned. The face of a man who killed his own father, who spent years on the street lying, stealing, and if necessary killing to survive. If someone was observing him at this time, they would be struck by the cold, emotionless eyes.

With an effort of will, Brenden rebuilt his mask. He mentally chanted the mantra his master had taught him without meaning to. [Remember to smile. Remember to smile.]

The young beastman opened the door and entered the room full of fellow newbie adventurer's, an idiotic grin already plastered on his face.