Our journey to Cally’s hideout took us through winding, overgrown pathways hidden deep in the woods. Cally was an alchemist, a master of potions and poisons, and her reputation was as fearsome as her skills. She had lived on the outskirts of society for years, preferring solitude and secrecy to human interaction. But in times like these, when survival depended on more than just brute strength, Cally’s knowledge was invaluable.
We reached her small, secluded cottage late in the afternoon. It was a crooked little place, surrounded by herbs, plants, and strange vials hanging from trees. The air was thick with the scent of something potent and dangerous.
As we approached, the door creaked open, and there she stood—Cally, with wild eyes and her hands already stained with strange colors from her latest experiments. She didn’t smile. She never did. Instead, she tilted her head, eyeing us with curiosity.
“So,” she said, her voice raspy, “you’ve finally decided to learn something worthwhile.”
Kenzo stepped forward. “We need your help. We’re going after the bandits, but we’re outnumbered. We need every advantage we can get, and we know you can provide it.”
Cally’s lips curled into a sly grin, her fingers twitching as if she was already concocting a plan in her mind. “Potions and poisons, then? You’ve come to the right place. Follow me.”
She led us into her cramped workspace, filled with bubbling vials, strange powders, and shelves stacked with jars of things I didn’t even want to imagine. The atmosphere was intense, the air heavy with the pungent smell of brewing potions.
Cally wasted no time. She grabbed a flask filled with a deep purple liquid and held it up. “This,” she said, “is enough to incapacitate a grown man with just a whiff. It’s subtle, fast-acting, and leaves no trace. Perfect for taking out guards.”
She began teaching us the basics, showing us how to mix the ingredients, how to measure the exact amounts to get the desired effects. Each potion had a purpose—some to disorient, some to paralyze, others to kill quickly. Her instructions were precise, and under her watchful gaze, we practiced each formula, knowing that even a small mistake could be fatal.
“Stealth is your greatest weapon,” she explained. “You don’t need to fight every battle head-on. Let your enemies fall before they even know what hit them. And if you get caught in a direct fight, well, these potions can turn the tide.”
She also taught us how to administer the poisons—how to coat weapons with the deadly substances, how to lace food and drinks without being noticed, how to create makeshift traps using the toxins. Each lesson felt like a step closer to giving us the edge we so desperately needed.
For the next several days, we trained in secret under Cally’s guidance, perfecting the skills she had shown us. We returned to our hideout each night, exhausted but determined, our minds racing with new strategies. We started scouting the bandits’ movements, gathering information, and visiting various places to observe the enemy’s patterns. Cally’s poisons gave us the confidence to act, knowing we could take out enemies silently and efficiently.
Every day, we grew stronger, more confident, and more prepared for the inevitable confrontation. Our team worked together like a well-oiled machine, each of us mastering different aspects of Cally’s deadly craft. We practiced in the shadows, ensuring the bandits had no clue what was coming their way.
The day of the fight was fast approaching, and as we stood at the edge of the battlefield, ready to take down the bandits who had terrorized us for too long, we knew we had a chance. A slim one, but a chance nonetheless. And with the skills we had learned, we were no longer the hunted—we had become the hunters.
---
After weeks of training with Cally, I thought I was making progress. The poisons, the toxins, the stealth—it was all second nature to me now. But I knew it wasn’t enough. If we were going to face the bandits head-on, we’d need more than tricks and chemicals. That’s when Kenzo mentioned Leon, a martial artist from the Iron Fist, a group known for their brutal discipline and combat skills. He wasn’t just some fighter; he was someone who could teach us how to survive when the fight got real.
Kenzo had known Leon for years, apparently back when things were… well, better. We followed him deep into the woods to Leon’s camp, a secluded place where the air was thick with the smell of pine and earth. The closer we got, the more anxious I felt. I didn’t know what to expect, but I knew one thing for sure—I was tired of losing.
When we arrived, Leon was already waiting for us. He was standing in the middle of the camp, his presence commanding, even from a distance. His body, muscular and covered in scars, told the story of a man who had seen more than his fair share of fights. He wasn’t what I’d expected. He was more.
Kenzo stepped forward first, greeting Leon with a handshake. “It’s been a long time,” Kenzo said.
Leon gave him a short nod. “Too long,” he replied, his voice gravelly, but steady. “I hear you’ve got trouble. Bandits?”
Kenzo confirmed it, and Leon’s gaze swept over us. When his eyes landed on me, I felt like he could see right through me. He didn’t say anything for a moment, just stared, sizing me up like I was another challenge he had to conquer.
“If you’re serious about fighting, I’ll train you,” he finally said, his voice calm but firm. “But know this—I don’t go easy on anyone. You won’t like it.”
I clenched my fists, feeling my pulse quicken. I wasn’t looking for easy. I needed this. We all did.
---
The first day of training was hell. Leon didn’t just show us how to fight—he pushed us to our limits and then past them. Punches, blocks, footwork, stances—it was relentless. He drilled us from sunrise to sunset, not letting up for even a second. And through it all, I could feel him watching me, expecting more, even when I had nothing left to give.
I could see the determination in the others too. We were all exhausted, but no one was giving up. But for me, it felt personal. Every time I sparred with Leon, I gave it everything I had. I was fast—faster than most—and I thought I could use that to my advantage. But no matter how quick I moved, no matter how hard I struck, Leon blocked every attack like it was nothing.
I remember that first day, coming at him with a series of fast strikes, thinking maybe this time I’d land a hit. But Leon saw everything coming. He moved like he had all the time in the world, deflecting my attacks with ease. Within seconds, he’d disarmed me and knocked me flat on my back.
“You’re trying too hard to win,” Leon said, looking down at me as I gasped for breath. “You’re not focusing on the fight—you’re focusing on the outcome. If all you care about is winning, you’ll miss what’s right in front of you.”
I clenched my fists, frustrated. He was right, and I hated it. But I wasn’t about to give up.
“I’ll do better,” I muttered through gritted teeth, forcing myself up.
Leon gave a brief nod, his face unreadable. “Good. But remember, I’m not holding back.”
---
The second day was no different. I threw myself into every sparring session, determined to beat him. But Leon was always one step ahead. His movements were calm, methodical, and precise. I attacked with speed, but it wasn’t enough. He countered every move I made, and by the end of the day, I was back on the ground, panting for breath while Leon barely broke a sweat.
“You’re fast,” he said, offering me no comfort. “But speed won’t save you in a real fight. You’re letting your emotions control your actions. Fighting isn’t about being faster than your opponent—it’s about being smarter.”
I could feel the frustration boiling up inside me, but I swallowed it down. I couldn’t afford to let him see how much I hated losing. I just had to keep trying. Every time he knocked me down, I forced myself to get back up. I wasn’t going to let this break me.
By the third day, I was running on pure stubbornness. My body ached from the constant training, but I wasn’t about to let that stop me. I was up before dawn, preparing for another fight with Leon. I wasn’t sure what would be different today, but I knew I couldn’t keep making the same mistakes.
When it was time to spar, the others gathered around, watching with a mix of curiosity and pity. I had failed every day so far, and no one expected this time to be any different.
At first, the fight went as usual. I charged in with a flurry of fast strikes, but Leon blocked them all. It felt like a repeat of every fight we’d had so far. But then, something clicked.
I slowed down.
Instead of relying on my speed, I started to think about each move before I made it. I feinted left, then right, testing his reactions. Leon moved to block, but this time, I wasn’t going for the obvious. I shifted my weight, threw in unexpected attacks, kept him guessing. I could see it in his eyes—he wasn’t as confident as before. He wasn’t predicting my movements anymore.
The fight stretched longer than it ever had. I dodged, pivoted, stayed out of his reach when necessary. For the first time, Leon actually had to work to keep up with me.
Then it happened.
Leon went for a sweeping kick, aiming to knock me off balance, but I saw it coming. I jumped back just in time, and before he could recover, I feinted high, making him raise his guard. It was a trap. I spun low, sweeping his legs out from under him, sending him crashing to the ground.
For a moment, I just stood there, staring at him, barely believing what I’d done. The others were silent, just as shocked as I was.
Leon looked up at me, surprise flashing across his face before he quickly hid it. Then, to my amazement, he smiled. A real, genuine smile.
“You’ve learned,” he said, standing and brushing the dirt from his hands. “You stopped relying on speed and started using your mind. You outwitted me.”
I wiped the sweat from my brow, still trying to catch my breath. I had finally beaten him. But there was no need to gloat—the look on his face was all the victory I needed.
Leon turned to the others, his expression serious again. “This is what it takes,” he said, his voice carrying a weight I hadn’t noticed before. “It’s not just about strength or speed. You have to outthink your enemies. You need to adapt. And above all, you need to stay calm, no matter how bad things get.”
He glanced back at me, nodding in approval. “I think you’re ready.”
---
As we left Leon’s camp, heading back to the hideout, I felt a shift in the air. We weren’t the same group that had come here days ago, unsure and untrained. We were sharper now, stronger, and ready for whatever lay ahead.
I walked beside Kenzo, my muscles still aching, but my heart lighter than it had been in a long time. I had come a long way from the person who couldn’t land a single hit on Leon. Now, I knew I could take on anyone. The bandits had no idea what was coming.
We weren’t just survivors anymore. We were fighters. And when the time came, we wouldn’t hesitate.
Failure wasn’t an option anymore.