Act Three: The Laws of Engaging with the World (Part Three)
three
Schumeer sat far away, watching them across the campfire. He'd used up his day's supply of drawing paper, but he counted out another sheet from his bundle. He was utterly inept at these fighting and killings. Even if the conflict had started because of him, he didn't want to get involved—but painting a picture was a matter of course.
He first observed Yubi: Yubi was short and looked like he hadn't grown up yet. This put him at a disadvantage. But people often say morale is crucial, and this boy was quite angry now; at least in Schumacher's memory, he had never seen him so tense. However, morale wasn't the most important condition for victory. Had Yubi ever fought? He didn't have a single weapon. Schumacher worried as he marked a spot on the papyrus.
He then observed Yakov: the tall, strong, fully armed Slavic man must have considerable combat experience. But he was clearly resisting the fight and seemed irritated and dismissive. Why was that? Schumer thought, it certainly wasn't because he felt he was bullying the weak—maybe Yakov had really killed children? If he had been a slave or a mercenary, that would be for sure—but Yakov must be resisting the fight for some other reason. Schumer also naturally thought that perhaps because of the mark on his chest, he believed he would lose to something the vampire held in his hands; perhaps he felt that Yubi fighting him was a waste of time and a nuisance. Schumer, holding his charcoal pencil, marked another spot on the other end of the papyrus.
They seemed to be mismatched in strength. But if they actually fought, the outcome was unpredictable. Ultimately, however, he knew he could survive regardless of who won. Schumeer believed he still had some strength left, enough to maintain a balance between the two, like a clown treading on a giant ball, preserving his life. Did he have any selfish motives? The answer was ambiguous—Shumer's emotions told him: how satisfying it would be if Yakov lost! But at the same time, his reason told him: Yakov couldn't possibly lose, and it was best if he didn't lose.
This was a duel without a referee, and naturally, no one sounded the horn. First, Yubi charged forward, but he wasn't any faster than the other children his size. He crashed into Yakov, bouncing back with a thud as if he'd hit a large tree. The tree didn't budge, not even a single leaf fell.
Yakov frowned. "I thought you had some tricks up your sleeve. Don't mess with me."
Schumer saw Yakov drop the longsword, seemingly not expecting Yubi to launch a more significant attack, and secretly breathed a sigh of relief. But he thought, those iron gauntlets are terrifying too; if someone were hit with them, they would surely slash flesh and draw blood. Despite his worries, he remained firmly seated opposite the campfire, knowing his limitations, his charcoal pencil moving rapidly.
Yubi, blinded by rage, rammed around wildly, causing no harm. Undeterred, he repeated the action, oblivious to the pain. Yakov seized his opportunity, grabbing Yubi by the collar during one of the collisions and lifting the monstrous creature. Yubi lost his footing; his punches and kicks became weak and feeble. He could only roar in fury, wildly grabbing Yakov's hair.
"Put me down!" he commanded his servant, his shoes slamming against Yakov's chainmail.
“Shumer, get me a rope,” Yakov said. “He’s lacking discipline and should be tied to a tree for the night.”
Schumer sighed and shook his head. A sense of disappointment, which he had anticipated, washed over him. He got up from the ground, dusted himself off, and was about to walk toward the horse when he caught sight of Yubi's hand slapping Yakov hard across the face with a loud crack.
"Damn blood slave, put me down!"
Schumer sensed something was terribly wrong. Yakov's eyes had changed. A painful, cold stubbornness emanated from those pale blue, wolf-like eyes. Schumer had seen that look before. It was that unbearable pain that Yakov displayed whenever he writhed in agony because of the mark on his chest. His mark was acting up, Schumer wondered. What was he thinking? What did he intend to do to Yubi to inflict such agony?
“It seems your mother didn’t teach you anything useful, so I’ll have to teach you in her place. You should be grateful for that.” Yakov gripped Yubi’s wrist tightly, making it impossible for him to move. “First of all, the first rule. When begging for mercy, you should be humble. Otherwise, it’s just useless nonsense.”
“I won’t beg for mercy.” Yubi stared at him, her eyes filled with hostility. “I haven’t lost yet.”
“Secondly. Whether you lose or not is not up to you to decide, but up to the winner.” Yakov gripped her slender wrist tighter, the fabric creaking. “You’ve already lost. If you insist you haven’t, you’ll only make yourself a laughingstock.”
“I didn’t lose,” Yubi insisted. “I did nothing wrong, therefore I didn’t lose! You can’t defeat me!”
Schumer wanted to rush in and separate them. He couldn't help but wonder why they were both so stubborn, making such a fuss. If Yubi had compromised, admitted his naiveté, and turned a blind eye to this mess, wouldn't he have been able to live in his own little paradise? Or, if Yakov had taken a step back, coaxed the boy to be happy, and then secretly plotted against him, wouldn't he have felt much more at ease?
But the shrewd Jew remained silent, simply taking a rope from his sack, tossing it to Yakov, and then sitting back down opposite the fire. This action inexplicably filled him with guilt. Sure enough, Yubi watched his dishonest behavior with utter disappointment, as if the light, soft bundle of straw rope he had thrown had shattered some invaluable principle or truth, causing the Tower of Babel to collapse.
Schumacher could only silently repent in his heart, "I'm sorry, Yubi, you are not the Messiah. Ultimately, one must live in the real world."
But he saw a change in Yubi's fingertips. In an instant, those black, sharp nails became thick and razor-sharp, growing wildly like poisonous thorns, sword blades, or sprouting brambles. The terrifying claws opened and slashed viciously at Yakov's face. Yakov was clearly startled; he threw Yubi aside and immediately grabbed the longsword from the ground. Several thin streaks of blood appeared on his face, like strings of red pearls.
“You were up to something after all,” Yakov asked in a low voice. “What about that ring?”
Schumer finally stood up, speechless with astonishment. Yubi had been thrown into a filthy mud puddle; half the snow had melted, soaking his wool cloak, embroidered with shimmering silver thread, into a filthy mess, instantly undoing everything he had tried so hard to maintain in the past few days. But he scrambled to his feet without a care, as if the fall hadn't hurt him at all. He rushed over again, much faster than before.
Schumer closed his eyes in fright, only to hear a sharp clang. When he looked again, he saw that Yakov had blocked the terrifying claws with his sword.
"This is unbelievable, my God! Stop fighting!" He grabbed a handful of his hair. "Does this have to end in a death? Either of you admit defeat, and this will be over!"
Yet neither was willing to concede defeat. Schumer stared blankly as they grappled, sparks flying, locked in a fierce struggle, and felt his words had been utterly foolish. He gritted his teeth, standing there helplessly, daring not to do anything but shout. Yubi seemed weak, inexperienced, and lacking in skill. But he had long claws on both hands as weapons, and his furious movements grew ever faster; while Yakov possessed all the advantages Yubi lacked—his tall stature and sturdy chainmail allowed him to block almost all attacks. But he only parried, never striking, and his swordsmanship was inexplicably awkward. Schumer observed closely and noticed that Yakov was sweating profusely in the cold winter night, beads of sweat glistening in the campfire, and his dodging of Yubi's movements was becoming increasingly difficult—Yakov's mark was activating. The outcome of the battle suddenly became clear.
“Yubi, stop!” Schumer shouted. “You can’t kill him!”
"I won't!" Yubi, like a red-eyed devil, had two sharp teeth sticking out of his mouth. "Unless he admits defeat, admits his mistake, listens to me from now on, and never looks down on me again!"
"Yakov, admit defeat!" Schumer shouted desperately again. "You can't win, you know that!"
Yakov said nothing, breathing unevenly. The sudden entanglement had exhausted him, making him increasingly hesitant to raise his longsword. At first, he could maneuver the hilt of the sword with ease, making it twirl and parry in his hand; but now, he could only grip it tightly, clumsily receiving attacks at the hardest and heaviest angles. The pain was etched deeper and deeper into his heart.
Yubi attacked relentlessly, as if anger gave him inexhaustible energy. Finally, Yakov's sword hilt slipped from his grasp. Yubi immediately kicked the weapon to Schumeer. The ruby-inlaid longsword spun around and came to a stop at Schumeer's feet. Schumeer hesitated for a moment, then reached out and picked it up. The sword was so heavy that his wrist ached even just holding it, so he had to stand it upright on the ground.
“Admit defeat, Yakov.” Yubi raised his stubborn face, staring coldly into his eyes. “Violence is power. That’s what you said.”
Schumeer watched Yakov with trepidation. A fleeting shock crossed his deeply lined and wrinkled face, followed by an indescribable mixture of humiliation and submission, quickly fading into a desolate numbness and resentment. Schumeer suddenly felt pity for him, and then thought of his own hardships. He thought, Yakov must have endured many similar experiences. How many years of honing his swordsmanship, how many battlefields he had to fight, what kind of opportunity would he have to obtain a good sword and a good suit of armor to fight against this terrible fate? But who could have imagined that there were bloodthirsty monsters in the world who, without even a sword, could inflict such excruciating pain? Schumeer wondered, what would Yakov do? He would be angry, he would despair. And then what?
“I concede,” Yakov said quietly. He stood there, like a heavy stone statue, as if all the weight of the world was pressing down on his back.
Schumer held his breath, praying that Yubi would forgive him quickly. But Yubi's anger burned even more intensely. His eyes widened in fury, his red irises gleaming.
"Don't you feel it's unfair? Don't you feel sad? Is admitting defeat such a simple thing?" Yubi's fingers were twisted and spread open. "As long as it's someone you can't beat, no matter who they are, everything they say and do is reasonable, and there's no room for objection?"
Schumer noticed a hint of confusion on Yakov's face. He thought he must be feeling the same way. "What exactly do you want?" Yakov's mouth moved silently, hidden beneath his beard.
“I want you to think carefully about what’s right and wrong, don’t resort to violence!” Yubi shouted, but his nails retracted, returning to their original shape. He turned, retrieved the ring from the snow, and slipped it back onto his finger. Then he went to Shumel, took the longsword, and dragged it by the hilt to Yakov.
"If you agree, take your sword back," he said stubbornly, raising his innocent face.
Yakov slowly took the sword. Schumer felt the air was much warmer, as if the campfire was burning brighter. He saw Yubi just begin to smile, but then heard Yakov interrupt him.
“Don’t resort to violence. That’s what you said. I’ll never listen to you in everything,” Yakov said coldly. “I have my reasons, but you don’t understand.”
"Then you'd better figure out how to make me understand!" Yubi glared at him. "I'm not stupid!"
Schumer saw that Yakov's tightly furrowed brow suddenly showed signs of relaxing. That brow, furrowed for years, had etched indelible marks on his skin. But now, it seemed as if a massive glacier had melted slightly. Schumer thought that the etched pain should have stopped tormenting him now.
“You’ll understand.” Yakov pulled out the gold coin he had snatched from Schumacher earlier, its neat edges gleaming. “If you really want to reward him, wait until you understand the reasoning before you do.”
Schumeer thought regretfully and greedily that he probably wouldn't get the gold coin. But that didn't seem so bad.
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