Chapter 73: Unnatural Strength

"Careful with that there pile, Arthur," the villager warned, gesturing toward a particularly thick, knotted log buried deeper into the stack. "That there timber is ancient iron-oak, takes two strong men swinging at it to crack the grain."

Shadow One lowered his gaze to the heavy log.

He showed no reaction to hearing the warning nor did he attempt to address the comment; he simply crouched down, placed the heavy log upright, and adjusted its position until it was perfectly balanced.

Then he raised the axe.

One hand was all that was needed.

The heavy weapon rose over his head before coming down in one smooth and controlled movement, with no wasted effort or unnecessary power behind the blow.

CRACK!

THUOM!

The heavy blow sounded like a bolt of lightning overhead, sending startled birds from the nearby rooftops and attracting enough attention from onlookers to cause a few to turn their heads, if only to see exactly what had made such a racket.

The log split down the exact center.

Both halves landed on the sides of the chopping block, their freshly split surfaces almost unnaturally smooth and even.

The man who was holding the basket stopped dead in his tracks.

He then found that his fingers had gone loose from the woven fibers, causing the basket to fall to the ground the moment his wide eyes locked on the sight of the perfectly split log. His mouth had dropped open, his expression caught between utter bewilderment and disbelief.

Several others had paused as well.

They were staring with open mouths at the sight of the log that had been so effortlessly split, and a few had even moved close enough to the gathering to take a direct look over the others’ shoulders as they gazed upon Shadow One.

But the man himself seemed utterly unimpressed by the sudden fanfare.

He calmly withdrew the blade of the axe from the remaining log before placing another piece of wood on the chopping block and raising the weapon once more.

Another blow.

Then another.

The heavy axe continued rising and falling in an evenly paced rhythm, striking the thick and unyielding wood in the perfect spots to split the logs with an ease that none of them would have ever expected.

Not even one bead of sweat clung to his brow, and his body showed no signs of strain or fatigue.

He worked like a machine, as if cutting thick iron-oak logs was nothing more than removing a stray bit of leaf matter from his sleeve.

"Does he ever bloody get tired?" the young villager muttered in disbelief.

He wiped a small amount of sweat off of his forehead despite not having to do any work himself.

"I’ve worked beside him for days and I’ve never seen him sweat a single time," another villager remarked as he shook his head. "Just look at him."

He paused for a moment longer before adding under his breath,

"Not a single drop."

An older farmer nearby adjusted the brim of his cap and grumbled.

"Just be glad he’s on our side and not some bloody bandit. Now stop staring at the bloke and get back to work!"

The people quickly went back to their tasks.

Shadow One had heard everything the men had said.

His enhanced sensory field picked up every hushed remark being made, but he was unmoved by the comments and continued to split the wood with the same practiced ease.

He could hear the words and he could sense the implications that his unorthodox demonstrations of strength had on the village, but it was all wasted on him.

It was all useless, pointless noise.

Each display of strength only served to make him seem less and less like his fellow laborers, and he would have to put out more fire to stave the growing rumors away.

But it was all just as futile, because in the far corners of the world, brute strength was as valuable of a commodity as gold.

Once the entire stack of wood had been split, Shadow One gathered a few of the split pieces and easily tossed them over his shoulder. He took the time to adjust the few grains of dust that clung to him before walking back toward the center square, where the sun still shone with a peaceful warmth.

Shadow One’s enhanced senses picked up on a change in the air behind him.

The shifting of the air behind him spoke of a group of people walking in his direction, but the rhythm of their steps told him that they were not average villagers.

A group of people had entered the square from the road, and they spoke in hushed tones as they made their way forward.

All of them wore practical leather brigandines with iron shoulder guards and bore short practical blades around their belts, but it was the crossbows hanging at their waists that caught his eye.

They weren’t the things that caught his eye either, it was the set of determined eyes that were scanning the square.

Each man in the group had the hardened eyes of a traveler who had spent countless years trudging back and forth through the wilds of the mountainous frontier, and the look of people who knew the dangers that lurked in every shadow.

The leader of the group, Garris, was a grizzled-looking old veteran with the hardened lines of a man who had seen his share of the world. His weathered face bore the signs of years of experience and a thin but visible scar ran over his jaw, while his sharp eyes missed nothing.

Garris gave Shadow One an approving nod.

"You’ve probably noticed us preparing around the square these past few days, Arthur. I’m Garris. I lead the village’s trade patrols."

Shadow One gave a slight inclination of his head to acknowledge him.

He didn’t speak, he couldn’t, so he simply raised his right hand and gave Garris a slow and simple nod just as he had done when he had acknowledged the other villagers.

Garris looked him up and down and gave a slow, approving smile."Good. That makes this conversation a lot simpler."

He chuckled lightly.