Chapter 11: The Doomsday Fang Gang and the First Crew
"Teach us a lesson?"
The bandit leader, Scarface, roared with laughter, sending spittle flying. His hoarse, grating voice echoed through the now tense and silent tavern, shattering the warm atmosphere that had existed moments before.
The customers who had been laughing were now huddled fearfully under their tables.
"Did you hear that, Gang?! This kid wants to teach us manners!" he mocked. "Who do you think you are, huh? Some late-blooming hero who's barely even grown a whisker?"
The gang of bandits behind him, who proudly called themselves the "Doomsday Fang Gang," joined in the jeering. They slapped their weapons against their palms in the style of street thugs, trying to look tough.
It was then that Hariel took a closer look at the 'weaponry' they were carrying.
And he had to struggle to suppress a grin.
The leader's machete did look somewhat threatening, despite the rust spots here and there. But the others... oh, man! One was confidently brandishing a dented ladle. Another held a large, dull-looking meat cleaver, more suitable for scratching one's back. Another held a wooden hammer with a wobbly handle. And the one at the very back, with the fiercest face, was carrying a big, heavy, soot-black frying pan.
Seriously? Is this the Doomsday Fang Gang or a troupe of clowns who'd shown up at the wrong address? he thought, amused.
A thin, utterly dismissive smile now played on his lips. His fight with Gorzuga yesterday had far more dignity.
"Looks like... I won't even need to bother with my fire or my sacred gloves for this one," he muttered softly, more to himself, yet it was audible in the tavern's silence.
"What did you say, you damned brat?!" the Gang's leader yelled, his face flushing red, feeling disrespected in front of his men. "Never underestimate the power of the Doomsday Fang Gang! EAT THIS!"
With a battle cry that sounded more like an eagle caught in a door, he leaped forward blindly, swinging his machete towards Hariel's head.
But Hariel only tilted his body slightly, casually.
"That attack... is too slow and predictable."
THWACK!
Without changing his calm expression, Hariel easily dodged the clumsy swing. Then, with a single swift movement that no one even saw clearly, his leg flew up and kicked the bandit leader squarely in the rear.
The bandit howled in a mixture of pain and disbelief, his eyes bulging. His body toppled forward like a sack of rotten potatoes, meeting the floor with a loud and embarrassing "THUD!".
His rusty machete slipped from his grasp and rolled helplessly under another table.
"Ouch... my back... my spine's gonna snap..." the leader groaned, trying to get up but failing completely.
The other gang members were stunned for a moment, their mouths agape, unable to believe their boss had been defeated so easily.
"HEY! WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR?! DON'T JUST STAND THERE LIKE STATUES! GET HIM, ALL AT ONCE!" shouted the bandit with the wobbly hammer.
Only then did the remaining rabble snap out of it. They charged Hariel simultaneously with battle cries that sounded more like sleep-talking. One swung a hammer from above, another tried to stab from the side, another brandished a rusty saw. It was so chaotic, some of them even bumped into each other.
To Hariel, their attack looked like a slow dance full of openings.
"You guys are really... noisy!" Hariel exclaimed. He casually deflected the hammer's handle with his elbow, sending the bandit stumbling back into his own friend.
"Got you this time, kid!" yelled the meat-cleaver bandit, thrusting towards Hariel's chest.
Hariel, with a slightly bored expression, caught the blade of the meat cleaver with just two fingers of his gloved hand.
CRACK!
With just a little pressure, the dull, brittle blade snapped in two.
"Too blunt," Hariel commented, dropping the broken piece to the floor. The bandit stared in disbelief.
"Watch out!" yelled another bandit, throwing his large black frying pan like a giant frisbee.
Hariel looked up, catching the heavy pan with one hand without difficulty. He spun it on his finger for a moment like a circus performer before finally, with an accurate aim, throwing it back.
CLANG!
"YEEEOOOWWW!"
The pan hit the thrower's head squarely. He was instantly seeing stars and collapsed onto a small table.
The battle—or rather, Hariel's game—lasted no more than five minutes.
All members of the Doomsday Fang Gang were sprawled helplessly on the floor, groaning in pain with various bruises, lumps the size of goose eggs, and utterly shattered pride.
Hariel stood tall amidst the chaos, casually dusting imaginary dirt from his shoulder. "There, isn't this much better and quieter," he said.
The tavern patrons slowly began to emerge from their hiding places, looking at Hariel with a mixture of awe, disbelief, and a little fear.
"He... he defeated all of them..." a merchant whispered.
The tavern owner, the kind, chubby woman, approached Hariel with tears in her eyes. "Thank you so much, young man! You saved all of us! You saved this tavern!"
"Sorry for causing a bit of a disturbance, Ma'am," Hariel said, scratching the back of his neck.
"Shush... it's no problem at all!" the owner cut in, her smile now blooming wide. "As thanks, you can eat for free here today, as much as you want! Order anything, and I'll make it for you myself, the most special version!"
Hariel's eyes, which had looked tough moments ago, now sparkled like a child's. "REALLY, MA'AM?! EVERYTHING'S FREE?! AS MUCH AS I WANT UNTIL I CAN'T WALK ANYMORE?!"
The owner laughed happily. "Of course, son! Consider this place your home!"
Hariel cheered internally. But before he returned to his seat, his eyes scanned the surrounding mess—then fell on the groaning members of the Doomsday Fang Gang. A brilliant, slightly mischievous idea flashed in his mind.
He walked over to the defeated men. "Hey, Burnt Pan and Rusty Spoon Gang!" he called out in a commanding tone. "Get up! Don't pretend to be unconscious. You see all this damage? You made it, you fix it."
One of them answered hesitantly, "But... we're robbers... not carpenters..."
"Ex-robbers," Hariel corrected firmly, his grin widening. "Starting today, you're carpenters. Use those tools you brought and get to work. Or..."
He glanced meaningfully at the dented frying pan on the floor.
"...would you prefer a round two with that pan as your pillow?"
The threat was apparently very effective. Soon, a strange sight unfolded in "The Spicy Spoon." Under Hariel's "strict supervision"—as he sat casually enjoying a large bowl of "Volcano Curry"—the group of bandits worked with sour faces, hammering and reassembling every broken table and chair.
Steam rose from Hariel's bowl, carrying a delicious spicy aroma that made the ex-bandits swallow their saliva with envy.
"Come on, come on, pick up the pace a little, my Carpenter Friends!" Hariel called out between bites. "We can't have other customers showing up with nowhere to sit because you're too slow!"
After enjoying the deliciousness of the "Volcano Curry," Hariel observed them more closely. "Hey," he called. "You guys seemed pretty good at fixing that chair leg. Why did you end up as failed robbers?"
The five ex-bandits stopped in unison. The man with the scar sighed.
"We... we didn't really have many other choices, kid," he said quietly, his voice bitter. "The five of us... we used to be carpenters and artisans. We had a small workshop that was quite well-known in our village."
"Then why did it come to this?" Hariel asked, curious, putting down his spoon.
"Because of... the cheap goods from Gizmograd," replied one of the women in the group with a sad tone. "Their goods are mass-produced by machines, their prices are much lower. Our intricate hand-carvings... no one wants to buy them anymore."
"So, our workshop went quiet, debts piled up, and we were forced to find another way to survive," added the skinniest man. "And... well... becoming robbers seemed like the quickest idea, even though we're clearly terrible at it."
"But, believe me, kid... really... we don't like doing this," chimed in the stocky woman. "It feels so wrong."
Hariel fell silent, stopping his spoonful of curry midway. The tavern's lively noise seemed to fade. He looked at their weary, regretful faces. In this world, there was always injustice. He often acted without thinking, but he wasn't heartless.
"I get how you feel," Hariel finally said, his tone more serious and empathetic. "Times are always changing. But robbing is definitely not the answer. You should have found another way to use your skills!"
"Like what, kid?" the ex-leader asked, a hint of hope in his eyes. "Who wants handmade goods anymore in this age of machines?"
Hariel grinned wide, brilliant ideas starting to pop into his head like sparks of fire from within him.
"For example... you could make things that have a 'soul'! Or, open an antique repair service! Or..."
Hariel continued, his eyes now shining brighter than usual, a crazy idea having just crossed his mind.
"You could just join me!"
Silence fell over their table. The offer was so sudden that the five ex-bandits could only stare at him with open mouths.
"I'm on a great journey to make my dream come true!" Hariel continued with spirit. "I need a reliable crew! You're all skilled with wood and craftsmanship, right? We could find a way to build a Sky Ark! The greatest flying ship ever! We'll sail the sea of clouds, become true Sky Conquerors!"
The eyes of the five ex-bandits widened in shock. Slowly, that shock turned into something else. Something they hadn't felt in a long time. Hope. The doubt and despair on their faces seemed to be washed away, replaced by the blazing spirit of adventure.
"Join... you, kid?" the ex-leader repeated, his voice trembling with disbelief. "As... as a real... adventure crew?"
"Of course! Why not?!" Hariel answered enthusiastically.
The scar-faced man looked at his friends—the woman who had spoken sadly nodded firmly, the skinny man beside her had tears in his eyes, the stocky woman clenched her fists with spirit, and the youngest among them smiled wide.
He then looked back at Hariel, a sincere smile finally gracing his face.
"Alright, Hariel," he said with a steady voice. "We... the five of us will join you! We'll be your first crew!"
Hariel cheered with delight. "GREAT! THAT'S THE RIGHT DECISION! Welcome to my first and greatest adventure party! I finally have my crew!"
He then looked at them one by one. "By the way, I don't really know all your names yet."
"I am Bartholomew Boltigan, Captain!" said the ex-leader, now with respect. "I'm Griselda Geargrinder!" chirped the woman cheerfully. "My name is Percival Pipesworth," said the skinny man politely. "I am Wilhelmina Wrenchington!" said the stocky woman. "And I'm Humphrey Hammersmith, Boss Hariel!" said the youngest.
Hariel nodded quickly, trying to process the long and somewhat noble-sounding names. He scratched his head for a moment, then grinned.
"Mmm... your names are all cool, but they're also pretty long to remember when we're in a hurry!" he said honestly. "Alright, to be friendly and make it easy, from now on I'll call you: Bolt, Grease, Pipe, Wrench, and Hammer!"
He looked at his five new members with a satisfied smile. "There, that's better! It's great to meet and officially recruit you all! From now on, we're comrades-in-arms!"
The five ex-bandits looked at each other, then laughed softly at their new captain's blunt yet familiar way of giving them new identities.
They felt as if they had truly been reborn—given a new life and also a new name, a chance to use their skills for something bigger and far more exciting.