Chapter 17: Fresh Start

"Who are you?"

Tara felt her stomach drop. The question was so simple, and yet she couldn't find the words to answer it. A name would be a start, but would also do little to give Zhao the information he truly desired.

The swordsman stared at her with unwavering eyes. Flames from torches outside of the tent crackled, interrupting the pristine silence periodically. Aside from the two men who still lay by her feet, not another soul was present, at least from what she could tell through her peripheral vision. Still, the lack of other prying eyes did not put her ease.

She took a quick breath. "My name is Tara."

"Tara?" Zhao furrowed his brows.

"Yes, it is the name I got from my mother," she answered slowly. Tara made sure to say the words clearly, without cutting any corners, for she was unsure as to how much of Mikey's capabilities remained.

The man looked at her with a mixture of disbelief and amazement. "That's quite a name. Where did you learn to fight like that?"

"Oh, this?" she stuttered, "I—"

Tara paused. She wasn't even sure herself; it was by pure instinct that she was able to defend herself despite all odds.

"I don't know. I can't—"

The princess found herself unable to speak over his foreboding presence. What was curiosity only moments ago had turned into anger. She could only assume it was due to her nonsensical answer.

"Fine then. But just know that you're a terrible liar," he muttered dryly.

"Still," continued Zhao as he stood up and turned away, "I wish to see the extent of your abilities. Depending on how you fare against me—"

Without so much as a glance, he spun back around with his right arm fully extended. Out of his hand came a shining object that flew straight toward Tara.

The startled princess shut her eyes. But rather than feel a sensation of bleeding, she heard something metallic vibrate as it became lodged in the wood pole behind her. The taut rope that tugged at her wrists then came loose.

"—will decide your fate."

Zhao walked toward the exit, snapping one last glance at her before grabbing his two subordinates and dragging them out by the legs.

Tara rose up. As she rubbed the bruises on her wrists, a feeling of awe began to bubble up within. Never had she seen such a display of skill, at least from what she could remember.

"Never pegged myself as someone who'd be excited by this sort of thing," she thought to herself, "This doesn't feel like me at all…"

~

Tara awoke the next day, relieved that her taste of freedom wasn't a mere dream. But even though she was free to move as she pleased, the pain of sleeping on the hard dirt with little more than a rugged mat still remained.

The excitement she felt the day before had died down. As with any other night, her dreams were inundated with visions of the lost boy suffering from heterochromia. Each time, his cries for help reverberated throughout the endless expanse. And each time, she was able to take just one step closer before it was all over.

"This time, I was able to say something. For the first time since—" Tara shook her head. Ever since their first encounter, her voice was mute. That remained to be until last night, when her own cries were finally heard.

"One of these nights, I'll finally make it. I'll save him and bring these dreams to an end."

The sound of footsteps approaching broke her out of the trance. Through the open entryway came Zhao with two bowls in hand. He smirked upon seeing her shabby state.

"Consider yourself lucky. My men and I were going to march out today with you in tow, but news of a rather unpleasant predicament came at the crack of dawn."

Zhao didn't bother to elaborate anymore on the matter, not that Tara cared. Instead, he placed the bowls on the ground next to her, then seated himself. It was then that she realized that she hadn't eaten a crumb since her capture. Her stomach growled loudly.

"Come on, eat up," he instructed kindly.

"Is this really the same man who nearly stabbed me in the throat?" Tara pondered.

"I figured today's a better day than ever to witness the extent of your abilities."

The hint of fervor in Zhao's voice was impossible to ignore. The reluctant Tara pursed her lips. As much as she wanted to reply with a snide remark, she knew better than to possibly agitate an assassin.

~

With her hunger finally satisfied, Tara accompanied Zhao as he made his way to the camp's center. The soldiers promptly halted all operations and turned to face the pair.

Tara glanced all around. Much to her relief, the two men who had assaulted her were nowhere to be seen. Those who remained no longer leered at her voluptuous figure.

"Attention men," he boomed, "as some of you may know, our guest here is a formidable fighter. Today, I ask anyone who'd like to test their skill to please step forward."

None of the men volunteered.

"Fine, then I'll go first," declared Zhao with a smile.

Tara stuttered. "W-wait, can't we set any ground rules?"

"Of course. No weapons. Just pure, hand-to-hand combat. We go until one fighter relents."

With that, Zhao shifted into a bent-legged stance. He raised his arms into so that his left one guarded his chest, and the right one extended outward. With his hands relaxed, he beckoned her to come forth.

"Hold on! We're really doing this?" Tara asked frantically.

"Yes, we are!" Zhao then charged. Using his extended arm, he threw a quick jab. Tara dodged. But rather than counter, she retreated with a quick shuffle backwards.

"Come on! Show me how you subdued my men so effortlessly!" He jabbed once more, then followed up with a swipe of the elbow that caught the princess off guard. She stumbled back, but managed to stay on her feet. Warm blood seeped from her chin.

The innate excitement from before engulfed her like a raging fire. It was as though a completely different side of her had taken control.

Smiling, she leapt forward with a battle cry. Her kneecap struck Zhao in the solar plexus, knocking the air from his lungs.

"Well, if it's a fight you want," she said as she wiped the blood from her wound. Without giving her opponent the chance to catch his breath, she shot forward with a straight-legged kick that arched over his shoulder and came crashing down toward the back of his head.

Zhao reacted fast; he crossed his wrists over his head and caught her leg. Then he jolted up, higher than her flexibility allowed. Tara was swiftly thrown to the ground where a thin layer of mud cushioned her fall.

Rather than take advantage of the situation, Zhao granted her the chance to recover. "I won't strike a lady while she's down. Such an act is below me. That being said, however…"

The man glanced around, taking in the growing excitement among the crowd. All watched awe. A few even began to chant his name. Not willing to admit defeat, Tara rose up and eyed Zhao with a reawakened resolve.

"That was pure luck" she grumbled before turning to spit a bloody loogie. Her heart began to race even faster. Exhilaration like she had never felt before coursed through her veins as she charged in with a flurry of blows.

Most of the punches were easily deflected. But much to her satisfaction, a few landed square in the man's gut. Zhao did not attempt to counter until she drew her arm back in preparation of a hook to the jaw.

"Gotcha!"

Despite its strength, Zhao was able to anticipate the trajectory of the curved punch and caught it with ease. Tara tried to pull back, only to realize that he had gotten her arm in a lock. She swung with the other arm, which met the same fate.

The conceited Zhao smirked, then jerked forward into a headbutt that knocked her back. The men gasped.

Tara staggered around in a daze. As she held the area of her forehead that had received the brunt of the impact, everything around her spun around.

"Damn it," she sputtered, "Don't think this means you've won."

After a few seconds, the spinning eased, and Tara shook her head. Something within her felt different, but she couldn't quite put her finger on what.

Zhao gestured at her to attack as he had done at the beginning of the match. Tara narrowed her eyes in an attempt to focus, yet the long-haired man still appeared hazy.

'What's happening…?'

Zhao's appearance briefly and suddenly changed in a flash. Tara rubbed her eyes. Much to her surprise, the strange occurrence happened again.

"Well? What's the matter?" hollered Zhao, whose voice became distorted. But unlike the time she was accompanied by the AI, it wasn't any alien words that caused difficulties. Rather, his voice itself changed concurrently with his appearance.

"I think that last hit must've knocked something loose," she shakily answered. "You seem to be—"

Tara cut herself off. The periods during which Zhao waver grew long enough so that she could pinpoint the differences. The individual who would temporarily stand in his place was like no one else she had ever seen.

Like Zhao, the figment had black hair and piercing brown eyes. But far different was the color of his skin, which was brown like tree bark. He was far taller and more muscular than Zhao as well.

"Maybe we ought to end this here," the mysterious man said in a deep voice. He ruffled his outfit, which consisted of a white robe and pants, with a black belt-like cloth tied around his abdomen. As he walked over to check in Tara, his appearance changed back to that of Zhao's.

"You put on a good fight," he assured, now with his familiar voice. The soldiers, disappointed that the match had ended so quickly, went about their work in silence.

Tara stared at Zhao, who looked back at her with furrowed brows. Neither his visage nor his voice suddenly changed this time. Exhausted and baffled, the princess plopped to the ground.

"I think I need some water," she mumbled.