Zaou Cheng

## Backstory

In Keld, everything is about fighting. If you're strong, you can do anything. You're popular, you're rich, and you're happy. Zaou was not strong.

Week after week he would enter the tournament, and every week the result would be the same: He would win against the rabble, and lose against the first fighter of any renown he faced. Nobody ever gave him a second look. He hated his life.

At the end of every day he would come back home to his wife and son. He loved them, but he could not look them in the eyes without crying. He felt ashamed of himself. He felt like a failure. Day after day, all he thought about was how sorry he felt for them.

His wife would always went to watch his fights. She knew how much it frustrated him to lose every time, yet she cheered him on.

- You'll do it next time for sure! You almost had him today, he just got lucky.

She really seemed to believe that he would win the next one, every week. His son always came running to hug him when he came home.

- You did so well out there, dad! I keep telling the others at school how strong you are!

How shameful. How could he let himself be content with this? He would always be a loser, and those he loved would always suffer for it.

Then came the illness. It started as a creeping chill in his right foot which would not go away, no matter how much he tried to warm it. Over time, the chill spread, and turned to pain. He felt cold all over, and it hurt. He was bedridden two months after it began. Eventually, it worsened further. He was unable to move his legs at all. The pain was still there, and it was just as intense, but it was if they had turned to stone. It spread, and soon he knew there was no coming back from this. He would die soon.

He begged for anyone to take him out of his misery, to kill him in a more honorable way than this… But nobody would take him up on it. He could not hold a sword, and to kill an unarmed person is the greatest dishonor for a warrior of Keld.

Eventually, the stiffness spread to his whole body. He could not breathe, he could not speak… but he still lived. His wife, of course, did not know this. She cried for weeks before she finally had the courage to have him buried, and Zaou watched every second.

As he was lowered into the ground, he resigned himself that he would die sooner or later, and simply gave up. He hated himself. His life had amounted to nothing. He hated all his opponents who had defeated him, all his friends who consoled him, his wife who claimed she loved him even when he was so pathetic. And his son… A symbol of stagnation, of how painfully mediocre his life had been. An unremarkable son of an unremarkable father. Oh, how he hated the world.

In the dark of his tomb, in excruciating pain and waiting for death, he eventually heard noises of shuffling dirt above.

## A few days later

- Zaou, please! I didn't know! I love you so much! I'm so happy you're back! Please... just put your sword down.

Zaou's wife cried as she begged for her life, hugging their child. Zaou had tears in his eyes, his sword arm trembling. He recalled the words of the man from the graveyard.

*"Zaou Cheng is dead. That is how it will remain. The contract forbids you to tell anyone your true identity. As the world sees it, they will always be the grieving widow and orphan of a failure."*

Zaou thrust his sword through his wife, then grabbed his son and broke his neck. He cradled them in his arms for hours, crying until he passed out. In the morning, he woke, covered in blood, and smiled. Zaou-Cheng was dead.