Chapter 21 — Incident in the Town
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Kael Grenfort:
Everything is strange, isn't it?
Hmm… right, strange.
We had left the desert. Now around us — mountains, green hills, distant snow-capped peaks. The air was fresh, cool — after the desert's scorching heat, this was true pleasure. I took a deep breath — as if my lungs filled completely, lightness spreading through my body.
"Well, Father, I'm hungry. Let's go somewhere."
"Well, we're almost out of supplies. We'll get some things. After we pass the mountain slopes, there's a small desert, then more hills and small villages where people live. We won't need supplies after that — there's plenty to eat on the road."
I looked at Father. He closed his book and gazed out the window. His face showed a little fatigue, a little thoughtfulness.
"Father, what business are you going there for?"
"Well…" — he thought for a moment, then spoke. — "I'm one of the major shareholders of a gold mining company. I'm going to negotiations about trade deals in our city. They're waiting for me."
"Yes, I see."
"Alright, enough questions. Let's go," — he said, opened the door and gestured.
I got out. He followed.
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Father approached the driver sitting in front of the carriage. He was a middle-aged man — unkempt hair and beard, but his clothes were clean, though slightly worn. There was something in his eyes — the weight of the past, or the grief of lost things.
"You drive well, driver," — Father said. — "What was your name?"
"Horn, sir," — he said, bowing his head.
"Full name?"
"Horn Silvan."
"Yes, I remember. You were the youngest son of one of the fallen families, weren't you?"
Horn's face changed — pain, or shame, or both. But he quickly composed himself.
"Yes, that's right, sir."
"Your service is good. If you want, I can provide you with permanent employment. What do you say to working for me?"
Horn looked at Father. In his eyes — hope. But also fear. A man who has lost everything cannot easily dare to trust again. It's a heavy thing — to lose everything, then to hope again.
"I would be glad, sir," — Horn said quietly.
"Alright. From today, you work for me. Now… hmm, do you know this town?"
"Yes, sir. I've been here many times before."
"Yes. And what rank are you?"
"I am first-rank Gold."
"Ohho! Perfect. Hearing that, I'll pay you more. Yes, and — your rank is high. What is someone like you doing in a job like this?"
Horn thought for a moment. Then spoke:
"Well… I could find work. But I was tired of everything. And I inquired — among the people coming this way, the one who could pay the highest salary was you. That's why."
Sedric looked at him carefully. Then suddenly frowned.
"Wait a minute. You're Gold-rank. When the Death Worm attacked the caravan — why didn't you fight? Where were you?"
Horn's face went pale. He stood silent for a few seconds. His eyes dropped to the ground, then back to Sedric.
"Sir… I was watching."
"Watching? Why? As a Gold-rank mage, shouldn't you have helped?"
Horn took a deep breath. His hands trembled slightly.
"I… I wanted to examine something. That Death Worm was no ordinary creature. There was something strange about its mana. I thought if I joined the fight, I might get in your way. And… to be honest, I had never faced such a powerful creature before. I was afraid."
There was confession in his voice. Shame. But truth.
"Hmm… strange," — Sedric said thoughtfully. — "Well, alright. Next time, if something like that happens — don't hesitate to ask for help. We're stronger together."
"Yes, sir. I'm sorry."
"Alright, I understand. As for why I'm hiring you… I must have seen some potential in your actions. That's why I said it."
Father looked at him once more, then nodded.
"Yes. You didn't need to ask any questions. Good. For now — show my son around the town."
"Yes, sir. I'll keep an eye on him."
Father went off to buy supplies. After he returns, we'll go somewhere to eat. I wish my patience wouldn't run out so quickly…
---
I stayed in the carriage with Horn. He stood silently, looking at me, as if unsure what to say.
"Well, I'm pleased to meet you, Mr. Horn. Is that right?" — I said to him.
A small smile appeared on his face.
"Yes. Now you're my young master. You can just call me Horn or Silvan."
"Whichever is more comfortable for you?"
He thought for a moment. "For me, Silvan… it sounds somehow nicer."
"Alright, Silvan."
"Okay, one moment. I need to go to the restroom. Can you wait in the carriage?"
"Yes, Silvan," — I said and climbed back into the carriage.
He left. I was alone in the carriage.
---
I sat for a while. Then I began to get bored.
Ahhh… so boring. Hang in there, don't act like a little child! — I told myself.
But my body demanded movement. My arms, my legs — they wanted action. My eyes — they wanted to see something.
I opened the carriage door.
But not the one facing the road — I opened the one facing the street. As I was getting down — I saw a carriage speeding down the road.
Ahh, damn it! Did this have to happen too?
Its driver was a bull-faced man — red-faced, small-eyed. He pulled hard on the reins, barely stopping.
"Hey! What are you doing?! Can't you see?! Scum! Bastard!" — he shouted.
I froze. Then — anger flared inside me.
What did you say?
"I'll rub your snout into the ground, ox-face! Get down here!" — I shouted.
Well… I didn't actually intend to shout like that. But he said "bastard" — which insulted my parents. That provoked my anger.
I closed the carriage door.
He jumped down from his seat and came toward me. A huge guy — the ox-face himself. Nearly two meters tall. His arms — as thick as my waist.
"What did you say, little boy?" — he growled.
I looked at him. My heart was racing, but I didn't step back.
"Well, ox-face. I said I'll rub your snout into the ground. Do you have a problem with that?" — I said slowly, word by word, wanting him to understand every syllable.
As I approached the end of my sentence — he attacked.
A large, heavy kick. It almost hit me. I dodged nimbly, jumped back — and used wind magic to enhance my leap. Then I kicked him in the snout with my knee.
Of course, my strength alone wouldn't have been enough. But wind magic — speed, power — enhanced everything.
He fell, crashing to the ground.
"Axxxx! Damn kid! Who are you?!"
I looked at him. A sharp pain in my knee — I was injured.
Uffff… as long as Silvan doesn't find out. He'll come running because of me…
The ox-face got up. His face held a wild expression — anger, shame, and something else — fear? He started running toward me.
I gathered mana in my hand. Turned it into fire.
He kept coming. About seven meters between us. I was backed into a corner — between the carriage and a wall.
No room to retreat.
I used the spell. A fireball formed in the air and struck him right in the side.
Then — boom.
An explosion.
Much stronger than I expected. Fire spread, air shook, stones from the ground flew up.
Well… I messed up, I think.
---
Two people got out of the carriage. They looked surprised, scared — clearly wanting to stay far from the conflict.
"Hey! What are you doing?!" — one of them said.
At that moment — a shadow dropped down from above.
Silvan.
He came so fast I didn't see his movement. In an instant, he stood before me.
"Young master! What happened? Did he do anything to you? Tell me!" — he said. His voice was cold, his eyes — icy. His hand was already on his sword hilt.
"Nothing. He just insulted me. Because I opened the door without looking — he called me 'bastard', 'scum'. Actually, he was driving too fast through the town, I think…"
"Yes, I understand. I'll take his head then," — he said and started walking toward him.
The poor ox-face was rolling on the ground — his hair and clothes singed. He was barely breathing. Looking at him, I felt pity.
"Okay, enough! Stop! Are you going to kill him?" — I said.
Silvan stopped. Looked at me.
"Yes. He spoke the worst words to my master. After all."
"Yes, and your knee is injured too. I think that's also his doing," — he said, looking coldly at the man on the ground.
Then he looked at the two who had gotten out of the carriage. "Or was it you?"
They grimaced and backed away. No one spoke. People had gathered around, watching us. The ox-face who started the conflict, a young boy using powerful magic, and some mysterious, strong man escalating the fight — from the outside, all three looked like they'd lost their minds.
Damn it.
"Okay, okay, calm down now," — I said to him.
Silvan stood for a moment, then nodded and walked toward the man. I saw his sword flash — he was about to take his head.
Just then — Father arrived.
He appeared from somewhere — as if sprung from the ground. He caught Silvan's sword with his hand and took it away. The movement was fast, precise, soundless.
"What have you done?" — he said softly, in a cold tone.
There was no anger in his voice. But worse — silence. When he was angry, he didn't shout. When he was angry — he became very quiet.
And that always frightened me.
---
The surroundings were silent. No one spoke. No one moved.
Silvan withdrew his hand. His face showed no regret — only one thing: the dissatisfaction of a man who failed his duty.
"Sir," — he said. — "He insulted the young master. And attacked him."
Father looked at me. Then at the man on the ground. Then at the gathered crowd.
"Alright. We're leaving," — he said.
He placed his hand on my shoulder. It was heavy.
"To the carriage," — he said.
Silently, we climbed into the carriage. Silvan took the driver's seat. Father sat across from me — silent, looking for a long time.
I felt the pain in my knee. Through the curtain's edge, I looked at the street — people were still there, discussing the incident. The man on the ground got up — burned, beaten, but alive.
"Father…" — I said.
"Quiet," — he said.
He sighed. Deep, long.
"You take after your mother," — he said quietly.
"What?"
"Nothing. Just… next time, before using magic, look around. Someone might see."
"Father, I —"
"I know. You defended yourself. You did the right thing. But… don't overdo it."
He looked out the window again.
"Silvan," — he said louder. — "Let's go. Find a place to eat."
"Yes, sir," — Silvan said. The carriage began to move.
I sat, looking at my injured knee. Small, but painful.
Not the first time. Won't be the last.
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