Volume 4: Nuisance of Fate
Encounter 5: The Royal Headache
Edric let out a long, defeated sigh, shoulders slumping as he dragged a muddy hand down his face. "A prince," he muttered. "I'm supposed to be guarding a bloody prince."
Vermorth watched him for a moment, the heavy hum of his resonance finally settling. A look of profound, deeply relatable exhaustion crossed his face. He let out a dry chuckle and shook his head.
"Well, can't say I don't relate," he admitted, wiping marsh mud from his cheek. "I've got one absolute menace of my own. The kind who vanishes the second you turn your back. I'm stressed chasing after him more than fighting bandits."
Edric perked up, eyes widening with the sudden comfort of shared misery. "Wait, really? You've got a wanderer too?"
"An absolute disaster," Vermorth groaned. "Prince Kalvin of Valkaria. The man has the survival instincts of a startled pheasant, yet he wanders into danger like he owns the scenery. I secure a perimeter for five seconds and he's gone."
"Exactly!" Edric threw his hands up. "Prince Alberch smelled food and just drifted away into the fog! He's probably in a tavern three miles back, stuffing his face without a care in the world."
The two young warriors looked at each other. Then, for the first time since meeting, they shared a genuine, exhausted laugh.
"Come on," Vermorth said, already walking. "Let's go retrieve our respective headaches."
The heavy mud of the Blackthorn Fields eventually gave way to a worn cobblestone road. Before long, the warm glow of a village tavern appeared through the thinning fog. The moment they pushed open the heavy oak doors, the rich smell of roasted mutton, fresh bread, and spilled ale washed over them.
And there, seated at the largest table in the center of the room like they owned the place, were Prince Alberch and Prince Kalvin. Empty plates and tankards surrounded them. Both royals were laughing loudly, completely oblivious to the hell their guardians had just endured.
Edric's jaw dropped. His hand twitched toward his greatsword.
Vermorth simply closed his eyes and let out a long, silent sigh, fighting to keep his resonance from vibrating the floorboards.
"Oh! Look who finally decided to show up!" Alberch waved a half-eaten turkey leg cheerfully. "We saved you some bread!"
Kalvin nodded, wiping grease from his chin. "You two look terrible. Did you get lost in the mud?"
Edric and Vermorth slammed their muddy hands onto the table in perfect unison, making the plates rattle.
"Explain," Vermorth demanded, his voice carrying a sharp, vibrating edge. "Now."
Alberch swallowed a mouthful of chicken and grinned. "Well, Edric and I were riding along, right? Then my stomach started growling like a dying beast. Suddenly I caught the most glorious smell of roasted meat cutting through the fog. Naturally, I followed my nose! On the way I ran into some bandits trying to rob a carriage. I handled them quickly, saved the merchants, and they pointed me here as thanks!"
The two guardians slowly turned their heads toward Kalvin.
The prince shrugged, utterly unfazed. "What? I saw a shiny gem on the road and bent down to pick it up. When I stood up, Vermorth was gone. So I followed the biggest, stormiest clouds in the sky. They led me straight here, and I found this guy already eating."
Edric and Vermorth exchanged a long, synchronized look of pure defeat.
"These two idiots are hopeless," they muttered in unison.
The moment of reluctant camaraderie was violently shattered as the tavern doors were kicked clean off their hinges. The remaining Crimson Fang bandits poured into the room, swords drawn and faces twisted with rage.
"We've got you now, you arrogant prigs!" the new captain roared.
Vermorth didn't even rise from his chair. He simply tapped his foot against the floorboards. His resonance flared outward in a silent wave.
Edric, however, leaped over the table with a roar. His golden hair caught the lantern light as he unleashed a Dragon Fang Technique — Rising Gale. The sheer wind pressure from his upward slash launched three armored bandits straight into the rafters. They slammed against the wooden beams and dropped unconscious before they could scream.
In seconds, the entrance was cleared. The bandit captain stood alone in the doorway, trembling as he realized his entire squad had been dismantled without the two warriors even breaking a sweat.
He scrambled backward and fled into the night.
The tavern fell into a stunned silence.
Before Edric and Vermorth could even catch their breath, the dual assault of royal commentary began.
Alberch leaned back in his chair, still holding the turkey leg. "Your balance was a bit off on that upward swing, mate. You nearly took out the ceiling lantern. I'd give it a seven out of ten."
Kalvin nodded sagely, swirling a cup of juice. "And Vermorth, your spatial anchor was effective, but where was the flair? A little visible compression would make it far more intimidating. You're too efficient. It's honestly boring."
Edric's face flushed with irritation. Vermorth's left eyebrow twitched violently as he fought to contain his rising pressure.
"We just saved your lives," Vermorth muttered through gritted teeth.
The heavy oak counter creaked. The tavern keeper emerged from hiding, completely ignoring the groaning bandits scattered across the floor. He slapped a long, ink-stained bill onto the table in front of Vermorth.
"That'll be forty silver for the three-course royal feast, ten silver for the spilled ale, and another fifty for the front doors you two blasted into the next county," the man said flatly. "Total: one hundred silver pieces."
Edric dug into his pockets and pulled out nothing but lint and a spare dagger. He shot Vermorth a sheepish grin. "Uh… hey, Vermin Penny. You're a Grand Duke's son, right?"
Vermorth's arms remained crossed, his voice cold and final. "I am not paying a single copper of my family's funds for this circus. We work it off. All of us."
Ten minutes later, the two most promising young warriors of their generation — along with two literal heirs to empires — were crammed into the damp, greasy kitchen.
Edric was violently scrubbing a cast-iron skillet, soap bubbles flying everywhere. "This is ridiculous, Vermin Penny! My hands were built for tearing down fortress walls, not scraping burnt gravy!"
Vermorth systematically dried plates, using subtle pulses of his resonance to shake the water off. "Call me that name one more time, Gray, and I will anchor your boots to the floor for the next twelve hours. And stop splashing soap on my boots!"
In the background, Alberch and Kalvin were supposed to be sweeping. Instead, they were using the broomsticks to dramatically reenact their earlier battles, completely oblivious to the twin glares burning into their backs.
Edric glanced over at Vermorth, then at the two oblivious princes, and suddenly started laughing — a deep, tired, genuine sound. Vermorth tried to stay stoic, but eventually cracked a reluctant smile.
"Next time," Edric said, still chuckling, "we tie bells around their necks."
"Next time," Vermorth replied, "I'm anchoring them to a tree before I deal with bandits."
For the first time in their young lives, both men realized they had found something rarer than a worthy opponent:
A comrade who truly understood their pain.
While Edric and Vermorth argued over dish soap, a loud SNAP echoed from the back of the kitchen.
Alberch stood triumphantly holding two pieces of a splintered broomstick, having just tried to parry one of Kalvin's overly enthusiastic sweeping strikes.
"Hey! That's an antique mahogany broom!" the tavern keeper roared from the doorway, veins bulging on his forehead. "That's another ten silver pieces on your tab! You're all stuck here until midnight!"
Kalvin glanced at the furious innkeeper, then at the open window leading into the muddy alley. He caught Alberch's eye and gave a subtle nod.
"Well, look at the time!" Kalvin announced cheerfully. "Thanks for the hospitality!"
Before either guardian could react, the two princes snatched leftover meat pies from the counter and dove headfirst out the back window like a pair of mischievous street urchins.
"Hey! Get back here, you royal jackheads!" Edric bellowed, dropping his scrubbing brush and spraying soapy water everywhere as he lunged for the window.
Vermorth pinched the bridge of his nose, his resonance vibrating with mounting irritation.
"I wouldn't bother chasing them into the dark," a low, raspy voice cut through the chaos from the corner of the kitchen.
A cloaked figure stepped out from the shadows of the pantry, the hem of his robe stained with travel dust. Without ceremony, he tossed a heavy leather pouch onto the greasy table. It landed with a loud, metallic clink — the unmistakable sound of a hundred silver pieces.
"Their debt is paid," the stranger said, his eyes locking directly onto Vermorth. The high-frequency hum of the Pendragon heir's mana sharpened instantly, vibrating through the floorboards like a silent warning.
Edric straightened, one hand resting on the pommel of his greatsword. "Who the hell are you?"
Vermorth didn't move, but the air around the stranger grew noticeably heavier. "A hundred silver pieces is a lot of money for casual conversation," he said flatly.
Before the stranger could retreat, Vermorth tapped his heel. The space around the man crystallized into an invisible vice. The cloaked figure froze mid-step, trapped within the spatial anchor.
"Hey! Easy, Penny!" Edric grunted, though he didn't draw his blade. "The guy just cleared our tab. Let's hear him out before you squash him."
The stranger let out a strained cough as the pressure squeezed the air from his lungs. "I expected nothing less… from the Pendragon heir. Fine. This isn't about common bandits. The Crimson Fang answers to one man — a dangerous rogue hiding in the deep canyons."
He managed to place a rolled parchment beside the coin pouch. "His name is Alexander Hamilton Crane. Find him. Eliminate him. And the South will be yours."
What Edric and Vermorth didn't know was that this entire encounter was a carefully laid trap. The stranger was no simple guild informant. He was an agent of the Demon King. The prophecy of the Seven Luminaries — seven legendary figures destined to reshape the world — had already reached demonic ears. Alexander Hamilton Crane was fated to become one of the future Dragon Slayers. By tricking these two young powerhouses into hunting him down, the Demon King hoped to shatter the Luminaries before they could ever unite.
But the two warriors weren't thinking about prophecies or destiny.
They glanced at the open window where the two princes had vanished, then at the still-fuming tavern keeper gripping his broken broom like a weapon.
"An elite rogue in a canyon?" Edric shrugged, already reaching for the map. "Sounds like a damn good excuse to get out of this kitchen. I'm in."
"Agreed," Vermorth said, instantly releasing the spatial anchor. "Anything is better than washing another plate. Let's go."
Without questioning the stranger's motives for even a second, the two young warriors grabbed their gear and dove straight out the back window into the muddy alley, leaving their dishwashing punishment behind forever.
From somewhere in the distance, they could already hear the faint, carefree laughter of two wayward princes echoing through the night.
Edric landed in the mud with a wet splash and grinned at Vermorth. "You know… if we survive this, I might actually start liking you, Penny."
Vermorth's only response was a long-suffering sigh and a subtle vibration of mana that nearly tripped Edric as they ran.
To be continued