In the forest, Ren walked on the damp soil, behind the chocolate-coloured horse, quick enough to keep up. He carried a large bottle of water, a bag of food and on his back, a large bag containing other supplies he wasn't aware of.
The General simply ordered him to carry them, and he did without any hesitation.
Though his frame wasn't as broad as Zayden's, his strength was no less formidable.
Zayden would occasionally glance at his new attendant. He believed he would ask to ride the horse, requesting another one at least. But he didn't. He quietly carried the heavy weight of baggage without protest.
"What does he think he is?"
He muttered. "A mere human…"
Last night, Hannah stayed back after sending Ren to his room. She explained his situation and referred to him as a fragile, weak young man.
But Zayden didn't see any of that within Ren.
Rather, he seemed suitable enough to train as one of his knights—non-human beings.
"Maybe you have been living with my knights for too long," he told her. "That's why he seems that way to you. Otherwise, he seems strong enough to be able to train under me."
"Do not, My Lord. You will kill the poor boy." She shook her head in horror.
Zayden burst into laughter, recalling his headmaid's expression.
Ren flinched, his steps halting.
In the silence, where only the sound of wind brushing against the trees was heard, his laugh came out abrupt.
Zayden rode the horse for a little longer until he pulled the reins, looking behind.
"Can't walk anymore? Want to ride the horse? You know I am not that much of a—"
He was interrupted by Ren's quick steps splashing onto the muddy road. In a few seconds, he stood beside Zayden, almost the same height as his horse.
"I am alright, My Lord."
He didn't bother explaining why he stopped.
Zayden didn't prey on him further and they headed further into the forest.
When they almost reached the large wall on which spells were carved, protecting both kingdoms from each other, Ren stopped.
"What happened?" Zayden asked.
"Nothing," he whispered.
He followed his new master's orders but now that he stood before this wall, he couldn't move. His limbs were slowly giving in, as if he held a weight too heavy for him to carry.
Zayden jumped off the horse, tying it against a tree before walking toward him.
He slowly threw the bottle of water, the bag of food, and the backpack on the grass.
"If it is heavy, just say so," he said, locking gaze with Ren, chuckling. "I won't kill you if you're not going to do one thing I told you to."
Ren parted his mouth to speak—to say, "But everyone says that is something you are capable of. And I know they speak the truth," but he closed it.
"You can stay here. Build the tent. We will stay here tonight and leave tomorrow before dawn."
"But there could be wild animals before dawn—"
"How do you know that?" Zayden raised an eyebrow, curious.
"I…" He hesitated.
"You used to live in the forest and were attacked at dawn? Is that how you ended up in my mansion?"
Ren nodded. Whatever could cover up what he said?
Zayden didn't say anything, turning his heels and walking toward the crowd of guards, knights standing before the tall sturdy wall.
Hannah was right. I shouldn't speak much…
Ren didn't dwell on his thoughts for long. He opened the bag, and as Zayden said, there was a black coloured tent inside, a blanket and a pillow. He pulled it out and began setting it down.
When Zayden returned, the tent was ready to be used. But something strange caught his attention—his servant sitting behind the tree, as if hiding. His broad shoulders, however, exposed him.
"Attendant," he said, his voice sharp.
Ren stood up, quickly coming out and bowing to him.
Zayden waited for him to speak.
But Ren kept quiet, his lips shut.
"Why are you sitting behind that tree?" He finally asked.
Ren didn't answer for a moment, his eyes wandering. Then, he met the man's gaze.
He could still see his eyes—red, almost like his but deeper, and darker.
He thought it might have been his power fading—glitching—or that something had gone wrong, just for a moment.
But now, seeing them clearly, he couldn't understand how it was even possible.
Was it when he held my hand? Physical contact…
"Are you listening?"
Ren nodded, snapping out of his thoughts.
"I was… tired," he lied.
He couldn't tell this man that he had tried hiding in case someone recognized him.
"You can go inside the tent."
Ren looked up at him, his eyes narrowing in confusion.
"I have to meet their leaders. I came to tell you I will be there for a while. For now, use the tent. I will call you when I am done."
Ren hesitantly nodded.
Hannah didn't tell him what to do when the general offered strange kindness. Kindness that felt heavy, as if someone had placed a heavy rock on his chest. Kindness he would rather not have.
After Zayden left, he entered the tent. It was large.
To fit a man of his size, it had to be…
He lay on the pillow for a moment, closing his eyes.
Memories.
Of him.
Of people.
Two silhouettes.
Running.
He opened his eyes again. He couldn't sleep here. His memories would haunt him.
Even here.
Crawling out, he returned to his spot, under the oak tree, and its shade. He leaned against it, breathing the fresh air.
Cold, yet bearable.
He took out a small bottle from his pants, a dark green liquid in it, and sprayed it on his neck, arms, and wrists. He sniffed himself, searching for a scent he didn't wish to have. Once he confirmed the smell had dulled—almost disappeared, he put it back into his pockets.
Leaning against the tree trunk, he looked up at the sky. It was already night. The journey from the training ground had tired him more than he realized.
He closed his eyes, slowly drifting to sleep.
***
Beside the wall, the guards had built a small building, and countless tents surrounded it for their stay.
Inside the plainly decorated room with a bed, a table and a closet, a small group of soldiers stood around two pairs of chairs—one where Zayden sat, his arms crossed, and the other occupied by Sir John.
Zayden looked at their leader, Sir John, a round man, smaller in height and hairline decreasing. His armour tight against his body, he struggled to remain seated in front of Zayden, sweat running from his face. With his handkerchief, he wiped the sweat away every few seconds.
"Why are you nervous?" Zayden grinned.
"I-I am not," Sir John stammered.
Zayden sighed, losing his patience. He had been asking him the same question over and over, and he kept turning around the pot instead of answering.
He didn't travel all day to listen to this man's nonsense.
"I'm not here for this. Explain how a horse from Hianshu entered my land? This time, you'd better be clear." His voice sharp, he asked, but it sounded no less than a command.
I wish I could say I don't know!
John bit his lips, glaring at his subordinates.
"These useless…" he muttered under his breath.
"I am talking to you. Not them," Zayden's gaze sharpened, his eyes glimmering under the dim light of the lamp hung on the ceiling.
"I think they used magic!" John exclaimed, clapping his hands.
Zayden glared at him.
"Magic?" He forced a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Of course, magic," he repeated, a dark scarlet light, with dark thunder-shaped lines around it flickering in the palm of his hand.
Fear works best for people like him.
Zayden sneered.
"O-Oh lord! Do not scare me like that, General Zayden. You know very well Hianshu has the most powerful wizards under them. It would not be impossible! Think about it!" Although he knew he might be wrong, John continued to press weight onto his words, feeding his guesses with theories to make them more accurate.
Zayden could sense John's nervous voice, occasionally shaky even when he tried to keep it steady—he was certainly lying.
He hated to admit it, but it wasn't completely untrue. John's words held weight with them
Wizards learned and memorized spells from grimoires—books that contained all kinds of magic spells, even curses. They used their mana, inherited from their ancestors to create things no one could.
Unlike what they called the beasts, non-human beings who possessed mana cores naturally, wizards were infused with a manacore if they failed to inherit it from their ancestors—the most dangerous kinds, often orphans raised by the Temple of Hianshu. They did not grow under ordinary circumstances, making them mere weapons controlled by the temple.
"Those cursed—" Zayden muttered. Then, with a loud thud, he abruptly rose from his chair.
"Make sure this doesn't happen again. It won't take me long to replace you," his lips tugged with a sneer.
Sir John swallowed hard, dropping his handkerchief on the floor, his mouth half-opened.
"You'd better pick it up before it gets too dirty," Zayden added before his shadow disappeared from their sight.