—Make way, make way!—Someone began to shout as they ran through the crowd that had gathered to watch the "thief" being caught.

Gradually, the person who had been shouting managed to make their way to the scene. By the sword at his waist and the finely decorated leather armor, Homero discerned that it was the chief of the village guards. Naturally, he had come to resolve the problem causing a commotion outside the tavern. Given that a large caravan of strangers was passing through the village, it was obvious that the guards would be more attentive than usual, and they hadn't taken long to arrive.

—Can someone explain to me what's going on here?—The chief of the guards asked with uncertainty. At first, he thought he just had to apprehend a couple of thieves, but seeing how well-dressed the "thieves" were, it seemed more like a conflict between drunks outside the tavern.

—Nothing is happening. Do you see anything abnormal?—Homero said in a haughty tone while showing the gold ring in his hand to the chief of the guards.

—What the hell...—The chief of the guards began to shout angrily upon hearing the disrespectful tone towards authority coming from the plump "drunk." But before he finished his sentence, he saw the inscription on the gold ring on the plump man's hand.

Realizing the grave mistake he had made, the chief of the guards skillfully and without hesitation turned his angry gaze toward the gathered crowd and continued shouting:

—...are you all, prying into the affairs of a noble family! Disperse immediately, or I'll arrest all of you!

Upon hearing the word "noble" the majority of the non-drunk people lowered their heads and tried to escape as quickly as possible to avoid trouble. It was well known among commoners that you should avoid the person who makes or enforces the law when they're angry. As for the drunks, intimidated by the swords at the guards' waists, they followed the lead of the majority and went back into the tavern.

—Do you need any more assistance, young sir?—The chief of the guards asked with a noticeably forced smile.

—No, as you already said: don't meddle in our affairs—Homero commented proudly, staring fixedly at the chief of the guards.

After saying that, seeing his older brother completely paralyzed by nerves, Homero didn't wait for the crowd to disperse. He decided to take his hand and push him into their carriage.

Once inside the carriage, Homero took care to close the window curtains so no one could eavesdrop on their conversation from outside. Meanwhile, upon seeing the curtains of the carriage closing, Apolo felt secure again and gradually regained his composure.

—What the hell just happened?—Homero asked with some fear for his brother's safety alone in the capital.

—An attack! That's what happened, and to top it off, you let the attacker escape: You foolish, fat oaf!—Apolo yelled, still agitated—Didn't you learn anything from strategy class? When you have the enemy cornered, you must act quickly, or their reinforcements might appear!

Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

—He was the coachman, you idiot! What the hell did you expect me to do?—Homero shouted in annoyance—By our ancestors, Apolo! You're no longer in the castle. You can't act like that in front of commoners. People outside don't know who you are, and they judge you based on how you appear. We must act like what we are: nobles! You're the fool who completely forgot his manners class!

—...—Apolo wasn't bothered by his younger brother's yelling and instead tried to understand where he went wrong. However, in his mind, everything had gone right until they were ambushed.

Noticing his older brother's silence, Homero stopped shouting. He took a moment to breathe and regain his patience. As he waited for some response from his brother, Homero noticed that Apolo was still hiding one of his hands in his pockets. So, with curiosity and an attempt to switch to a more amicable topic of conversation:

—What are you keeping in your pocket? Judging by how you protected it during the "attack," my merchant's instinct tells me it must be something valuable.

—There's nothing!—Apolo responded instantly, getting nervous again.

—Honestly...—Homero commented, taking a pause—...You're the worst liar I've known in my life. And believe me when I say, Apolo, as a merchant, I've met more liars and deceivers than I'd like to.

—It's just the bronze ring I always wear...—Apolo responded in a low tone, realizing that there was no longer a chance to keep hiding the truth. He reluctantly pulled his hand out of his pocket and put it in a more natural position.

—Ah, the Helena ring? No wonder you were guarding it so closely...—Homero commented with a touch of sorrow, remembering that his brother always had that maid around in their childhood.

—My ring...—Apolo corrected absentmindedly—Helena's gone...unfortunately.

—A truly tragic accident!—Homero commented with sadness—It always struck me as a great gesture on your part, protecting so dearly the only memory left of her. Unfortunately, I didn't get to know Helena well. I was very young when she died, so I vaguely remember her face. She must have been a great friend!

—Yes, she was the only maid who treated me like a friend and not just "young master"—Apolo responded with a tinge of melancholy.

—You're lucky. I never knew someone like that in the castle...—Homero said sadly—However, during my year of travel, I did meet a great number of people. The world outside is truly vast! In the capital, you'll surely find friends like Helena, but it's best to keep your distance from commoners.

—Why should we keep our distance?—Apolo asked in bewilderment.

—Because you might forget who you are, Apolo...—Homero responded calmly, as if those words weighed heavily on him—Deep down, we're different from the commoners: our blood isn't the same.

—Isn't their blood red too?—Apolo commented ironically, not fully understanding his brother's point.

—Haha...—laughed Homero, patting his belly as his double chin jiggled— I truly missed you, Apolo. You're probably the only person in this world who makes me doubt whether your question was serious or just plain irony. Believe me when I say that, of all the people I've met during my travels, there's no one quite like you.

—And that's my curse: I hate standing out, but I always end up standing out...—Sighed Apolo wearily.

—Haha, and yet...you wanted to become a mage?—Homero continued laughing while trying to speak normally, although his laughter made it difficult—Those bastards live and die for flattery.

*Haha, haha, haha*...Apolo burst into laughter. It had been a long time since he had laughed, so it took quite an effort, and he almost ran out of breath. But he managed to squeeze out the following words:

—Yes, I've really gotten myself into a big mess. But that's my luck: everything goes from bad to worse!

*Haha, haha, haha *...Homero laughed like a maniac, seeing his brother turning as red as a tomato from laughter, struggling to breathe.