“I do not understand your purpose. Why spend leisure with me?” Ogren asked Ren as they walked through the bustling market early the next morning. The first light of dawn stretched across the cobbled streets, illuminating the rows of fresh produce and trinkets on display, as if to greet the day alongside the townsfolk already setting up their stalls. The air was thick with the aroma of baked bread, herbs, and spices, mingling with the lively chatter of merchants calling out to potential customers.

Everywhere they walked, people made time to greet Ren, nodding respectfully, and occasionally stopping to bow or call out thanks. Despite the early hour, the atmosphere buzzed with warmth and vitality—a sense of newfound security and hope rippling through the crowd.

“Chief, thank you so much for what you have done for my family. Before you came, we were just nomads, always on the run from raiders,” a middle-aged man with tired but grateful eyes tried to approach Ren, his hands outstretched. “For so many days, my children wandered the barren lands, not even knowing if they’d have food. But you—”

Before he could come any closer, Margon, Ren’s staunch guard, stepped in, holding him back firmly. “Alright, that’s close enough, you commoner,” Margon barked, though a small smile tugged at the edge of his mouth, betraying his respect for the man’s gratitude.

They continued through the market, with Ogren quietly observing the respect the people held for Ren.

Just then, a group of children burst out of nowhere, their laughter ringing in the air as they flocked to the chief like birds drawn to a warm sunbeam. Margon’s hand twitched toward the whip at his side, prepared to shoo them away, but Ren raised a hand, stopping him.

“They’re just children, Margon,” Ren said, stooping to pick up a scruffy-haired boy who looked at him with wide, adoring eyes.

“And what’s your name, young champ?” Ren asked, his tone gentle.

“I’m Henry, Chief Canahy. Mum says we live good lives now because of you. Is it true?” The boy grinned, his smile so wide and unrestrained that it seemed almost too big for his face.

Ren chuckled, brushing a hand over the boy’s tangled blonde hair. “How about you tell me what you think first?”

Henry thought for a moment, scrunching up his face in concentration. “Well, I get to play with my friends all day now, and the bad people don’t come to scare us anymore. My dad... he even started smiling again.”

“That’s what’s called a good life, you dummy,” an older boy snickered from behind, his face a mix of mischief and fondness.

Henry turned, brow furrowing in indignation. “Hey! Mum said ‘dummy’ is a bad word!”

“I’m not apologizing to someone who can’t catch me!” the older boy shot back, darting away between the market stalls, the younger children bursting after him in an excited, chaotic chase.

Ren watched them run, his eyes softening with a blend of amusement and pride. The clamor of children’s laughter filled the air, blending with the morning sounds of merchants and animals, creating a sense of lively peace that settled over the square like a warm blanket.

Ogren watched the playful scene with a quiet gaze, his expression inscrutable, but a glint of something softened in his eyes. Finally, he broke the silence. “Hard to believe a man who can match me in combat has such a gentle hand with children.”

“Maybe that’s because the chief has a heart, unlike you, thick-headed Krowl,” Margon interjected, crossing his arms, his lips quirking into a smirk.

Ogren turned slowly, his eyes narrowing as he fixed a piercing stare on Margon. “Care to repeat that? I didn’t quite catch it the first time you shitty Valek,” he said, stepping closer, his hand resting menacingly on the hilt of his sword.

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Margon straightened, his own hand moving to his weapon as he sized up Ogren, the tension crackling between them. “I’m not afraid of a damn Krowl,” he sneered, towering over the shorter but powerfully-built Ogren. “Go ahead, draw your sword. I’ll cut it out of your hand in seconds.”

The two men locked eyes, a fierce determination burning in both their gazes, muscles coiled and ready to spring. Their breaths were quick and controlled, as though both were poised on the edge of action.

Ren, listening to their exchange with growing amusement and exasperation, finally let out a sigh. “Enough,” he said sharply. “Margon, what have I said about tribalism?”

Margon clenched his jaw, his eyes still fixed on Ogren, but he gave a grudging nod. “Apologies, Chief. But this Krowl provoked me first.”

“Spoken like a true Valek, twisting stories to suit your needs,” Ogren spat back, voice dripping with contempt.

Ren stepped forward, fixing Ogren with a look so cold and sharp it might as well have been a blade. “You are still under my command, Ogren. Step out of line one more time, and I’ll handle you myself.”

Ogren’s eyes flickered with recognition of Ren’s authority. The previous brief sparring match with the chief had taught him that Ren was not only his equal but perhaps his superior in strength and skill. For all his bluster, Ogren’s pride respected the chain of command—and a strong leader.

After a tense moment, Ogren took a step back, hands falling away from his sword. “Noted,” he muttered, though the smirk lingered as he glanced at Margon, who was also standing down, though barely.

Ren knew well enough that with warriors like Ogren and Margon, power and command were best delivered directly, sometimes even brutally. Men like them respected strength above all; a softer approach would only invite challenge.

Once the two were in check, Ren shook his head, a faint smile of amusement crossing his lips. “My intention was for us to enjoy a calm walk through town before discussing the affairs of Aropia,” he said with a chuckle, casting a pointed glance at his two squabbling lieutenants. “I should have known better with you two in company.”

Ogren grunted, slightly abashed, while Margon simply gave a crooked smile.

“Let’s head to the inn and discuss business over breakfast,” Ren continued. “Right about now, they’ll be pulling fresh bread from the oven. It’ll be hot and soft.”

The three men continued their walk, weaving through the crowded morning streets until they came upon a cozy inn with a hand-carved sign swinging gently in the breeze. The scent of freshly baked bread and simmering stew drifted through the open door, inviting them in with a warmth that felt like home.

As they stepped inside, the flickering light of a hearth washed over the modest but charming room. Wooden tables were arranged neatly, each topped with a small clay pot holding a sprig of wildflowers. The walls were decorated with faded tapestries depicting the valley’s mountains and rivers, reminders of a time when life was simpler.

The innkeeper, a kindly old woman with a crown of silvery hair pinned up loosely, beamed as she spotted Ren. “Well, bless the day,” she greeted, her voice a gentle melody. “It must be a sign of luck, having the chief as my first patron of the morning.”

Her eyes then traveled to Ogren, and she paused, blinking as she took in his towering, muscular frame. Ogren grunted, shifting slightly under her gaze, while Margon, struggling to hold back a laugh, shot him a teasing smirk.

Ren chuckled, glancing between his men and the innkeeper. “We’ll have your famous fruit bread and some tea, if it’s ready,” he said, placing a few coins on the counter, covering the cost for all three of them. Ogren, who was low on funds himself, felt a pang of relief.

The old woman bustled off to the back, leaving them to find a table. They chose one near the hearth, where the warmth chased away the morning chill. The crackling fire cast a soft glow over the room, adding to the inn’s welcoming atmosphere. A few regulars sat scattered around, nodding politely in Ren’s direction before returning to their meals. The clink of mugs and quiet murmur of conversation filled the air, creating a soothing backdrop.

As they settled in, Ren leaned back, folding his hands on the table. “Now, gentlemen,” he began, his voice low and thoughtful. “Let’s address the crisis at hand. The princess approached me last night with a request I initially declined. But, upon reflection, I see now that I may have been hasty. I believe it’s time to take on the responsibility of leading Aropia. And for that, I’ll need every ounce of help I can get from you both.”

Ogren and Margon exchanged glances, their earlier rivalry momentarily forgotten. Their postures straightened, and they listened intently, sensing the gravity in Ren’s tone.

The old innkeeper returned then, setting down a plate piled high with thick slices of fruit-studded bread, still steaming from the oven, and three cups of strong, fragrant tea. “Enjoy, gentlemen,” she said with a smile before stepping away, leaving them in peace.

Ren took a piece of the warm bread, letting the taste linger for a moment before continuing.