It was a sunny day. The clouds were few and the rays of heat and light struck the land. At the moment, Charles was mixed in a crowd of villagers. It seemed that they were waiting for something to arrive as they had parted in the middle of the street. Neighs and heavy footsteps were heard in the distance and soon it was revealed that there were three people on horses. They slowed down their horses to a trot once they saw the village and stopped in the middle of the crowd.
All three riders wore chainmail armour while carrying swords sheathed in their embellished scabbard. The middlemost rider eyed the villagers, opened his mouth and decreed, “This village is now in possession of the Zeis Royal Family. As such, you have to pay your taxes and obey the orders of His Majesty, Jon II.”
Murmurs of shock and anger emerged amongst the people. They barely had enough to feed themselves and their family yet they were asking for tax?
The riders, irate because of the chattering, ordered the villagers to be silent yet the villager’s voices, instead of being silent, grew louder. Charles, countenance dark, surveyed this scene in silence. This was supposed to be his second chance at life. A second chance to live a ‘worry-free’ life. Yet, this Zeis family wanted to take it away from him.
A sharp rock glinted in the sunlight and Charles, engulfed in anger, picked it up. With the rock in hand, he navigated his way through the crowd. Soon, he was in front of the riders themselves. The riders, already angered by the people, could not help but lash out at the boy that dared to stand in front of them.
“Oy! Get out of here!” said a rider, the one on the left. Yet, as he said that, he swooped in to grab the boy by his black hair. The boy, identified as Charles and the former condemned, slashed at the hand reaching out to grab him with the sharp and jagged rock.
A shriek pierced the ears of all and the cause of it fell off his horse, holding his hand in pain. The boy who sliced at him stood there, blood splattered on his face. Quickly, before anyone could react, he leapt onto the fallen rider and bashed his skull with the rock. Dead.
1 down, 2 more to go, Charles thought. Although he thought this, he did not believe that he would be able to fight off the remaining two. They were trained, he was not. The only reason he was able to finish one off was because it was unexpected. Now, with the element of surprise exhausted, he was guaranteed to lose. Yet he would not back down. It was too late for that. So he gripped his rock tighter, causing his hands to bleed.
Schreeeeeeeee!
With that sound, he fell to the embrace of unconsciousness.
*** *** ***
A man wearing plate armour stood in the middle of the crowd. He had no helm so the villagers saw a red-haired man with light brown eyes. His face looked well-chiselled, making him to be a handsome man if it were not for the hideous scar that streaked upon his face, from the left cheek to the upper right corner of his forehead. His tall figure towered over the unconscious little boy by his feet.
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“Lord Rey!” The remaining riders saluted. They were enough to take care of the boy but weren’t sure about the rest of the villagers but, since the he was here, everything would be fine. The lord ignored them and stood where he was, staring at the boy who killed one of his men.
Such decisiveness, Rey thought. Normally, soldiers trained for at least a year before being sent to the front lines. However, even with all their training, they usually hesitated on killing another person and, in the worst case, deserted their posts due to the unwillingness of shedding blood. Yet this boy, no more the age of 5, was able to kill another of his kin.
“What is his name?”
Charles, someone from the crowd replied.
With a thought, he had decided what was to happen to the boy. Taking out his sword, he placed it on the head of the sleeping boy. Without hesitation, he said, “I, Rey Falin, the head of the Falin Family, the vassal of the Zeis Royal Family and the subject of His Majesty, Jon II, hereby pronounce this boy, Charles, to be a part of the Falins.”
The riders, the villagers; everyone had the same face of shock. To think that this would happen! When the man took out his sword, everyone expected him to plunge his blade unto the boy, Charles. Who would have thought that instead, he made the little boy a noble.
“Milord!” the rider who had decreed the ownership of the village exclaimed. “You cannot do this! He is but a beggar, not one who you should dirty your name with!”
“Are you saying that my judgement is wrong and that my family’s name has been sullied?” Rey gazed at the one who spoke. The rider turned pale with fright and fell to the ground, grovelling. He then started to say countless apologies and Rey once more focused his attention on the unconscious Charles.
“Do not worry about the taxes,” Rey said, his gaze not leaving Charles. “I will deal with it for this little village.”
With those words he suddenly vanished. The riders, having nothing to do, decided to leave, the body of their fallen comrade laying on the ground.
*** *** ***
No, it can’t be. These were the distressed thoughts of the woman identified as the mother of Charles. It was bright out and the heat prickled her skin but she didn’t care. They took her child.
Horrid shrieks and sobs could be heard in the village and it greatly disturbed the ones residing in it. They would have told her to shut up but they felt partly guilty. They did nothing to stop her child from being taken away even though they were right there. They felt that it would be deplorable of them to shut her up so some house wives reached out to comfort her.
It’s going to be fine. He’s coming back. Look at the bright side, your son is a noble now!
Yet, the sobs continued well into the night, until the mother fainted from fatigue.