Even in the night, his big, bushy, maroon beard stood out like a sore thumb, while his towering body was ever so intimidating. The figure was none other than Mr. Bakere, but his attire was something entirely foreign to the supposed baker.

A shining armor covering from top to bottom. A helmet with a curled, azure plume as a decoration. A spear in his hand. But most importantly, the crest of a crimson three-headed lion embedded on the breastplate.

“Mr. Bakere?” Peter stuttered. “Isn’t that an… armor of the Knights of the Round?”

The Knights of the Round Table, shortened to Knights of the Round. Britain’s only military force available, as well as one of the few armies left in the world. Ever since humanity was put under the surveillance of the Angels, this force acted as their eyes and ears within the land, hunting down any and all heretics left that dared to defy their rule. The horn on their hip was their special signal – blowing that horn was the Round’s way of informing the angels that a sinner was spotted.

“You’ve been left roaming far too long, heretic.” Mr. Bakere pointed his weapon, a shining steel blade forged with only utmost perfection, towards the boy, while his eyes turned ice-cold, filled with murderous intent.

Faced against cold steel for the first time in his life, there was little doubt that Peter was afraid. His body quivered like leaves before the wind as the boy stuttered, trying his best to talk his way out of his predicament:

“W–What are you talking about? What have I done?”

“Don’t tell me you don’t know, rotten child,” answered the man with a grunt. “What haven’t you done? Blatant disrespect to our gospel; disregarding the Lord’s teachings; and now this blasphemous item on your neck! Why did you think we had to take care of you for all these years, instead of letting you suffer the same fate as your cursed bloodline? Is this how you repay us?”

The words he uttered were like knives slicing through Peter’s heart, in more ways than one.

“But… I thought this was…”

“What? A present from Beatrice?” The man let out a mocking laugh. “Do you honestly believe I’d buy that disgusting lie? You stole that from our household! There’s no reason for her to give it to you, especially with her knowing what the truth behind it is!”

As the accusations piled up, strength slowly but surely left the boy. His knees weakened, barely enough for him to stand still.

So… this is how it all ends. Peter bitterly thought. The boy was never truly welcomed – he was always the problem child of the village on the isles, while his parents were taken away from him by the so-called saviors that everyone else revered. And now, even the people he once called family would backstab him, all the while he was still painfully unaware of the reason why his neck would meet a blade’s end.

The old knight, on the other hand, had grown tired of words. The hulking man charged forward with a shield on his left and raised the sword on his right. But before the blade could meet the boy’s tender skin, a flashing silver came between him and certain doom, along with a spark of clang between metal and metal.

Before Peter stood the back of the same boy who had been with him from the beginning. His pure white tunic was drenched in sweat, while his hand now held a sharp, thin-edged blade, its width barely larger than the size of a needle – a blade wholly unfamiliar to Peter.

“God damn it, Peter!” Pedro scoffed with a heavy breath. “What part of ‘never leave the house’ did you not understand?”

“How should I know your Master is out to kill me?” As tension rose, Peter’s blood boiled along with it. “And how about just telling me the truth about things instead of being cryptic all of a sudden!”

“Do you think I knew about the situation on such short notice?” Pedro retorted. “Do you have any idea how much of a panic it was for me when Her… I mean, they decided to storm the house?”

“Storm the house? Wait, what about Bea? … No, scratch that, who are they?”

This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

Before the dark-skinned boy could give an answer, another slash from the knight had already made its way onto them, causing Pedro to hastily push Peter sideways as he countered with a forward thrust from his own sword. However, his flimsy blade was no match for the knight’s sturdy block of steel, and Pedro knew that. The way he was able to counter the slash from before was because he had the extra momentum from his rush, so much so that his sword hardened enough to match in strength. But in close quarters, he couldn’t hope to block any attack, and so he switched to defending with offense, by stripping the opponent from their movements before they could even strike.

However, the display of speed was naught but trivial against the lack of experience between the two fighters. Mr. Bakere had already seen through Pedro’s movements, and so, before the latter could reach him, the former had countered with a charge forward, utilizing his advantage in size and physical strength to crush his opponent in a brutish contest. Pedro was sent flying from the shield’s impact, crashing onto the ground and dirtying his white attire with spots of mud and bloodstains.

Before he could pick up his sword again, the knight’s blade was present on his throat.

“Stand back, squire,” grunted Mr. Bakere. “Who gives you the permission to directly oppose your superior’s orders?”

Pedro, shaken by both his injuries and his natural fear of the hulking man in front of him, could only utter:

“With all due respect, Sir… There is no proof that Peter is a heretic…”

A powerful slap, coming from an armored hand, swung across Pedro’s face before he could even reason properly. Lightly flicking the crimson stains away from him, the old knight shouted:

“What more proof do you want? The cross on his neck? The fact that he tried to escape? Or how about the countless offenses he has committed his entire life? This… fiend has been let loose for too long, boy!”

Pedro’s face contorted before the barrage of words. However, it wasn’t due to sadness or disappointment, like the knight had expected. Gritting his teeth both in anger and pain, his eyes flared as he stood up, slowly yet firmly, against his opponent:

“But he hasn’t hurt anyone!” Shouted Pedro in return. “Has there been any actual damage done? To the town, to the people? Or has the only one been suffering this boy alone? A knight shall never hurt an innocent person, that is the code of conduct that you’ve taught me, Sir! Why are you forgetting your own words right now?”

Though his effort was a valiant one, the difference in strength was still just too much to handle. Without another word, this time, the knight delivered a straight punch onto his stomach, with all the force that his armor could muster. An audible crack sounded as Pedro spat out a pool of crimson, staining the ground with a distinctive metallic scent.

Every single moment of the action didn’t escape Peter’s eyes. And yet, despair had already been long gone on his face.

Instead, he laughed.

So, this is it. The boy thought. In the end, the weak is crushed, and the strong thrives. God or not, this has been the ultimate rule of humanity.

“Hey, old fart.” He slowly took a step forward, going in between the angered knight and the injured boy. “It’s me that you want, right? Leave him alone.”

“You don’t have the right to negotiate with me, heretic,” the knight replied with bloodshot eyes.

“So? He’s your servant, isn’t it?” With a smirk of contempt, Peter continued. “What kind of master would hurt their own servant like this? Think about your decency befitting that armor you wear.”

As soon as the words left his mouth, a sword slash came across Peter’s arm. For a boy who knew naught about combat, its speed was too blinding to the eye. Before he knew it, a piece of flesh on his shoulder flew, leaving a gaping wound and a string of muscle connecting his dangling right arm with his body.

“Consider yourself lucky that I was ordered not to kill you on sight.” Spat the old knight.

“And to whom do I owe this pleasure?” Though every fiber of his body was screaming in pain, Peter refused to let the man get the better of him, as he tried his best to maintain a taunting smirk.

“You obviously know who, fiend,” answered the knight. “As much as I hate to admit it, you’re smart enough to know how to put two and two together.”

“... Perhaps,” the boy let out a bitter laugh as the image of a certain girl burned into his mind. “Then tell me one last thing: did she orchestrate all of this?”

Before the knight could spew out his rotten words, Pedro had already mustered all of his strength to shout out the loudest he could:

“No, Peter! The Lady would never, and I mean, never put you or me in any danger! Please, trust me!”

Ah, so this is the rotten world that I’m in. The thought rang in Peter’s head.

Even with his so-called “guidance”, betrayals are normal. The innocent still live without any notice to their surroundings, while the ones with power continue to revel in their prey.

Before he knew it, he was already speaking out his mind, gazing at the sky above with all of his frustration and bitterness:

“O’ High and Mighty God, why did you bring us in your control if this is the kind of thing that keeps happening under your nose? Why are there still people who do wrong, when we’re supposed to be guided towards righteousness?”

In an ironic twist of fate, his agonizing call was answered. Not from the knight in front of him, nor the struggling boy behind him.

His eyes, which were fixed on the night sky, now saw a sea of white.

Ten, perhaps twenty beings. All clad in a pure white robe. All fluttering in the air with a pair of unblemished avian wings on their backs. And all with a weapon of their own, from swords to spears, crossbows to axes.

A pack of Angels, all out for his life.