“Ma’am, you know that these aren’t to regulation,” Trent urged, holding a burned pie in his hands.

The chef scoffed, crossing her arms, “You guards! You’re worse than my ex-husband. Lately, you remind me of those scummy tax collectors.”

“…Scummy tax collectors? Ma’am, our troop has been issued to patrol around the estate departments due to internal conflicts. There was a letter sent out to all departments,” Trent tried to explain. Instead, he got a wooden spoon to the head.

What were tax collectors? I guess it didn’t matter at this point.

The chef raised it again, the wooden weapon high in the air, but never reaching its target.

I cleared my throat, holding the spoon in my hand, “Lady, you know that you can’t serve burnt food to the royal family. It’s against regulation. End of story.”

“My pies are wonderful!” she yelled, trying to yank the wooden spoon out of my grasp to no avail.

Seriously. What was it with weak humans trying to pull items out of my hand? Were they stupid? Yes.

“Wonderfully burnt…” I sneered, ignoring the snickers coming from the staff behind her that tried to maintain their silence.

“You little brat!” She gasped, absolutely appalled at the truth.

Little? Big words came from a lady that stood shorter than my chest.

I held the wooden out of her reach, pulling it out of her grip, and watched her jump for it. I couldn’t help but chuckle as the short lady didn’t even come close, falling short of the wooden spoon by a large distance.

No, it wasn’t magic. Just a height advantage. Get fucked.

The chef gave up, huffing, turning back to retreat back into the estate kitchen. Behind her stood a row of other cooks and kitchen helpers, who all turned their tails with her.

Pests.

I threw the wooden spoon to the side, turning back to talk to my patrol partner.

Trent rubbed the growing lump on his head, “…Ouch. When I passed all those trials to qualify for this squad, I didn’t think I’d be reduced to getting beaten with wooden spoons.”

He sighed, opening the door to exit the kitchen. It was obvious that the longer we stayed there, the more time the kitchen crew had to attack. Trent didn’t want to risk that, but I didn’t mind watching.

“Why didn’t you step in sooner? They seem to listen to you,” Trent questioned, as I followed him down the hall towards the next checkpoint.

The only reason that they listened was because of the rumors that I was friends with the Crown Prince.

To be clear, we weren’t friends. At all. But stopping the wildfire of theories that erupted from the workers was an impossible task. Even for me.

I shrugged, “Didn’t want to.”

“…Are you really the same person that saved Jamie?” Trent jeered, the vein on his forehead bulging.

“Not by choice, by chance.”

“…Right.” He gave up, instead marching forward to rush to the next chore that we were assigned for the day.

It was a mundane couple of days. I had been told that Jamie had been able to return to work after two more days of rest. Because of the healers and the fact that it became an internal affair, he received fast treatment.

Though, this meant that my troop had been burdened with the cleanup work that resulted from everything. Following the incident, Serlon’s troop was issued to check over the different departments to investigate any internal conflicts. They wanted to prevent any other problems from arising. Sure, it was proactive of them. However, it proved to be a real pain in the ass for us.

Because of the nature of our job, that only meant picking up on regulation violations that we were obligated to correct. Let’s just say that our reception rating because of that was pretty low. Humans didn’t like being told when they were doing something wrong, especially by a teenager and a viking-looking man.

If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

It was routine that something was thrown at us at checkpoints. For example, Trent had to wear protective armor after the mirage of petty attacks from the estate staff. Like the chief’s wooden spoon. It was an actual assault. Not to mention being stabbed with sewing needles, hit with fabric, covered in shoe polish, and threatened at spearpoint by the blacksmith.

To my amusement and to his horror, the list went on.

I followed him down the hall, ignoring the stares from estate workers that either glared at us or scurried away.

Trent sighed, looking defeated, “From the way that everyone is behaving, you’d think we were war criminals…”

Could I mention that I actually was one? Would they actually believe me? Later. I could have my fun some other time.

“...Well, we have been going around checking violations for the last few days. People don’t like being told what they’re doing wrong.” I stated the obvious, making eye contact with some whispering house cleaners, who hurriedly rushed away.

Why were humans so nosey?

“...True. I’m not sure why they’re having us do this.” He groaned, pushing open a door, and leading the both of us upstairs.

The next stop was the guard headquarters. It wasn’t exactly the training grounds or barracks. Office workers occupied the main space of the quarters, filing the paperwork for the missions that the troop had been sent on.

Eran described them as the reason that he has kept this job for so long, paperwork free. Unlike the prince, the files weren’t important enough for a disclosed pair of eyes to approve. Most of them could be reviewed by certified estate workers.

I followed Trent into the small space, watching as he waved at the older lady stamping a stack of papers. He flashed a warm smile to the older human with wrinkles on her face. She pulled down her spectacles, squinting at the approaching guard.

“...Guard Gunnar?” The older lady guessed.

“Close Ma’am. He’s a little bulkier. I’m Guard Trent and this is the newer guard, Asta.” He explained, his voice echoing louder for the elderly human.

She clicked her tongue, scowling after looking back down at her stack of paperwork.

“Guard Asta… Yes. The reason for the influx of paperwork for the last few days. I know you well, young man.” She narrowed her eyes to me.

Like she could even see me. Excuse me?

Trent looked back with a sympathetic expression, mouthing, “She’s 83. Be patient with her.”

He said, telling the being that was technically over three hundred years old. It’s not my fault she was old and decrepit.

Reluctantly, I walked forward and joined his side.

Trent leaned over the counter, his eyes scanning the piles of papers behind her. I observed the other two workers, who were too busy to spare a glance at us.

“How were relationships within the team?” He asked, projecting his voice toward the older woman.

“...Huh? What color were the beans? Dear, we don’t have those in the office. Try the kitchen.” The lady responded, a little confused.

Oh, you got to be kidding me.

“Old Hag! He was asking-”

From under the counter, Trent elbowed my gut. It didn’t hurt but it was enough to understand his intent.

She tilted her head, “What was that honey? I couldn’t hear you.”

He cleared his throat, asking the same question louder this time, “HOW WERE RELATIONSHIPS WITHIN THE TEAM?”

I flinched at the near yelling of the question, moving my hands to my ears. Cursed hearing.

“Oh! We’re all good, dears.” The lady answered, “We’re just waiting for Sir Serlon to come back.”

“OH, MA’AM THAT’S WONDERFUL. LET US KNOW IF ANYTHING ARISES!” Trent cheered, a tad too loudly.

I wanted to punch everyone.

Speak of the devil…

As if he were on cue, the door clicked open to the clanking of familiar boots. They were the same boots that had kicked the living shit out of half the troop during morning training.

Strolling over to the reception desk, Serlon passed over another stack of papers, smiling at the older lady.

“THAT’S ALL FOR THE DAY, MA’AM!” He informed the older lady, who only nodded, setting the stack down next to the other piles.

Serlon twirled back around towards us, “How were the other sections today?”

“Relationship wise – they’re fine. Nothing but some catfights and minor arguments.” Trent reported, despite the huge lump on his head.

“...Is that so?” Serlon eyed the lump, sighing before setting his eyes on me, “I’m glad I ran into you, Asta. You’ll come with me. Trent. You, Gunnar, and Eran are to meet a noble at the gates.”

“Understood sir.” Trent saluted, already marching out the doors and to this assignment. He was eager to leave this horrid assignment behind him.

“...You wanted to see me, Serlon?” I pondered, trailing behind the human captain, who fiddled with his holder.

He nodded, leading us down the hallway, “The Crown Prince is to make an appearance this afternoon at the Kingdom’s academy. I’d like you to attend as his bodyguard.”

No way.

I scoffed, the discontent unhidden on my face, “Why can’t he be escorted with the usual convoy?”

In other words, why me? Why?

“That’s because of the rules of the academy. Technically, the academy has a non-political atmosphere. This means that nobles from other kingdoms are there. Sending an entire royal force could cause some upheaval.” Serlon sighed, now leading us to the prince’s quarters.

“...And you choose me because?”

“Because you’re young but skilled. Plus, the Crown Prince doesn’t listen to anyone else. Since you two seem to be friends, I’ll be more at peace knowing he’ll stay with you.” He explained, marching down an archway.

“We’re not friends.” I clarified.

“...Sure. Well, just keep the Crown Prince alive.” Serlon sighed, stopping at golden-plated doors, and knocking.

There was no response.

“Your Highness, your escort is here.”

He knocked again.

“Your Highness.”

And again.

“Edwin.”

Then one more time. But instead of waiting, a loud bang was heard throughout the hallway, as the lead guard kicked the door open.

You could feel the utter disappointment on his face, as he laid eyes on the dozing prince, the future of the kingdom. The prince had passed out on the bench, soundly sleeping. Serlon stomped over, crouching down to meet the sleeping Prince’s face. He smiled with the same terrible expression as the other day.

The temperature in the room seemed to chill, as the anger from the lead guard revealed itself throughout the lofty room.

“Your Highness. I urge you strongly to wake up. You have an appointment. I suggest you get up now.”

Suggest? Sure.

As if his instincts sensed the danger in the room, his eyes jolted open, a frightened yelp erupting as he met Serlon’s glare. Drool ran from the corner of his mouth, as he frantically looked around the room.

“Sir Serlon? Asta?” The confused Prince stood up, quickly straightening his clothes, “What are you doing here?”

“...Were you sleeping, your Highness?” Serlon smiled, sending visible shivers down Edwin’s spine.

“...I was…I was resting my eyes.” Edwin lied poorly.

“Ah… so you weren’t sleeping after I reminded you that you must leave for your appointment at the academy?” Serlon leered.

“...No! In fact, I am ready to leave now! With… with?” The prince scanned the room.

Serlon pointed to me, “Guard Asta will be escorting you today.”

“Right! With my friend, Asta!” The prince recovered, fumbling over the furniture to my side.

“I am not your friend.” I dismissed the comment. At this point, the phrase could become my slogan.

“...Right. Then, my life is in your hands, not-my-friend Asta.”

Just kill me now.