The morning after Alexander’s revelations broke crisp and cool, the sky a pale canvas as the group returned to their daily farm work. The tension from the previous day seemed to have eased somewhat. While Gabriel’s sarcasm remained, there was less bite to his tone. Sorin’s usual quips carried an edge of camaraderie rather than derision, and even Jordan nodded now and then in quiet approval of Alexander’s efforts.

Gabriel leaned against the barn door, arms crossed as he watched Alexander haul a heavy sack of grain across the field. “Careful, Valcrest. You’re making the rest of us look bad.”

Alexander dropped the sack with a dull thud and shot Gabriel a glare. “You could lend a hand.”

“I could,” Gabriel replied with a faint smirk, “but then how would you build character?”

Sorin, perched on a bale of hay with his ever-present notebook, chimed in. “And here I thought nobles didn’t know how to get their hands dirty. Color me impressed.”

“Are you always this charming?” Alexander asked, his tone clipped.

“Only when I like someone,” Sorin said, his grin widening. “So consider yourself lucky.”

Jordan passed by with a bucket of water, his calm demeanor unshaken. “He’s doing better than you did on your first day, Sorin.”

“Uncalled for, Vale,” Sorin replied, clutching his chest in mock offense. “I’m a strategist, not a laborer.”

Gabriel’s faint chuckle was almost drowned out by the sounds of the field as the group continued their work.

Trouble in Kaelholm

By late morning, the group set out for Kaelholm, their cart laden with goods to trade and a short list of supplies to purchase. The bustling marketplace was alive with noise, the air thick with the mingling scents of fresh bread, roasted meat, and the less pleasant odors of livestock and sweat. Merchants shouted their prices, children darted between stalls, and the hum of haggling voices filled the air.

Gabriel’s sharp eyes scanned the crowd as they made their way through the maze of vendors. His gaze caught on a group loitering in the shadow of an alley—rough-looking men, their demeanor unmistakably predatory. At their center stood a scarred man, his grin as smug and unnerving as Gabriel remembered.

It didn’t take long for the pieces to click. These were the same thieves who had been after Alexander when he first arrived.

Gabriel’s stride didn’t falter, but his voice dropped to a low murmur. “Sorin, to your left.”

Sorin glanced casually in the indicated direction, his smirk fading when he spotted the thieves. “Persistent, aren’t they?” he muttered.

Gabriel didn’t respond immediately, his gaze narrowing. “We’re leaving.”

Alexander frowned. “What? We just got here.”

Gabriel’s tone was flat, leaving no room for argument. “Plans changed.”

Sorin stepped in with a smoother approach, his voice calm. “Call it a bad feeling. Trust me, Valcrest, you don’t want to test our instincts on this.”

Jordan nodded, his quiet agreement lending weight to the decision. Reluctantly, Alexander followed as the group made their way back to the farm, though his furrowed brow betrayed his frustration and growing curiosity.

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The Warning

By the time they returned to the farm, the sun was dipping low, painting the fields in hues of gold and crimson. The group unloaded their supplies in silence, the air heavy with unspoken tension.

It wasn’t long before the sound of hoofbeats shattered the quiet. Three riders emerged from the treeline, their leader—the scarred man—dismounting with a cocky grin. His two companions stayed mounted, their hands resting casually on the hilts of their weapons.

“Well, well,” the scarred man drawled, his voice thick with disdain. “Looks like we’ve found ourselves a little treasure trove.”

Alexander stepped forward, his back straight and his chin held high. “If you’ve come to take what isn’t yours, you’re wasting your time.”

The scarred man chuckled, his grin widening. “Feisty. I like that. But let’s cut to the chase, princeling. We know you’ve got money. Hand it over, and we’ll leave you in one piece.”

Gabriel stepped in smoothly, his tone light and dripping with sarcasm. “Wow. Did you rehearse that? Because it sounds like you’ve been practicing in front of a mirror.”

The man’s grin faltered, irritation flickering in his eyes. “You think you’re funny?”

Gabriel tilted his head, pretending to think. “A little. You’re making it easy, though.”

The man’s hand tightened on his weapon. “Keep talking, farmer. We’ll see how funny you are when we come back for everything you’ve got.”

“Big words for someone with such a terrible haircut,” Gabriel replied, his tone casual.

The scarred man’s expression darkened further, but he backed toward his horse. “You’ve got guts. I’ll give you that. But guts won’t save you when we return.”

The riders turned and disappeared into the woods, their laughter echoing behind them.

Gabriel turned to the group as the hoofbeats faded. “They’ll be back.”

“How many do you think they’ll bring?” Jordan asked, his voice calm but steady.

“More than three,” Gabriel replied. “Sorin, take a look. Find out exactly what we’re dealing with.”

Sorin returned an hour later, his expression serious. “At least twenty. They’ve set up camp just beyond the treeline.”

Gabriel nodded, his demeanor calm and controlled. “Then we prepare. Sorin, set the traps. Jordan, help me secure the barn. Alexander…”

Alexander straightened, waiting for his assignment.

Gabriel smirked faintly. “You’re bait.”

Alexander blinked. “What?”

“Relax,” Sorin said, clapping him on the shoulder. “You’ll be fine. It's a noble role just look princely and lure them toward the traps.”

Alexander opened his mouth to protest, but Jordan’s faint nod of agreement silenced him. With a resigned sigh, he followed Gabriel’s instructions.

Night fell swiftly, the farm bathed in the pale glow of moonlight. The first sounds of hoofbeats reached them just before midnight, the ground trembling beneath the weight of the approaching riders.

Alexander stood in the open, a lantern in his hand, his heart pounding despite his noble pride. The scarred man led the charge, his grin widening when he spotted Alexander. “There you are, princeling. Let’s see how long you can hold out.”

As the riders surged forward, the traps sprang to life. Tripwires sent five riders tumbling from their saddles, their shouts of surprise drowned out by the chaos. Gabriel moved like a shadow, his dagger flashing in the low light as he dispatched four attackers with precise, calculated strikes. His movements were eerily efficient, each blow finding its mark with lethal accuracy.

Sorin and Jordan worked in tandem, taking out the disoriented riders caught in the traps. Jordan’s scythe cleaved through one opponent, while Sorin’s spear found its mark in another. Together, they dispatched five more thieves, their coordination seamless.

Alexander faced three attackers, his sword flashing in the moonlight. Despite being outnumbered, his years of training showed in his sharp, calculated movements. He disarmed one attacker, parried another’s strike, and drove his blade into the third, his noble upbringing shining through in the chaos.

The remaining thieves, seeing their numbers dwindle, broke ranks and fled into the darkness. The scarred man cursed loudly, retreating with the survivors.

As silence returned to the farm, the group gathered near the barn, their breaths heavy but steady.

Sorin leaned against the fence, his smirk returning. “Well, that was fun. Almost too easy.”

Alexander cleaned his sword in silence, his thoughts turning over the fight. These weren’t the moves of farmers, he thought, glancing briefly at Gabriel. Especially him. The precision, the control—it didn’t match the life Gabriel claimed to live. But Alexander kept his observations to himself, curiosity simmering beneath the surface.

Gabriel sheathed his dagger and gave Alexander a faint nod. “Nice work, Valcrest. You didn’t die. That’s something.”

Alexander didn’t reply, his mind too preoccupied with the questions forming in his head.