Chapter 24: Drunk soldiers

The column moved through the countryside with the slow, careful pace of those carrying a precious cargo. No one really knew what threat awaited them, or who they would find, but their sole purpose was clear: to protect the chests of gold with the same care with which one guards a secret. Leading the march was Cedric, a massive figure who commanded with a hoarse voice and apparent confidence.

“Listen carefully,” Cedric snapped, wielding his sword like a scepter. “This won't be a walk in the park. Be ready for anything!”

“Yes!” replied the chorus of voices, a metallic echo that bounced off the trees.

Among them, someone muttered grumpy comments about the young man walking in the middle of the group. For many, he was still an enigma: few could explain how he had knocked Cedric down with a single blow. So one of the soldiers on patrol plucked up his courage and approached, lowering his voice in an attempt at private conversation.

“Hey, kid... one thing: how did you take Cedric down like that, with a single blow?” he asked, admiration mixed with a hint of disbelief.

Ren didn't answer right away. He wasn't sure how he'd done it either, but he wasn't the type to reveal his uncertainties. He shrugged, his tone meant to sound dismissive. “He just... wasn't strong enough.”

That answer left the other boy speechless: he had just belittled one of the best swordsmen in the village. A flurry of surprised looks passed among them, but no one dared to argue.

The road continued, and as the hours passed, the group began to feel fatigue creeping into their ranks. Suddenly, a familiar, fragrant, warm scent drew a few distracted comments: freshly baked bread, an invisible invitation.

“Can't you smell that? It's coming from that village,” observed a voice.

Cedric hesitated, but was immediately called to order. “This is not the time!” he snapped, but a companion, more cunning than authoritative, teased him. “Come on, come on, a short break won't kill anyone. We've been marching for hours!” he urged, and the proposal fell like a temptation.

The discussion degenerated into a series of excuses and agreements: some said that the mine required haste, while others argued that rest would boost morale. In the end, the majority won: a short break would be granted.

The small village welcomed the group with a mixture of curiosity and fear. Some inhabitants closed their doors, others watched the uniforms moving through the narrow streets. Most of the guards were seduced by the inns and taverns: guitars, loud laughter, and the clinking of mugs became the backdrop to their stop.

But Ren chose to walk away. He entered a shop that smelled of flour and yeast, where the oven was burning and the baker's hands were kneading bread that seemed made especially to satisfy the hunger of the world. “I'd like a sandwich, please.” His voice was low, almost polite. He had few coins for that sandwich, but the shopkeeper nodded, and in a few moments the warm bag was already in his hands.

He went outside with the bread and took a bite, while his companions disappeared over the horizon, drawn away by chatter and alcohol. He watched them go, their figures slumped, their laughter too loud to be harmless, and a twinge of irritation tightened his stomach.

“That's it,” he muttered, the taste of the bread giving him a moment of comfort. “The plan for today is off if these idiots are going to get drunk...”

It wasn't resignation, rather the awareness that the road to confronting Lucius' power was also made up of waiting and moments when it would be necessary to identify his missteps. The boy broke off another piece of bread and, as he chewed, his mind and strategy were already at work: the real game did not begin with fanfare, but with patience and open eyes.

He walked slowly, like someone carrying the weight of a thousand little thoughts. For a moment, amid those sun-drenched streets, he felt he could breathe: no one was shouting at him, no one was glaring at him with contempt. A subtle relief washed over him.

“It's a nice feeling,” he murmured to himself, but it was a fleeting thought, quickly swept away when reality returned to make itself heard around him.

The soldiers charged with protecting the chests of gold had succumbed to wine and the temptations of the village. They moved around in small groups, laughing too loudly, leaning on the women as if respect were a faded concept. Some staggered, their eyes red; others made vulgar advances with a ease that was heartbreaking.

“Come on, come and have some fun with us.” Cedric advanced, supported by a companion and a few female laughs, his voice slurred with alcohol. He pointed to a tavern with a broad gesture. “Let's go for a drink. Follow us.”

He shook his head calmly. “It's not my thing.”

The response was met with an angry glance and a shrug. “Huh? What? You don't want to drink with us?”

“No.”

They sighed and walked away: uncoordinated figures dragging themselves towards the door of a bar, leaving behind bodies that seemed drained of dignity.

Alone, the road returned his silence. He thought about going back to the village; perhaps it was the most sensible thing to do in order to reorganize his plans. He took a step, then another, but just then something caught his attention: a little girl appeared in front of him like a small plea made flesh. Her brown hair was tousled, her eyes swollen with tears that sparkled in the sun.

“Help! Sir!” she cried with the voice of someone who had no more excuses to hide.

He didn't think twice. He ran towards her, his heart racing with instinct. “What's wrong?” he asked, bending down, and the little girl clung to him with all her might.

“Save my father! Please!” The words came out quickly, choked with tears. He placed a hand on her head as if to reassure her. “Calm down, tell me where. Don't worry, I'll take care of it.”

The girl pointed to a dark alley. Ren disappeared in a flash, following the cries that were now clear: this was no ordinary quarrel. He reached the scene and stopped abruptly. In front of a collapsed man, a soldier staggered, his shirt dirty and his gaze lost in a mixture of anger and drunkenness.

“Stop!” His voice, this time, brooked no reply.

The soldier turned, alcohol still on his lips. “Who are you to tell me that?” he retorted, raising his hands as if to threaten. “This man disrespected me!”

“That's not true,” the victim intervened, his voice trembling. “I didn't do anything...”

It was a spark, nothing more: the air grew tense. The soldier approached him, as if to show that force gave him the right. But the boy standing there did not tremble; on the contrary, he took a step forward, his face rigid, his eyes fixed.

“Leave him alone,” he said calmly but sharply. “Or you'll regret it.”

The soldier smiled incredulously. “Ha ha ha, what? I'm not going to stop just because you tell me to.”

There was no time for further words. It all happened in the blink of an eye: a white flash streaked through the air, no cry, no obvious movement, and the soldier fell forward, a violent pain clutching his stomach.

The man remained motionless for a few seconds, unable to fully comprehend what he had just seen. Then, his face streaked with fear and gratitude, he rushed towards the young man.

“Thank you... thank you so much! I thought I wouldn't get out of this alive.”

The other man did not reply immediately. He looked at his hands, his feet, his whole body as if they did not belong to him. Inside, he was certain he had done something extraordinary, but he could not understand how. It had all happened too quickly, like a dream that vanishes as soon as you try to hold on to it.

“Y-you're welcome...” he managed to say, lowering his gaze slightly. “Now go to your daughter. She was terrified.”

“My daughter?” The man's eyes widened. “Did you meet her?”

A small nod of confirmation. “Yes. I told her to wait for us there. She begged me to save you.”

The man put his hand to his chest, overcome with emotion. “I really don't know how to thank you...”

“No need,” he replied with a half-smile. “It's enough for me to know that I've helped someone.”

They walked together along the dusty road until, a little further on, the little girl saw them appear. With a shrill cry, she ran towards her father and threw herself into his arms. Then, without hesitation, she turned to her savior and hugged him with all the strength of her thin arms.

“Thank you, sir! Thank you!”

He, a little surprised by such energy, bent down slightly to stroke her hair. A quiet smile touched his lips: in that simple, almost childish gesture, there was more gratitude than in a thousand words.

The man watched them both, his eyes shining. “If you don't already have a place to go... please, stay with us tonight.”

The young man looked at him, uncertain. “Can I really?”

“It's the least we can do after what you've done. At least let us offer you a roof over your head and a bed.”

He bowed slightly, a spontaneous gesture that conveyed acceptance and respect. “Then I gladly accept.”

And as the sun began to slip behind the rooftops of the village, he thought that perhaps, for that night, he could allow himself the luxury of feeling safe.