He stood completely still, petrified like a statue.
The boy's gray eyes rested on him, as if he could read every single one of his thoughts. He wore a friendly smile, but it was clear it was nothing more than a facade.
He wasn't sure if it was the exhaustion, but his legs began to tremble and his back hunched in the presence of that mysterious young man. He swallowed hard before saying:
"Who... who are you?" His voice cracked and trembled before he even realized it.
The boy tilted his head and frowned. Then he turned his gaze to Svend, whom he held in an embrace with his right arm. Confusion flickered across his face, though it was quickly replaced by a wide smile that sent a chill down his spine.
He stroked his chin with his fingers and glanced away.
"Mmm... let's just say I'm his escort."
Escort?
"What does he mean?"
The young man continued, pointing a finger at Svend.
"More specifically, this handsome fellow right here."
Now he was even more bewildered.
"Wait, I don't understand. You're here to escort Svend? To where, exactly?"
He made sure to keep his tone steady.
The young man answered with a smile:
"Where else would I escort him? To the capital of Camelot, of course."
"But... why?"
A slight smile curved on his lips.
"Hasn't he told you?" He turned to Svend and asked, "You didn't tell him, Svend?"
"So they do know each other."
"Tell me what?"
The mysterious young man noticed his unease and let out a soft sigh.
"This handsome fellow traveling with you is one of His Majesty King Arthur's sons. So I'm escorting him back to the capital."
"The king's son? Why didn't he tell me before?"
A knot of anxiety grew in his chest. His mind, already weary, began racing with this new information. Had Svend been using him from the start?
"But perhaps it's necessary to conceal the princes' identities... yes, that makes sense, right? But then... why does he say Svend didn't tell me? So... it's not meant to be a secret?"
Before he could respond, the boy spoke again:
"Ah, don't worry. We know where that letter came from—the one that tried to defame you. And of course, you can come with us. After all, I was sent for both the swordsman of the forest and Svend, so you being together saves me a lot of trouble."
What did he just say?
"Is... wait, I have—"
The boy began to turn away with Svend still in his arms, not giving him a chance to speak.
"Oh right, I forgot to introduce myself," he glanced back over his shoulder with a radiant smile, "I'm one of the eight royal guards, Soulver Harrison. But most people just call me Harris."
He looked him dead in the eyes.
"So there are eight of these? I've fought a knight before—surely a guard ranks above that, right? And what rank comes after guard? How powerful must the king be, then?"
"Bill. You can call me Bill. But Harris, there are still people inside the cave. We planned to get them out after dealing with the goblins."
Svend met his eyes for the first time in what felt like ages. His gaze held a warning, a plea.
The air suddenly turned cold, and the shadows deepened for a moment. Harris began to regard him with a somber expression.
"Sure, sure, you can go 'rescue' those people who are on the brink of death, but then what? Will you give them a place to live? I highly doubt it. You don't even have a home yourself. Besides... do you really think they'd choose to come out only to spend the rest of their days struggling to survive?"
He didn't know what to say. Harris might have a point. But what about the kingdom? Didn't the king do anything for people kidnapped by these monsters? If they were rescued and taken to the capital, wouldn't they receive aid?
Harris continued:
"Don't be a damned fool trying to play the hero. What world do you think you live in, Bill? Besides... do you really think I'm going to let you leave? Did you forget they sent me after you too?"
"What?" He couldn't hide the disbelief in his voice.
"Oh, Bill, I thought we were coming to an understanding. Of course you can try to go—but I have to stop you. You see, they gave me permission to break every bone in your body if that's what it takes to keep you from escaping. That's something I'd rather avoid. I don't want to carry your broken body all the way there. Of course, that's only if you choose to resist. The decision is yours, Bill."
The kindly Harris vanished like smoke, as if he had only ever been a mask.
"What will you do, miserable swordsman?"
He looked at him with those eyes... the eyes of a tiger playing with a mouse.
And he, beneath the aura Harris radiated, truly felt as small and helpless as a mouse.