"W-What happened?! Is everything alright?" Ren asked hesitantly, fearing something had gone wrong with the High Priests—or worse, that someone had noticed him. He quickly pulled the curtains shut, just in case.
Zayden sighed and set Eiran on the seat across from him and Ren.
The servant had shifted his own seat, yet it didn’t matter—he still found himself beside the General.
"Did I say something wrong?" Eiran blinked, wide-eyed, trying to understand why Zayden reacted the way he did.
"What did he do?" Ren asked, glancing at Zayden, who didn’t look pleased.
"He needs to watch what he says," Zayden muttered with another sigh.
"He is a child," Ren frowned. "You cannot expect him to understand—"
"He’s received etiquette lessons, hasn’t he? By now, he should know how to—"
Ren narrowed his eyes and, with a soft hmph, leaned over to cover Eiran’s eyes.
"W-What are you doing?" Zayden asked.
"You should not scold him . You just need to explain why what he did was wrong."
"You speak as if you are some great parent." Zayden folded his arms and legs, staring him down.
Ren inhaled deeply, trying to keep his calm although his voice trembled. "I have studied enough to know what is right and what is not."
Zayden didn’t answer. Perhaps he had
Curling his fingers into a fist, he cast a glance at Ren, who had already shifted closer to Eiran, sitting protectively at his side.
The carriage rolled forward once more. But this time, the air inside was colder than the weather outside.
Suddenly, the carriage jolted, the wheels slipping on the icy road.
"Stop the carriage!" Zayden ordered, his instincts alarming by danger approaching.
Before the driver could obey, an arrow broke through the carriage’s window, flying only a few inches away from Ren’s face. The servant held back his breath, holding the child, turning his back toward the shattering window.
Eiran yelped, fingers trembling as he held onto Ren.
Zayden’s jaw tightened. He examined Ren carefully until he was certain the man was unharmed. Then; he gently patted his son’s head before his gaze shifted to Ren.
"You can protect him in case something goes wrong, right? But the knights will shield you."
The General inhaled deeply, unsheathing his sword as he stepped closer toward the group of men, dressed in black.
Who dared to order his assassination?
Without a second thought, he unleashed toward them, ready to strike.
Meanwhile, his subordinates followed him. The clash outside grew fiercer by the second, blades against blades, steel against magic.
Sparks and smoke filled the air. Zayden’s blade, forged with iron meant to repel spells, cut through each strike of dark magic that surged toward him. The assassins were relentless, their incantations painting the snow with fire and shadow—but none could pierce the General’s defence. Some knights were harmed but they immediately stood to their feet, unwilling to lose to some amateur soldiers.
However, one of the men slipped through.
A shadow darted from the battle and forced open the carriage door. Ren’s eyes widened as a hooded man jumped inside, blade gleaming. However, he only saw the string around him. But unlike the General, he could see this man’s face.
Eiran screamed, clutching Ren’s sleeve, his small frame trembling.
Ren’s gaze sharpened, eyes darting as he searched for something. However, there was nothing that could be used as a weapon. Was the General so certain that they wouldn’t be able to enter that carriage, he forgot to give Ren a weapon?
"Eiran—use your magic," he whispered, voice low.
"M-My magic?" The boy stammered, his eyes brimming with fear. "C-Can I really?"
Ren gave him a firm nod and pressed a reassuring hand on his shoulder.
The assassin swung toward them. Ren moved first—swift and merciless—he closed his eyes, the colour shifting to yellow and blue.
He could see more strings—this man had surely killed countless. Just like the General. Shaking his head, he whispered quickly, "Use your magic now, Eiran."
Just then, the man made an unfortunate mistake—he locked gaze with Ren. The strings all shifted to black, one by one.
Eiran’s hands shook, but fire burst forth, ignited by his panic and desperation. Flames engulfed the already dead body, turning it into nothing but blackened ash within seconds. The heat burned bright, lighting up the carriage.
Outside, Zayden caught sight of the sudden blaze and rushed back, his instincts pulling him toward them. But he wasn’t fast enough.
One of the assassins managed to slip behind him, blade cutting into his back.
A sharp groan escaped Zayden’s lips as the iron pierced his flesh. It wasn’t deep—he had endured far worse—but the sting still forced him to stumble for a second.
"Protect the General!" Helain’s voice rang out, commanding, as she struck down two men at once, Aarson at her side, both fighting furiously to push the attackers back.
From a distance, Liam appeared, his stride hurried, Yusha trailing close behind him. Their eyes immediately fell on Zayden.
"General!" Liam gasped, helping the General into the carriage while Yusha followed, keeping guard at the entrance.
Ren was crouched low, brushing away the last traces of ash with controlled movements. His hands were precise, his expression calm, even amidst the chaos.
"You only care about cleaning," Zayden scoffed, his tone low, a faint edge of hurt slipping through.
Ren didn’t lift his gaze.
"You need a clean place to rest."
"So you knew I was hurt," Zayden tightened his jaw, chest tightening. Did he not care at all?
"Can someone bring the box of medicines?" Ren looked at Liam and Yusha without answering Zayden.
"I’ll get it." Yusha didn’t wait for permission, bolting toward the supply wagon. ɴᴇᴡ ɴᴏᴠᴇʟ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀs ᴀʀᴇ ᴘᴜʙʟɪsʜᴇᴅ ᴏɴ N0veI.Fiɾe.net
Minutes later, he returned, placing the wooden box in Ren’s hands before bowing his head.
"We will go help the others and stand guard to protect you," Liam said firmly, already stepping away with Yusha.
Silence lingered in the carriage, broken only by Eiran’s uneven breathing. He looked at Zayden with wide, guilty eyes.
Zayden tilted his head, puzzled.
"Why? It’s not your fault."
"I mean... for earlier." His voice dropped. "I should think before speaking."
A faint smile curved Zayden’s lips despite the pain, lying on his stomach after his shirt had been removed by Ren.
"Hey, I should be the one to apologize. Your dad is a little inexperienced with kids," he chuckled.
Eiran’s shoulders trembled, trying not to laugh but in vain. His soft giggles echoed through the carriage along with Zayden.
The servant had already opened the box, fingers brushing lightly over ointments and bandages. He leaned closer, carefully applying the medicine to the injury. His touch was precise, almost reverent, and his movements were so gentle that even the sting of ointment seemed dulled.
Zayden’s eyes closed slowly, his breath steadying as he felt each warm press of Ren’s hand. Soft and cautious as though the servant feared hurting him.
Outside, the sounds of battle continued.
"Damn it—this was Hianshu’s doing, for sure!" one knight snarled, holding onto his injured left arm.
"Quiet!" another hissed. "They will hear you."
"They are the only enemies we have," the other groaned.