"What the hell is going on here!?"
Both of them turned.
A young man stood at the mouth of the alley—blonde hair tousled by the wind, sharp blue eyes widening with alarm. He looked around eighteen or nineteen, roughly the same height as Kaisel's current disguise. A thin, worn blue shirt clung to his frame, its once-bright color dulled by dust and use. His brown trousers bore faint patches, and a faint fatigue clung to him like a shadow.
"Merlin!" the boy behind Kaisel yelped in relief—Felix's voice cracked with a mixture of fear and guilt.
"Felix! What's going on?" Merlin demanded, anger and worry twisting together in his tone. He turned to Kaisel. "And you… who are you?"
Kaisel didn't answer immediately. Instead, he studied the newcomer with quiet scrutiny.
Merlin looked thin, dust clinging to his sleeves. He didn't carry the presence of someone who could fight—more like a young man trying to shoulder responsibilities far heavier than he seemed physically built for.
"What's happening, Merlin?" a young woman's voice called out.
A girl stepped out from behind the caravan—a brown-haired, brown-eyed teenager with a soft but worried expression. She wore a long, faded skirt and a grey cotton blouse, the kind common among working-class girls. Slightly shorter than Merlin, slightly younger too.
Her eyes widened as she saw Felix on the ground.
"Felix!? Why are you on the ground?"
Felix scrambled up instantly and darted behind Merlin as if using him as a human shield.
"H-He attacked me out of nowhere!" Felix blurted, voice shaking with poorly concealed panic.
Merlin shot him a suspicious side glance before returning his gaze to Kaisel.
"…Is that true?" he asked, tension thick in his voice.
Kaisel's reply was steady, calm, and composed.
"No. I only came to retrieve my money. I don't want trouble."
"…Money?"
Merlin blinked. Understanding hit him like a hammer. He snapped his head toward Felix.
"Felix! Did you steal again!?"
Felix's face drained of color. He stumbled back, lips trembling.
"I-I… l-look, Merlin, I—"
"Give it back to him," Merlin said sharply, exhaustion edging into his voice.
Felix's shoulders slumped in defeat. He hesitantly held out the pouch.
Before Merlin could take it, Kaisel crouched down and carefully gathered the scattered bread and supplies Felix had dropped earlier. He brushed off the dirt and then held the bag out toward the stunned boy.
Felix blinked.
Lucy blinked.
Merlin blinked twice.
"W-what are those?" Merlin asked, still puzzled.
"T-those… those are the things I bought," Felix muttered, avoiding eye contact.
Beads of sweat gathered on Merlin's forehead as the truth clicked into place. Felix had bought all this with stolen money.
The bread alone told the story. It wasn't the usual hard, day-old loaf they could barely afford for three coppers—cold, dense, and tasteless. No… this one was soft, warm, fresh enough that its aroma still drifted through the air, rich and inviting. The kind of bread they only ever smelled when passing bakeries before dawn.
Merlin's gaze flicked to the sword at Kaisel's waist. A real blade, well-kept, sitting far too comfortably on the young man's hip. His posture, his calmness, the chill in his eyes—they all lined up.
A mercenary.
The kind you never wanted to owe money to. The kind with a bad temper and a worse sense of mercy.
And buying goods of this quality…
Merlin's eyes widened in guilt as the full weight of the situation settled over him.
"I—I can't take this," he stammered, voice tight. "I… please forgive us."
"Keep it," Kaisel cut in, his tone flat and decisive—ending the argument before it could start.
Merlin opened his mouth to protest, then shut it again. His jaw tightened as he turned to Felix and delivered a sharp smack to the back of the boy's head.
"How much did all this cost?" he demanded.
Felix flinched. "T-three silver coins…"
Merlin's hand slid up to his forehead as he exhaled a long, despairing sigh.
He faced Kaisel again. "I will pay you back—"
"You don't have to." Kaisel's voice remained calm, almost indifferent. "Just… be more careful with him."
With that, he pressed the bag of goods into Felix's hands, retrieved his pouch from him, and turned away without another word.
After Kaisel disappeared down the road, Merlin rounded on Felix with a glare sharp enough to cut.
"Stop stealing from people!" he snapped, voice rising with panic and fury. "Do you have any idea what could've happened if he'd demanded compensation? You could've been thrown in prison— or worse!"
Felix didn't argue. He didn't even lift his head. His fingers tightened around the bag of bread, and he stared at the ground as if it could swallow him whole.
He swallowed hard.
I don't want to see that guy again… ever.
.....
The next day—
Felix stared ahead, slack-jawed.
"You have to be kidding me…" he whispered under his breath, voice cracking with disbelief.
A small crowd had gathered near the caravan line—merchants, laborers, a few travelers preparing to depart. Merlin stood beside him, adjusting the straps on a crate, but Felix wasn't paying attention to any of that.
His gaze was locked on one person.
Kaisel.
The same young man from yesterday—the one who had appeared like a shadow, demanded repayment, terrified Felix half to death, and then walked away without a hint of emotion.
Now he stood among the gathered escorts, wearing a simple travel cloak over his dark clothes, sword at his hip, expression unreadable. His posture was relaxed, but there was a quiet, dangerous confidence to him that made Felix's stomach twist.
Merlin followed Felix's line of sight and froze.
"…Oh," he muttered. "It's him."
Kaisel glanced toward the group, eyes sweeping over the caravan workers—and paused briefly on Felix.
Felix immediately hid behind Merlin.
As it turned out, after registering as a mercenary that morning, Kaisel had taken a mission.
An escort mission.
Kaisel's plan was simple: reach the Empire and gather information. But the way gate—an intricate network of teleportation arrays and magic circles connecting cities—was out of the question. Established for nobles and the wealthy, it offered speed but demanded scrutiny. With his current funds, he could have used it once, but the attention it would draw was dangerous. The guards stationed there would inevitably probe into his identity, and Kaisel could not afford that risk.
The train was another option—fast, reliable, and far less magical in nature—but it posed its own problems. Long journeys required proper identification, something Kaisel currently lacked. And as a "mercenary" without clean papers, boarding a train would only invite suspicion. Besides, a trip of that distance would bleed more gold than he was willing to spend.
That left The safer path: travel by land, unnoticed. To blend in, he assumed his new identity—Mark, the mercenary—and took on an escort mission commissioned by a band of wandering performers and a few merchants bound for another city.
One of the reasons Kaisel set his sights on the neighboring city was its thriving black market for forged documents—papers crafted with such precision that even imperial-grade detection tools struggled to distinguish them from genuine records. He could have applied for a real identification instead; his current disguise was flawless enough to pass every magical and mundane inspection.
But a legitimate process would drag on for months, tangled in endless bureaucratic checks. Kaisel didn't have that kind of time.
He had already attempted to secure forged papers in Lowden the previous night through its own underworld channels. Lowden did have a network, but when he made the request, they refused immediately.
No explanation, no negotiation—just a curt statement that they weren't handling identification work in Lowden "for now."
Because of that, the neighboring city became his only viable option. If he wanted to move freely within the Empire, that was where he needed to go.
He hadn't expected familiar faces.
There, among the performers, was Felix—the boy who had tried to steal from him yesterday.
The other mercenaries were gathered nearby, talking among themselves. Two small parties—one of five, the other of four—were preparing for the mission. Five caravans in total needed protection, and the atmosphere was a mix of tension and casual camaraderie.
One of the party leaders approached Kaisel, his steps confident and measured. Fitch was a middle-aged man, with thick brown hair and a full beard, wearing a worn leather vest over a thin shirt. A sword was strapped across his back, the hilt gleaming faintly in the morning sun.
"Hey there," he said, extending a hand. "I'm Fitch. What's your name?"
"Mark," Kaisel replied, keeping his tone even.
Fitch nodded, glancing at him appraisingly. "You look kinda young. How much experience do you have in escorting? And what are you good at? I'm guessing you can put that sword of yours to use, right?"
"I don't have much experience with escorting," Kaisel said carefully. "But I am confident in using my sword."
Fitch's eyes lingered on him for a moment longer, then gave a short, approving nod. "Good enough. Let's see how you hold up."
To be continued.