William ignored the continued outpouring of sympathy for Jones. He wasn't interested in condolences or empty consolation from people who had never experienced the horrors of war. What truly bothered him was an old memory—a mysterious event from fifteen years prior. At that time, he was still known as Morgan Welshman. He had heard rumors about the purple-robed group. Now, those fragments were beginning to come together like shards of glass reflecting a dark light.
Without further ado, William clapped his hands loudly. The sound shattered the din of the tavern like a thunderclap. Those who had been deep in conversation fell silent, turning their eyes to him in surprise. Slowly, they returned to their seats, leaving Jones alone.
William leaned back in his chair, his eyes sharp and piercing.
"So, you said your caravan was intercepted by seven mysterious, robed men. I remember something..." His tone was heavy, almost a whisper, yet full of mystery. "Maybe they're not just a group of bandits. More precisely, a dark sect. A dark cult. Have you ever heard that term before?"
Jones frowned and his face hardened. He crossed his arms over his chest as if trying to fight the strange feeling that suddenly gripped him. The burly man, who had always relied on his strength, was forced to confront the impossible. He took a deep breath and his expression faded into disappointment.
"Sorry, I don't know much about dark sects or cults. But..." He looked down for a moment, then continued in a depressed tone. "I still clearly remember. One of them did something strange. When I was about to intercept the caravan, I didn't sense any mana or magic aura. I could recognize the Sentinel aura. There was just a light dust covering the road and a pungent scent. That's how they took down my men. It wasn't magic, but something more cunning and sinister.
A light dust. A pungent scent.
William remembered the small purple pouch tucked tightly in his pocket. It was a piece of evidence he hadn't opened yet, but now it felt like the key to a great secret.
A faint, almost cruel, smile crossed his face. A crazy idea lit up in his mind—a plan that promised a new direction. He patted Jones on the shoulder lightly, as if making him part of his game.
"Old Stump, you're not working right now, are you?"
Jones looked up immediately, the veins in his temples tensing.
"Isn't there a more appropriate title than 'Old Stump'?" he said angrily. He remained seated on the floor, as if bound by invisible chains.
William responded with a faint smile and a sharp retort.
"You called me a boy yourself. So don't complain if I call you one, too."
Anger flushed across Jones's face, but he didn't move. He knew that if he tried to fight again, he would suffer the same fate: utter defeat. William would surely laugh at him with a cold, cruel laugh, taking pleasure in his suffering.
***
Chapter 55
Jones remained seated on the floor with his elbows on his knees and his head lowered in contemplation. William's words kept echoing in his head: It wasn't just the fight he'd lost; it was also the young man's piercing gaze that demanded obedience.
William, on the other hand, didn't just want a follower. He wanted to put this burly man to work escorting his entourage. Jones's defeat was merely a doorway, and William knew exactly how to open it.
"I'm sorry, kid, but I'm not interested. I'm not interested. I'd rather relax for a while," Jones finally said, waving his hand lazily as if to swat away a fly.
William raised an eyebrow. A cold smile crept across his face.
"You lost to me. You agreed to be my servant. So, if I ask you to join me on this job, there's no room for refusal. Whether you agree or not, you'll follow me."
His tone was unwavering and authoritative, like a hammer delivering a verdict.
Jones fell silent. The veins in his temples tensed, but he couldn't muster a rebuttal.
William stood up. His steps were slow but relaxed as he headed toward the exit. Just before leaving the still-busy tavern, he glanced back. It was brief, but long enough to pierce the burly man more deeply than a thousand words.
"Look for me before the group departs tomorrow morning. Just ask about Sir Roster's caravan. I'll be waiting."
With a casual wave, William left the bustling tavern.
***
The night air greeted him with a chill that pierced his skin. The rest stop was bustling with merchants, guards, and travelers seeking a place to stay for the night. Lanterns swayed in the breeze, casting dancing shadows across the cobblestone streets.
William walked aimlessly. Even if he returned to the inn, he knew that Sir Roster still wouldn't consider him part of his escort. So, he chose his own path.
A few moments later, he climbed onto the inn's roof, seeking solace in the heights. The cool wall supported his back as he gazed up at the night sky. Sprinkled across the sky were stars that sparkled, creating a beautiful illusion. But to William, they were nothing more than empty decorations in a world of darkness.
Light footsteps approached. He didn't need to turn around. From her sparkling blue dress and long, flowing blonde hair, he knew who it was: Elizabeth.
She sat beside him as if she were familiar with the height of the rooftops. She smiled faintly, her clear eyes staring at him.
"Louis and I looked everywhere for you, Will. Turns out you were hiding on the rooftops."
William didn't take his eyes off the stars. He only glanced at her briefly before returning his gaze to the sky.
"You were looking for me like a lost kitten," he said casually, his tone stinging like thorns.
Elizabeth wasn't offended. Her smile didn't change at all. She remained quietly seated beside him, as if accustomed to his sharp tongue.