Elizabeth took a deep breath before speaking.
"After all, you're accompanying us on this caravan escort." However, you're merely an external sentinel. You're unofficial, which makes you an easy scapegoat for those with malicious intentions."
"Hoooh, your Lady Nobelle can actually think of such things. It touches me a little," William replied with a lopsided, mocking smile.
"Of course. Even though we've only met a few times, you're still part of the team to me," Elizabeth said firmly and without hesitation.
Those words struck William like a meteor, shattering the shield of arrogance he had been wearing. For the first time in years, he heard acknowledgment and acceptance. Faint memories of the kind and caring side of Morgan Welshman seemed to reawaken.
But William's face remained impassive. He closed his eyes, refusing to show the turmoil that had surfaced. A few moments later, he heard footsteps receding from the rooftop. Elizabeth was no longer beside him. She had probably returned to her room.
William breathed a sigh of relief and lay down completely. With emotions he didn't want to admit, he finally fell asleep under the starlight.
–––
Morning was approaching, with sunlight slowly replacing the night sky. William descended from the inn's roof, but he stopped when he saw an unexpected sight.
Jones stood with a large leather bag slung over his back, having joined Elizabeth, Louis, and Sir Roster. The burly man looked determined, as if he had made his decision without hesitation.
William glanced at him in surprise. He hadn't expected Jones to act so quickly.
"Hoho, Jones!" Sir Roster exclaimed happily, patting the burly man on the shoulder. "I knew you were an unofficial caravan guard, but it's rare for someone to impress you like that. Then you suddenly come to me asking for a guard job. Of course I'll accept. The more skilled and well-mannered guards, the better, right?" His tone was friendly, but there was a subtle hint of sarcasm aimed at William.
Jones responded with slight awkwardness. "Of course, Sir Roster. However, someone recommended you to me. He's quite the observer. Honestly, I didn't expect to meet someone like that."
"Jones," Sir Roster said again, this time in a sympathetic tone, ignoring Jones's previous remark. "I've been looking for you for a long time to hire you as my bodyguard. But you've been so hard to find. What exactly has happened to you in the past few months?"
The burly man, Jones, replied in a calm voice.
"I simply wish to rest, Sir Roster. I cannot say more."
"Of course. I understand perfectly well." Sir Roster nodded and shifted his posture forward. "May I introduce you to two sentinels from the Royal Order of Valmorra? They are of noble birth and of a great order: Miss Elizabeth and Young Master Louis."
His tone was dignified, but he had clearly avoided mentioning William on purpose.
"It is an honor to greet Miss Elizabeth and Young Master Louis in person," Jones said, bowing enthusiastically.
Louis replied briefly, yet he maintained the politeness typical of royalty. Elizabeth, on the other hand, seemed friendlier. She extended her hand and smiled sincerely.
Meanwhile, William rolled his eyes, folded his arms, and ignored Sir Roster's subtle political maneuvering. The man's hostility toward William was obvious, but he was used to such condescending stares.
However, something surprising happened. Jones turned and walked toward William. He bowed deeply, as if he were a servant respecting his master. His face was flushed, but he held back his irritation.
"Thank you, William. Because of you, I've finally reconsidered my ways. I no longer want to be bound by my past mistakes."
Elizabeth and Louis stared at him, their eyebrows raised in disbelief. Sir Roster, on the other hand, gaped in surprise and annoyance.
The change was too sudden. Last night, Jones had been arrogant and stubborn, still harboring arrogance after his defeat by William. But this morning, his demeanor was completely different, as if he had just found his purpose in life. William himself found the change astonishing, though he didn't show it.
"Jones, do you know this devilish boy?" Sir Roster hissed, pointing at William. "He's just an external sentinel. He's completely different from your clearly talented self. How can you acknowledge this brat?"
William turned slowly, a lopsided smile forming on his face.
"You're still holding a grudge just because you're so short-sighted. You can't even tell the difference between a woman's face and a man's. You rely solely on the brain down there. No wonder your wives are scattered everywhere."
Those words cut deep. William knew exactly who he was dealing with; he always had information he could use as a weapon.
Sir Roster's face immediately flushed red and the veins in his temples tensed. The blush crept upward, making his head look like it might explode.
"Brat! You'd better shut your mouth!" he shouted, his anger becoming uncontrollable.
Sir Roster's face flushed and the veins in his temples throbbed, but William lazily raised his hand as if to swat an annoying fly. His gaze was cold as he barely paid attention to the embers of anger smoldering before him.
Louis cleared his throat softly, his calm voice breaking the tension.
"Sir Roster, we should continue our journey. The Kingdom of Dunness is still a day away. The desert along its border will be extremely hot and make travel difficult. We'd better arrive before dusk."
Sir Roster snorted harshly, suppressing the anger still quivering in his chest. Without a word, he turned and entered the carriage, slamming the door behind him. The caravan began to move again, the wheels creaking on the paved road like embers as it headed east toward the barren land that seemed to devour life.
As was his custom, William chose the open carriage. He leaned back casually and let the hood cover his face. Beside him, Jones, once arrogant, was now as obedient as a shadow that had lost its master. His massive muscles moved only to obey William's commands, fanning his sweltering master in the sweltering heat. It was ironic that a mighty giant was now merely the servant of a young man who often acted annoyingly.
The five-hour journey felt like a curse. The desert stretched endlessly in every direction, a blazing sea beneath a cruel sky. The hot air vibrated like a mirage, deceiving the eyes.
Inside the carriage, Sir Roster's family was confined to a wooden box that served as a walking oven. The windows were open and a fan swayed in the wealthy merchant's hand, but the scorching air still penetrated the fabric and glass, mocking his futile efforts.
On the other hand, William shifted around like a restless child, sometimes sitting upright, sometimes leaning back, and sometimes squirming as if seeking shade. Sweat poured from his body as his hood covered his face. Meanwhile, Jones faithfully fanned him relentlessly. The heat wasn't just an annoyance; it felt like the gentle grip of an invisible hand slowly strangling him.
William glanced at Elizabeth and Louis. The two of them rode calmly, as if the desert were a flower garden. Elizabeth sat upright in her long pink dress without a trace of complaint. In the heat, the dress should have been a burden, but on her, it symbolized cool elegance—like a candle that wouldn't melt even though the fire raged around it.
William could only sigh. His sigh sounded weak and almost desperate.
"Isn't there another way to get there faster? Or should we just rest?" he asked, his hoarse voice carried on the trembling, hot air.
Elizabeth reined in her horse and moved closer until she was level with the open carriage. Her blonde hair glistened in the harsh sunlight. Without a word, she tossed him a water bottle.
William caught it with a frown. He immediately finished the bottle, just like the two he had already finished. The water tasted bland and lifeless, as if the desert had poisoned it.