—I said I'll take them.
Sylryk's voice cut through the murmuring of the group. The four guards turned at once; the two women looked at him too. No one spoke.
—You? —asked the captain—. No one knows you. You don't have permission. What authority do you have to take people out of the city?
—Sylryk —he answered—. I won't allow them to be thrown out just for asking for help.
Hargen stepped forward, tense.
—We're in charge of the perimeter. We have clear orders. If this causes chaos in the city, I'll end it. —He rested his spear on his shoulder—. Order is kept here.
A woman with a scar frowned.
—We're sending them away because they bring noise and trouble. This city is peaceful; we don't need disorder. As long as they don't come back making noise, we don't care what they do outside.
—Don't expel them for that —Sylryk replied—. They're injured. If you send them away just to keep things quiet, you'll lose them.
—And how are you going to protect them? —Hargen asked—. With words? Do you have combat experience?
Sylryk looked down at his sheathed sword. His hand rested on the hilt for a moment.
—With whatever I have. I won't just stand and watch.
—That's not an answer —said the captain—. This isn't something you improvise. If everyone does whatever they want, this ends badly.
—It's already ended badly —Sylryk replied—. If you don't listen, you might lose even your city.
Hargen stared at him sharply.
—If you don't have what it takes, you'll put others at risk.
—Then don't stop me. Let me take them out and they won't come back causing trouble. —Sylryk spoke clearly—. I won't ask for an escort. I just want to take them out.
The captain studied him for a few seconds, measuring his resolve. He didn't agree immediately, but he didn't try to bind him with useless rules either.
—Fine —he said at last—. Take them. But if they come back making noise, it'll be your responsibility.
—Understood. —Sylryk nodded.
He approached the girls. It wasn't a moment for long words.
—Before we leave —he said quietly—, I need to ask something. I don't know how to use a sword. No one ever taught me. If there's a fight, I don't want to be a burden. Can you teach me the basics?
—I'm Rosel —said the young woman who had been shouting—. I don't know much about weapons like she does, but I can help however I can.
—Alice. —the one with the sword spoke without moving—. There's not much time for training. I'll teach you the basics and that's it.
—Just the minimum: how to hold it, how to block, how not to hurt myself.
—Before that —Sylryk said suddenly—, I'm going to say goodbye to the man who gave me work these past days. It's the right thing to do.
Sylryk turned and started walking through the crowd. Moving quickly, he crossed the market, passed by the stalls, and reached the warehouse where he had spent the last few days carrying sacks and stacking wood. He entered without hesitation; the air smelled of dust and effort.
—Thank you for the work —he said to the man behind the counter—. I'm sorry, I have to go.
—Alright —the man replied, rough but not unfriendly—. Safe travels, boy. Take care.
They shook hands, no long farewells. It was brief and proper; what needed to be said, was said.
As he left, Sylryk took a deep breath and stopped for a moment, looking toward the street. Instead of going straight back, he turned toward the other end of the city: the inn where he had first woken up, where the old man had taken him in.
He walked quickly, almost running. The streets grew narrower, the air smelled of fresh bread and smoke. When he arrived, the door was half open. He pushed gently and stepped inside.
The place was still warm, but something felt off. The man behind the counter wasn't the old one he remembered; his movements were rough, without the calm or serenity that old man had.
—I'm looking for an old man —said Sylryk—. The one who took me in the first time.
The innkeeper shook his head, unbothered.
—He doesn't work here. He left. People come and go, kid.
Sylryk took a step toward the back door. A noise came from there: a short groan, like someone sick. He hesitated. He could ignore it. But he moved forward.
He pushed the door carefully. In the small room, blankets were scattered and a hunched figure was breathing heavily. Something about its posture felt disturbingly strange.
—Are you alright? —Sylryk asked.
The figure barely made a sound. Before he could get closer, the innkeeper appeared at the doorway.
—It's none of your business —he said coldly—. People handle their own matters in their own way. Good afternoon.
Sylryk looked at him silently. The man's expression was clear: he didn't want questions. The air in the place felt different, as if something had rotted without anyone noticing. Sylryk took a step back and left.
He didn't investigate further. He had to return.
He came back to the plaza and found the girls waiting. Rosel swallowed hard; Alice stayed silent for a moment, then nodded.
—My brother taught me the basics —said Rosel—. I'm no master, but I can show you the essentials now.
—I won't make you a swordsman —added Alice—, but at least you won't die from clumsiness.
The crowd stepped aside to let them pass. They walked along the main street until they reached an open area.
—I'll show you the basics in two minutes —said Alice.
Sylryk nodded. There was no time for speeches.
In a spot without people, Alice set down her bag, unsheathed a short sword, and stood before him.
—First, the stance —she said—. Feet shoulder-width apart. Dominant hand forward. Don't block with your whole arm; use your wrist to deflect.
Sylryk mimicked her movements, a bit clumsy. Alice stepped closer, adjusted his hands and grip.
—Feel your balance. Don't hold it like a stick. Relax the tension.
She showed a simple block and repeated it slowly.
—When a strike comes, twist your wrist and move the blade aside. Don't try to stop it head-on. Use your foot to make space. If they push you, step back and guard.
—And if they take my sword? —Sylryk asked.
—Don't put the sword in stupid positions —Alice replied—. Don't look for glory. If they take it, grab something with your other hand or run. The basics are simple: keep your guard up, don't charge in blindly.
Sylryk repeated the moves. His progress was visible; he learned quickly, with instinctive precision. Alice watched him silently for a few seconds.
—You've got good reflexes —she said—. Doesn't look like you've never touched a sword.
Sylryk didn't answer. He just followed the motions, focused.
—Good —Alice said finally—. That gives you a margin. Practice when you can. For now, we should go.
They decided to leave the citadel. The road opened between low hills covered in damp grass; the air was fresh and the horizon showed the forest in the distance.
As they walked, Sylryk thought:
In the four days I spent carrying crates, I saw people arrive like me—disoriented. Some left; others stayed for the calm of the citadel. Each chose whether to flee in search of adventure or to find refuge in the city. Every one of them showed something clear in their actions: fear pushing them, curiosity seeking adventure.
And yet, they all felt something stronger. I didn't. Since I arrived, I've felt strange, like something isn't working… like I can't feel anymore. Challenging the guards was, in part, an excuse to leave and explore after that dream I had. And I think Alice noticed it.