After Joseph arranged him a tent near the prince’s, Roel was left on his own. He walked around the camp and offered to help cook or pitch tents, but all the soldiers profusely refused him. When he asked Mateo if he needed help on patrol duty, the man reacted the same way.

“We can’t possibly ask that of you,” Mateo said. “Just your presence will make everyone feel safer.”

Roel was used to such reverent behavior, so he just nodded his head and turned away. It was time to focus on his mission. If the prince really intended on cutting through the woodlands, the five-day trip would be cut down to three or four.

The location of his tent had its advantages and disadvantages. He could keep watch over the prince, but it would also be suspicious that he wasn’t there to protect him from the “assailant.” He needed to create a disturbance – maybe by setting fire to some of the dry bushes in the woodlands? – but it would be strange if he didn’t go to the commotion. Essentially, he had to be at two places at once. Could he kill the prince and his guards that quickly?

“Sir Roel!” someone called out to him. He looked over and saw Gilles peeking out of a tent. “It’s good to see you again!”

“Yes, it’s –”

“And I want to assure you that I was in earnest earlier.”

“Earlier…?”

“I’ve never been a squire before, but I assure you that I’m always looking for opportunities to improve myself. I can sharpen swords, saddle horses, and even clean your latrines. I know what you’re thinking. I’m a bit too old to be a squire, right? Well, that doesn’t bother me one bit. To have the pride of attending to –”

“I appreciate your offer,” Roel said, trying to cut the sales pitch short, “but I’m not looking for a squire at the moment.”

Gilles wasn’t deterred. “I wouldn’t need to be a squire. An unofficial errand boy is fine, too. Surely, there are tasks that your esteemed self shouldn’t have to do.”

“Gilles, are you done squawking?” a gruff voice called out from inside the tent. “Did you find someone to replace you or not?"

“Oh, right. Maybe you’d like to come inside the tent, Sir Roel? It’s roomier than it looks.”

Roel hesitated. He wasn’t sure he wanted to continue a conversation with Gilles, but at the same time, the soldier seemed to be an easy source of information. “Yeah, alright.”

The tent was indeed bigger than it looked. There was a brawny man sitting to the side and in front of him was a pile of cards. He had short red hair, but what was more eye-catching were the numerous scars that lined his body. It was unlikely that Gilles, a foot soldier, would be assigned a tent, so this must’ve been the owner.

The man stared at him. “Oh, now this is a big catch.”

“Good to meet you. I’d introduce myself, but…”

“Not a single man in this camp would mistake you.” The man spoke with a heavy northern accent, but he enunciated each word slowly and carefully. “My name is Rados. I was there when you broke down the gate with your fists.” His tone wasn’t reverent nor was it accusatory; he spoke of the event objectively. Roel didn’t mind this.

“Ah, I see.” A foreigner in a prince’s army was curious enough. And since he was permitted a tent, Rados must be an officer as well. He was undoubtedly a man of many battles, and it wasn’t just his scars that gave him away.

Bloodshed affected everyone differently, but there was a long, deep scar that it etched on each person. He didn’t know if he believed in the existence of souls, but that was the most definitive evidence he had of it. It was what made Rados seem so familiar to him; there was a strand of empathy between them. He wasn’t sure if Rados or other people felt it, but he had started noticing it a few years ago.

“I apologize, I don’t recall meeting you prior to this,” Roel said, “but it seems you’re well-acquainted with us paladins.”

“What?” Gilles piped up. “How’d you know?”

Rados nodded. “I’ve served among many. It’s inevitable when you make your living from war.”

“He’s fought alongside Sir Christian,” Gilles added excitedly.

“Really?” Roel said with genuine surprise. Sir Christian, the 3rd Divine Paladin, was a legendary figure that was indistinguishable from the mythos surrounding paladins.

“I didn’t do any fighting. That man doesn’t need any help in battle,” Rados said with a frown. “Now are you playing or not?”

“Are you talking to me?” Roel said.

“Yeah, isn’t that why you came in here? If you have money to wager, I don’t care if you’re a paladin or a horse’s asshole.”

Gilles gave Roel a guilty look. “Sorry, I’ve lost too much money already and I gotta leave soon, so I needed to find someone to replace me.”

“You guys are betting, too?” Roel said with exasperation.

“Uh, well you know how it is,” Gilles said. “The officers will ignore it as long as you don’t bring it to their attention. And Rados here is an officer with his own little gambling circle. It’s not a big deal.”

“Don’t tell him all of that, you dolt,” Rados said as he shuffled the deck.

“I’m sorry, I really do have to go,” Gilles said to Roel. “You never know what those heretics will do.”

“Heretics?” Now this was a lead. “What do you mean?”

“I’m on prisoner duty,” Gilles said glumly.

“Oh, you mean the people of Rove. But they believe in the Lord, too, do they not? Otherwise, King Maxime would’ve conquered them a long time ago.”

Gilles shook his head. “You never know with foreigners. Uncivilized lot.”

“You better watch your mouth, boy,” Rados said with a glare.

“No, no, sir, of course I didn’t mean you!” Gilles sputtered. “But my dad always said that you can’t trust anyone who wasn't born in Calorin. Their upbringing is flawed and uncivilized and…uh…” Gilles faltered as the tension in the small tent grew thicker.

“I want to see these prisoners,” Roel said to break the silence.

“Of course! We should go immediately.” Gilles stood up a little too quickly and almost fell back down to his feet. “Thank you for your hospitality, Rados. I promise I’ll get someone else to play you soon.”

Rados didn’t say anything as Gilles excused himself, but as Roel made his exit, he spoke up. “It’s true I wasn’t born and raised in Calorin. I’m from a small northern country that no longer exists because of your previous king. So, I’m not familiar with your customs and all that. But as you guessed, I’m very familiar with you paladins.

“Thing is, I’m only here because I owe Ghislain. I’m a mercenary, and the men I lead are all mercenaries. And you talk to any mercenary and you’ll hear the same thing: it’s always a bad omen to see a paladin on the battlefield. So, forgive me for my impudence or what-have-you, but I hope that we won’t meet again.”

There was a solemn, earnest look on the man’s scarred face. Roel returned it with an equally solemn and earnest nod.

“Yes, perhaps that would be for the best. I want to say that I’ll pray for you tonight, but that might offend you.”

Rados chuckled. “Do whatever you want. Isn’t that the Calorin way?”

The truth was that Roel had wanted to talk to Rados more. He always longed to talk with these familiar people who bore the same scar. Paladins were a solitary bunch – it was very rare for paladins to be assigned the same missions, and it seemed to be the kingdom’s intention to keep them separated from each other.

He wasn’t sure what exactly he could talk about with him, but he felt like it would have been cathartic to talk with someone who could understand what it meant to be fighting for each day. But he already knew beforehand that the people who dealt in war didn’t have anything they wanted to say to him aside from a few curse words. It was even possible that he had unknowingly aided in the destruction of Rados’ country. Besides, he shouldn’t be expecting so much from people he had just met.

War was all about gain. King Maxime had endlessly waged war, successfully conquering almost a third of the continent, and although Olivier never liked to brag about his business, Roel knew that he had profited immensely from the constant strife. Yet it was small moments like these, moments in which he was quietly reminded of how much his life had weighed upon others, that reaffirmed his belief that fighting had never brought him anything but loss.