His lips began to curve into a violent expression, as the lid off his anger was removed, and his mind determined that it was safe for him to vent his frustrations. His hand went to his sword.
"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" The soldier spluttered, his shout loud enough to draw a crowd. 'Good', he thought. 'Let them see what I do to peasants that don't know their place.'
His sword came clean of the scabbard, and he levelled it towards the peasant's throat – or at least he tried to. There was a sudden flash of pain in his hand, and then a moment later, his sword on the floor.
Startled, he reached to grab it, but the boy's foot found its way onto the steel first.
"Boy! Remove your dirty feet from my sword!" The soldier cried out in anguish, thoroughly disoriented at this point. All he felt was anger.