I wake up, disoriented and aching all over. The room is different from the one I had been in before. The walls are gray, and the floor is bare except for the single bed I'm lying on. My body feels heavy, and a dull throbbing in my side reminds me of what happened before I blacked out. Memories rush back—the fight, the stab wound inflicted by Ruel. My hands move instinctively to the bandage at my side, feeling the rough texture of the fabric against my skin. I wince at the pain but try to push myself up.
I pause, hearing muffled voices from outside the room. One is unmistakably my father's, deep and assertive, while the other is familiar but I can't place it right away. They're discussing something serious; the tone is tense and clipped. I try to strain my ears to catch more of the conversation, but my movement causes a sharp pain to shoot through my side, forcing a low groan out of me.
"Will! Are you awake now?" A girl's voice breaks through my haze. It's Chris, her voice filled with a mix of concern and relief. I look towards the doorway and see her standing there, eyes wide and worried. The sight of her makes me realize how different things are now. Everything feels like it's been turned on its head, leaving me struggling to find my footing.
"Yeah," I manage to say, my voice hoarse and weak. I give her a small nod to reassure her, though it doesn't do much to hide my discomfort.
The moment I speak, the other voices in the room next door stop. Silence follows, and I hear footsteps approaching, heavy and deliberate. The door opens wider, and my father enters, followed closely by the familiar figure I couldn't place earlier. My breath catches in my throat as I realize who it is—Carson. His presence here sets off alarms in my head, and my muscles tense up in response, despite the pain it causes me.
"Will, you're finally awake." My father's voice carries a tone of relief, but there's an undercurrent of something else—worry, maybe even guilt. I can see it in the way his eyes flicker between me and Carson.
"I'm also glad that he's safe; I don't know what I would do if my henchmen had killed your son." Carson's voice is calm, almost casual, like he's discussing the weather rather than my near-death experience. His eyes are on me, studying my reaction, and I can't help but feel like a mouse under the gaze of a hawk.
My instincts kick in, and I try to sit up, ignoring the stabbing pain in my side. My body protests, but I refuse to show weakness in front of this man. Carson's eyes narrow slightly at my movements, and a small, amused smile curls on his lips. He knows I'm wary of him, and he's enjoying it.
"Don't worry, Will," my father says quickly, holding up a hand as if to calm me. "Sir Carson is on our side now."
I blink, the words not registering right away. "Huh?" I manage to say, my voice weak and incredulous. Did I hear that right? Carson is on our side? The same Carson who was just trying to kill us?
"Now that Will is awake, we'll take our leave, Sir Carson," my father says, his tone polite but firm. I can tell he's trying to keep things from escalating, but there's a strain in his voice that makes me uneasy.
"Huh? Why? Aren't we discussing how to start the revolution?" Carson's eyes shift to my father, a glint of suspicion in them. He's not letting this go easily.
"Ahh, that? I'll think about it at the inn and just inform you when I think about something." My father is trying to play it cool, but I know him well enough to catch the subtle signs of anxiety in his posture, the way his fingers twitch slightly at his sides.
Carson doesn't seem convinced. "No, it is more productive when the two of us think about it together." His voice is insistent, a hint of command in it that makes my father stiffen. "Stay over the night here so we can discuss it; I'm sure that this house is more comfortable than that shanty inn where you're staying."
"Sorry, Sir Carson, but we really need something to do at the inn," my father insists, his tone growing more desperate with each word.
"And what is that?" Carson's eyes are piercing, demanding the truth. "Is it more important than discussing our plans?"
"Ah, it's just that I need to get back to the innkeeper for letting Chris be kidnapped, and I also need to feed my horse and prepare our food." My father is fumbling for excuses now, his voice rising in pitch. It's rare to see him like this, so on edge and struggling to maintain control. Carson's presence has him cornered, and even I can feel the walls closing in.
"Are you playing me for a fool?" Carson's voice drops to a dangerous low, the amusement gone from his face. His gaze locks onto my father's, searching for any hint of deception. "So it's just all an act? You joining me?"
Carson takes a step closer, and I can see the tension in my father's jaw as he struggles to hold his ground. "I really love to have you on my team, but it seems like you really don't have any intentions," Carson says, his voice tinged with disappointment. There's a flicker of sadness in his eyes, but it's quickly replaced by a cold, calculating stare.
"No, I really would love to join your revolution," my father says, but there's a coldness to his voice that wasn't there before. He's standing with his arms crossed, his face impassive, but I can tell he's calculating every possible move. The room is silent for a heartbeat, a tense pause before the storm.
Carson's eyes narrow, his lips curling into a sneer. "Can you already stop that act?" His voice is sharp, slicing through the room like a knife. He steps closer to my father, his presence imposing and intimidating.
"You know, when I tell my story to people, there are only two outcomes for them: first, they join me and become my comrades," he says, his tone low and menacing. He pauses, letting the weight of his words sink in. "And second," he continues, his eyes flashing with a dangerous glint, "they die for knowing my plan."
There's a finality to his words, a deadly promise that hangs in the air. My father's jaw tightens, but he remains silent, his gaze locked with Carson's. "That means you're going to die here," Carson adds, and the door to the room suddenly slams open. The sound is deafening in the quiet room, making me jump.
Almost fifty men pour into the room, their faces grim and weapons drawn. They move like a well-oiled machine, surrounding us in a matter of seconds. My heart races as I look around at the sheer number of them, each one ready to strike at a moment's notice. Carson stands at the center, his gaze never leaving my father, a twisted smile on his lips.
"Don't say that I didn't give you a chance to live," Carson says, his voice carrying an eerie calm. "So for the second time, choose: die here?" He pauses, his eyes boring into my father's. "Or will you join me?" He spreads his arms wide, as if offering an embrace. "This is your last chance to join me."
My father doesn't flinch. His eyes are cold and unyielding as he faces Carson. "Sir Carson," he begins, his voice steady and clear. "I'll tell you three things first before I decide what to do."
"Huh?" Carson raises an eyebrow, caught off guard by my father's boldness.
"First," my father says, taking a step forward, "your hatred for the kingdom is so unreasonable." His voice carries a weight of conviction, every word carefully chosen. "Your daughter died? Then what? Do you want the whole kingdom to sympathize with you?" He pauses, letting the question hang in the air. Carson's face darkens, his eyes narrowing in anger, but my father doesn't stop.
"When someone is sent to the battlefield, they're prepared to die at any moment. You think that your daughter died because this kingdom let her die?" My father's gaze pierces Carson, daring him to answer. "No, it's not; it's because your daughter wanted to protect you and all the citizens of this kingdom." He takes a breath, his expression softening slightly. "Stop thinking that your daughter died an unreasonable death and instead think that your daughter died as a hero that protected her kingdom."
Carson's face contorts with a mix of grief and rage. For a moment, he looks like he's going to lash out, but he remains silent, his mouth opening and closing without a sound. My father's words have hit their mark, and it's clear that Carson is struggling to find a retort.
"Second," my father continues, not giving Carson a chance to recover, "your hatred for nobles is also unreasonable. Do you know how much burden those nobles are carrying on their shoulders?" His voice rises with passion, filling the room. "They're carrying hundreds of lives every day by leading those soldiers and commanding them what to do. If ever they make a wrong decision, they would feel as if they killed hundreds of their countrymen." He takes a step closer to Carson, his eyes burning with intensity. "Do you think you can carry that burden?" His words are like a hammer, striking with force. "Some of them commit suicide because they can't take it anymore, and here you are just planning to overthrow them while thinking of revenge for your daughter. Aren't you ashamed?" He pauses, his voice dropping to a whisper. "If you're not, then you should be."
Carson is left speechless again, his face twisted with anger and something else—maybe guilt? He clenches his fists, his knuckles white, but he doesn't make a move. I can see the conflict in his eyes, the internal battle raging within him.
My father doesn't wait for a response. "And lastly," he says, his tone turning almost casual, "maybe you don't know it, but if Will and I are together, no one can beat us." He throws a glance in my direction and winks, a gesture so out of place in the current situation that it almost makes me laugh.
I have no idea how we're supposed to fight our way out of this when I can barely move, but there's a part of me that believes him. My father has always had this strange confidence, this unwavering belief that we can get through anything as long as we're together. I just hope he's right this time.
Carson's eyes narrow, his face a mask of fury. "You keep blabbering with your mouth as if you know everything," he hisses, his voice shaking with rage. "But you don't know how it feels to lose a child, and for you to feel it, it seems like I need to kill your own child first." He smiles viciously, a chilling expression that sends a shiver down my spine. "Then maybe you can feel how I felt when I lost my daughter."
He turns to his men, his voice rising to a shout. "All of you! Ready your weapons, kill those children first, and restrain the magician." His eyes flicker to my father with a look of sheer malice. "The one who can kill those children first will get fifty gold."
The men around us draw their weapons, the sound of steel ringing in the air. My heart pounds in my chest as they close in, their eyes gleaming with the promise of violence. Carson's smile widens as he raises his hand. "Now! Attack!" he shouts.
Before they can reach us, my father's voice cuts through the chaos. "Will, don't kill anybody," he says calmly, as if he's asking me to pass the salt at dinner.
"That's a hard order," I mutter under my breath, feeling the adrenaline surging through my veins, "but I understand." I grip my staff, readying myself for the onslaught.
"Chris, I would appreciate it too if you helped," my father says, not taking his eyes off the advancing enemies.
Chris steps forward, her eyes fierce and determined. "Of course, I would gladly help," she replies, her voice steady and confident.
And just like that, the three of us stand against Carson's fifty henchmen, ready to fight. The air is thick with tension, the room charged with the promise of battle. My father glances at me, a small, reassuring smile on his lips, and for a moment, I feel a spark of hope. We can do this. We have to.