After three rounds of wine, the two men grew more relaxed, their conversation drifting back to memories of their hometown.
Caesar could tell that Uncle York was thinking about his two sons. His words carried the weight of a father offering guidance, patiently imparting lessons on life and integrity, as though speaking to his own child.
Caesar was deeply moved by Uncle York's sincerity and the warmth of their bond. As a junior, he frequently raised his glass in respect, toasting the older man.
Caesar remembered Uncle York's two sons vividly. When he had first joined the army, York's eldest son had taken over the family blacksmith shop, while his youngest was still a small boy running errands around the forge.
It was that little boy who had crafted Caesar's first weapon: a humble short dagger.
The dagger had no wooden hilt, only rough linen strips wrapped tightly around the blade's end to serve as a grip. Small and slender, it was easily concealed in Caesar's boot.
That short dagger carried a story.
When Caesar had secretly enlisted in the army at the age of fourteen, it was the only weapon he possessed. The sight of a scrawny boy clutching a dagger no bigger than his palm had become a running joke in the Iron Mine Town Training Camp.
Without a relative's introduction, Caesar should never have been able to join the army. But fate intervened. The captain of the second squad, York, recognized Caesar. In a small town like Iron Mine, with a population of barely a thousand across the town and its surrounding villages, faces were familiar. Young, able-bodied men fit for service were few and far between. Caesar's appearance and his distinctive short dagger—crafted by Little York—were unmistakable.
Caesar's parents never knew he had slipped away to join the army. Only his sister, Leah, had discovered his secret.
On a warm summer night, Caesar had crept out of bed, grabbed his coarse linen clothes, and left their modest thatched hut in straw sandals. Whether awakened by his movements or simply understanding her little brother's resolve, Leah chased after him.
She caught up with him in the moonlit night, her voice trembling as she confronted him. She knew why he was leaving. Caesar wanted to earn money for their family. He wanted to join the army.
A severe drought had gripped their land. To prevent starvation and to spare Leah from being sold off to traders, Caesar had made up his mind to enlist, despite their parents' disapproval.
Once enlisted, desertion was not an option. His family would face consequences if he ever abandoned his post.
Even if their parents found out later, they would have no choice but to accept it. A soldier's salary could keep them alive. Their father was old and frail, unable to respond to the baron's call to arms. Only Caesar, still young and strong, could shoulder this burden.
Leah wept bitterly. Her tears streamed down her malnourished face, and her fragile frame shook with sobs.
Fourteen-year-old Caesar was stubborn and determined, but he could never bear to see his big sister cry. He loved her more than he loved himself.
Through whispered reassurances, Caesar eventually calmed Leah. Her tear-streaked face looked even more delicate in the pale moonlight. She reached into her pockets and produced twenty copper bucks—every coin she possessed. With trembling hands, she pressed them into Caesar's palm and said, "Come back alive."
Clutching those coins, Caesar journeyed through the night and arrived at Iron Mine Town at dawn.
His first stop was the blacksmith shop, where he hoped to buy a weapon. But York's eldest son regretfully informed him that twenty copper bucks weren't even enough for a sword hilt.
Disheartened, Caesar turned to leave. But just then, a boy his own age—Little York—rushed out of the forge. With a mixture of sympathy and mischief, he offered, "For twenty copper bucks, I'll make you a dagger from leftover copper and iron scraps. Deal?"
Caesar looked at the small pile of tawny and reddish ore stones by the forge. After a moment's hesitation, he nodded. It wasn't much, but it was something.
Thus, Caesar acquired his first weapon: a crude short dagger without a sheath or proper hilt.
Armed with that dagger, Caesar enlisted, just barely meeting the minimum age requirement.
The following day, Caesar's parents arrived in town with Leah. Standing among the crowd watching the trainees drill in the camp, they spotted Caesar. His parents sighed heavily, their faces etched with sorrow and resignation.
They had brought him three large, rough barley cakes—likely made from the very last of their food supplies. For the next six months, they would survive on little more than tree bark.
Before leaving, Leah untied the linen cloth wrapped around her hair and handed it to Caesar. "Come back alive," she whispered again.
That evening, Caesar watched his aging parents and his frail sister disappear down the road to Maple Leaf Village. He gripped the linen cloth, now imbued with his sister's scent, and carefully wrapped it around the hilt of his dagger.
From that day forward, Caesar trained relentlessly. Despite his age, he showed remarkable speed and agility, his smaller frame granting him an edge in reflexes.
Two months later, Caesar and his fellow recruits were sent off to war.
That dagger became a symbol of Caesar's youth and determination. It was with that dagger that he killed his first enemy after his issued iron sword broke in battle—a boy not much older than himself. Caesar vomited for an entire day after that fight.
Yet he pressed on, replacing broken weapons time and time again. But the short dagger endured. Whether through careful maintenance or Little York's skill, it never failed him.
Now, the once-rough linen wrapping had turned crimson, stained with Caesar's blood and that of his enemies. And every time he unraveled it, the faint scent of his big sister's hair lingered.
The ale in the tavern brought these memories rushing back—for Uncle York, memories of his sons; for Caesar, memories of his dagger, his sister, and his parents.
The two men drained their final glasses of ale. The evening grew late, and duty called them back to their posts.
As they left the tavern, Uncle York lightened the mood with a playful jab, and Caesar, smiling faintly, let the warmth of nostalgia and camaraderie carry him back to the camp.
But beneath the surface, the weight of their shared past remained—as heavy and enduring as the short dagger hidden in Caesar's boot.