The journey from Hallerbos had been grueling, their bodies weighed down by fatigue, dirt caking their skin, and the pungent smell of forest still clinging to their clothes.
They had arrived to gaul. Yacha gazed upon the armored soldiers before them, a sense of unease washed over him. Their armor was unlike anything seen in Akkadia—a strange mix of chainmail adorned with unfamiliar symbols. As they approached the gate, the weight of their long trek hung heavily on their shoulders. Yacha tried to maintain a composed demeanor as he stepped forward, his companions flanking him.
"We seek entry into the city," he announced, attempting to sound diplomatic.
The soldier's eyes scanned them, a sneer of disgust forming on his lips. "Filthy kids, this is Lugdunum, the capital of Gaul. You think you belong here?" His tone dripped with arrogance as he lifted his boot, kicking Yacha with force. The impact barely registered, his strength rendering the soldier's attempt laughable.
For a brief moment, their eyes locked. Yacha allowed a fraction of his aura to slip free, and he watched as the soldier's face paled. In an instant, the soldier drew his sword and stepped into an attack position, prompting the other guards to stiffen, alerted by the sudden tension.
Yacha forced a smile, playing the innocent. "My apologies, sir. We mean no harm."
Sensing the rising conflict, Ursang stepped forward, his voice calm yet firm. "Forgive my brother, sir. He's harmless. We're only passing through."
The soldier's sneer returned, contempt bleeding through his words. "Mannerless brats. Leave now, or I'll have no choice but to kill you."
Suddenly, his gaze shifted, locking onto Eline and Speira, who had stayed back. A lecherous grin spread across his face. "But wait… What do we have here? A pair of lovely girls. I'll make you a deal, boy. Let me and my comrades have a little fun with them, and I'll grant you entry."
Before the soldier could blink, Ursang twisted his arm in a blur of motion, and Yacha leaped into the air, delivering a swift kick to his head. The combined force of their attack sent him crashing back against the gate, unconscious before he even realized what had happened. The clatter of swords followed as dozens of soldiers surrounded them, weapons drawn, faces twisted in anger and confusion.
A commanding voice boomed from behind the soldiers. "LOWER YOUR SWORDS!"
A man in his mid-thirties, mounted on a horse, pushed through the crowd. His aura was strong—not as overwhelming as what they had encountered before, but formidable enough to put them on edge. He studied the group, raising a brow.
"Young kids," he began. "Why did you do that? And more curiously, how did children like you manage to bring down one of my guards so easily?"
Before Yacha could respond, Eline stepped forward, her eyes brimming with fake tears. "Please, sir," she said, her voice trembling. "We're orphans. My brothers only know how to defend us from men like that who… who try to take advantage of us."
Speira joined her, sorrow etched across her features. "Please, kind master. Spare my brothers. They were only trying to protect us from the filthy demands of that man."
Yacha exchanged glances with Ursang, stunned by their flawless performances. The girls grasped their arms, pulling them into a bow, begging for forgiveness and pleading to return to the forest where they claimed it was safer.
The knight dismounted, gesturing for them to stop. He walked over to the unconscious soldier and shook him awake. As the soldier came to his senses, he sputtered and screamed threats at them, swearing revenge. But his tirade was cut short by a punch to the gut, followed by another to the face.
"You disgrace your station," the knight growled. "Talking to children like that. You're a walking shame."
Turning back to Yacha and his companions, the knight removed his helmet, revealing a stern but fair face. He bowed his head. "I am Knight Cedro of the House of Lyon. Please, accept my deepest apologies for the behavior of my man. You are welcome to rest at my home, a token of chivalry and recompense."
After a few hours, they reached a small stone manor on the outskirts of the city, with a single tower jutting into the sky. They rested for two days, accepting Cedro's hospitality, though the urgency of their mission weighed heavily on their minds.
As they prepared to leave, Cedro stopped them. "Wait."
They turned, and Yacha could see the question burning in the knight's eyes. "There's something strange about you four," he said slowly. "I can't shake the feeling that you're not just children. There's something… off."
Ursang stepped forward, his voice calm. "And what exactly do you mean, Sir Cedro?"
"Your auras," Cedro replied. "They're too strong. You feel like soldiers. Skilled ones."
Trying to mask his unease, Yacha smiled. "Master Cedro, we're just travelers. Homeless kids wandering the lands of the gods."
But Cedro's expression revealed that he wasn't convinced.
"Among other things…" His voice trailed off as his gaze lifted to the darkening sky. The first stars began to glimmer faintly on the dusky horizon, distant whispers of forgotten hopes. His tone grew somber as he turned back to face them, his eyes heavy with the burden of long-held convictions. "This land is corrupted," he continued. "The noble houses pay fewer taxes while the common folk shoulder the weight. The royal family's greed knows no bounds. The law—it's no more than a weapon, used to oppress those too poor to defend themselves, or those who oppose. I'm seeking a change."
His words hung in the air, laden with conviction. He studied them carefully, his expression unreadable. "Wherever you come from, you don't have this… not yet. But you've been raised as though the weight of the world rests on your shoulders."
Cedro's piercing gaze made it seem like he could see through every mask they wore.
Ursang, ever perceptive, gave a slight nod of understanding. "I'll let Yacha fight you," he offered, his voice steady. "One blow, just one. You, Sir Cedro, do your best to hold yourself against him."
Cedro's brow furrowed in disbelief, questioning who they were. "Who are these children? How can they be so confident against a knight?" he murmured under his breath. Yet, despite his confusion, a flicker of curiosity sparked within him.
"Fine by me," Cedro answered, resolved to tighten his grip on his sword. With a smooth motion, he threw a spare blade to Yacha, its metal gleaming in the fading light, before drawing his own sword from its ornate scabbard, white as bone and lined with shimmering mana stones.
Yacha caught the sword mid-air, feeling its weight in his hand. Setting his feet apart, he prepared for the coming clash, intent on not using magic—it wasn't needed for this.
Cedro's form blurred for a moment as he reinforced himself with mana. The signal was clear: it was time. Without warning, he launched himself at Yacha, faster than he had expected, his speed enhanced by the mana coursing through him. His sword came at Yacha horizontally, a sweeping strike filled with all the strength of a seasoned warrior.
Yacha stood his ground. The impact of Cedro's swing met his blade with a resounding clash, and though the force pushed him back slightly, he deflected the strike, sending Cedro's sword off course with a powerful whiplash. The air between them cracked with the sheer force of the deflection, but before Cedro could react, Yacha's sword was already at his throat, a small cut forming on the side of the knight's neck—a mere warning.
Cedro froze, realizing he had lost. Slowly, he exhaled, lowering his head in defeat. "You win," he said quietly, his voice thick with both admiration and disbelief. "Who are you, kid? I swear on my title as a knight of the Lyon family, I'll take your secret to my grave."
Yacha straightened, sheathing his sword, his voice steady and full of pride. "Yacha of Akkadia, Orionis Elite Division from the Seiken Army."
Cedro's eyes widened in shock, recognition dawning on his expression. His lips parted, and for a moment, he struggled to speak. "You're far from home…" he muttered, his voice hushed. "The Eastern killing machines."
He stepped back, his demeanor shifting. Slowly, he turned his head, as if he could scarcely believe who stood before him. "Normally, I'd raise an alarm—send up a flare to alert the city. The Akkadian barbarians, here, for an invasion. But I see now you have another goal in mind."
"Skara Brae Village is our destination," Ursang spoke firmly, cutting through the tension.
Cedro chuckled softly, shaking his head as if he had heard a private joke. "So… Sigurd caught Sargon's attention, huh?"
"Maybe," Ursang replied, his words deliberately vague.
The knight sat down on the ground with a heavy sigh, rubbing his brow. "Well, go on then. The harbor is just half an hour from here. I don't want to look at you kids anymore. But…" He paused, meeting their eyes once more. "I'll keep my word. I made a promise in my family's honor, and I'll see it through. I won't tell anyone about you."
With that, Cedro rose and turned, walking back towards his manor without another word.
True to his directions, half an hour later they reached the harbor. There, they found the ship they had carefully selected—one that would take them to the land of Goidi. As per their orders, they avoided the kingdoms of Albion, making their way toward their next destination in silence.