Yeah I'm a King, so what?

The Road Opens

The massive oak trunk lay across the merchant road like a sleeping giant—easily three men wide and too heavy for the caravan guards to shift. They'd been straining against it for the better part of an hour when I came upon them.

"Need help?"

The lead guard, a grizzled man with a scar splitting his eyebrow, looked me up and down. Young face, road-worn cloak, and a bardiche that looked like it could cleave a horse in half.

"You think you can move what six of us couldn't?" His tone wasn't mocking—just tired.

I didn't answer. Just walked up to the log, wedged my left hand underneath, and lifted.

The wood groaned. Then rose. I dragged it off the road one-handed, the muscles in my arm barely straining. Two years of Celeste's... 'training'... had left me stronger than I looked. Stronger than most men, period. When I turned back, all six guards were staring.

"Gods above," one muttered.

The scarred guard recovered first. "You looking for work, boy?"

"Depends. Where are you headed?"

"Rivermouth. Three days if the weather holds." He glanced at my bardiche again. "We could use someone who can actually fight. Bandits have been hitting caravans on this stretch."

I considered. I had coins, but work meant more coins. More importantly, it meant direction. I'd left Thornveil Forest with Celeste's words ringing in my ears — 'become king' — but I had no idea how a peasant became anything more than food for crows.

Start small. Build. Survive.

"What's the pay?"

"Two silver a day, plus meals. Bonus if we see action and you handle yourself well."

It wasn't much. But it was a beginning.

"Deal."

The guard extended a calloused hand. "Name's Brennan. You?"

"Luc."

His grip was firm. Professional. "Welcome to the Greymarch Company, Luc. Try not to die."

The caravan was modest, four wagons loaded with grain and salted fish, heading from the interior farmlands to the river trade hub. The other guards were a mix: two younger men who looked like they'd picked up swords last week, a heavyset woman with a crossbow who introduced herself as Margot, and twin brothers who spoke only to each other in a dialect I didn't recognize.

Brennan put me on rear guard. "You're new. I want to see how you move before I trust you with the front."

Fair enough.

We made camp that first night in a clearing off the road. The merchants—a nervous man named Gavin and his wife—kept to their wagon. The guards built a fire and passed around a wineskin.

"So where'd you learn to fight?" Margot asked, eyeing my bardiche. "That's not a farmer's weapon."

"Here and there." I wasn't about to explain the arena. Or Celeste.

She snorted. "Here and there. Right." But she didn't press.

Brennan was watching me more carefully. "You've got the look."

"What look?"

"Killer's look. Seen it before." He took a pull from the wineskin. "Not judging. Half of us have it. Just don't bring trouble to *this* caravan."

"I won't."

He held my gaze a moment longer, then nodded. "Good enough."

The bandits hit us on the second day. We were moving through a narrow pass rocks on one side, dense trees on the other when the first arrow punched into the lead wagon's canvas.

"Ambush!" Brennan's voice cut through the confusion. "Defensive circle!"

The merchants screamed. The guards scrambled. I planted my feet and scanned the treeline.

Movement. Three...no, five figures emerging from the brush. Leather armor, mismatched weapons. Not professionals. Desperate men.

The first one charged me with a rusted sword raised high. Amateur. I sidestepped, brought the bardiche around in a low arc, and took his legs out from under him. He hit the ground screaming. I finished him with the spike. The second hesitated. Fatal mistake.

My dynamic vision, the gift that had kept me alive in the pits, caught every twitch of his muscles before he moved. When he lunged, I was already inside his guard. The bardiche's axe-head split his skull with a wet crack. Blood sprayed. The other three faltered.

"Fall back!" one shouted.

But Margot's crossbow sang, and another dropped. Brennan and the twins were cutting down the rest. It was over in less than a minute.

I stood over the bodies, breathing steady. No fear. No hesitation. Just the familiar aftermath, blood on my hands, death at my feet.

Brennan walked over, surveyed the carnage, then looked at me.

"You've done this before."

"Yes."

"Good." He clapped my shoulder. "Bonus is yours. You earned it."

That night, the mood around the fire was different. The other guards looked at me with a mix of respect and wariness. Margot offered me first pull from the wineskin.

"You fight like you've got nothing to lose," she said.

I thought of Celeste. Of her promise. *Become king, and I'll be yours.*

"I've got everything to gain."

She laughed. "Shit. You might actually be crazier than you look."

Later, when the others had settled into their bedrolls, Brennan came and sat beside me at the edge of camp.

"Can't sleep?" he asked.

"Not used to company." Two years alone with Celeste hadn't prepared me for the noise of other people.

He grunted. "You'll adapt. Or you won't." He was quiet a moment, then: "You handled yourself well today. Better than well."

"I've had practice."

"I can tell." He studied me in the firelight. "You're young. Strong. Skilled. Men like you either end up dead or dangerous."

"Which do you think I'll be?"

His scarred face split in a grin. "Both, probably."

There was something in the way he looked at me, appraising, but not just my fighting ability. Celeste had taught me to recognize hunger in all its forms.

"You interested in more than my sword arm, Brennan?"

He didn't flinch. "Maybe. You interested in more than coin?"

I considered. This wasn't like Renaud in the arena, pure transactional power play. Brennan was offering... what? Alliance? Something simpler?

"Depends on what you're offering."

He leaned closer. "Advice. Connections. A way into the mercenary circuits that actually pay." His voice dropped. "And maybe something to take the edge off. Road gets lonely."

Practical. No promises, no complications.

I met his eyes. "I'm listening."

His grin widened. "Good. Finish your watch. Then come find me."

***

Name:Luc Beaumont

Position: Mercenary Guard

Coin: 29 gold, 8 silver

Weapon: Heavy Bardiche

Armor: High-grade leather armor, reinforced gloves, leather boots, chain-link shield, Blood-soaked cloak (enchanted)

Allies: Greymarch Company (temporary)

Intimate Partners: 2