The sun had barely begun its full rise when the trio stepped out of the Mercenary Guild.

The streets of Westmont were still quiet—lamplighters dousing their flames, vendors just beginning to set up their stalls, and the wetness of morning dew still lingering on the stone.

Lyone yawned once, stretching his arms above his head as they walked. “Aren’t we going to eat first?” he asked, rubbing one eye. “I’m starving.”

Damien glanced back over his shoulder, adjusting the collar of his coat. “I don’t think there’s any need.”

Lyone blinked. “Huh?”

“We’ll eat at the Town Lord’s manor,” Damien said, his tone far too casual for the statement. “His cooks will still be prepping the morning rounds. If we’re on time, we’ll be included.”

“And if we’re late?”

Damien flashed a smirk. “I’ll just say I’m hungry. They’ll make something on the spot. I’m just that irresistible.”

Lyone tilted his head. “You’re serious?”

“That was a proud smile, wasn’t it? Don’t worry, it’ll all work iut. Just trust me.” Damien replied, facing forward again.

Arielle chuckled softly beside Lyone. “You’ll get used to him.”

They walked in steady silence for a while, the early breeze tugging at their clothes. Lyone glanced around, taking in more of the town now that he wasn’t trailing behind Damien or overwhelmed by the guild’s towering halls.

The town was clean. Strong. Peaceful. People who passed by offered waves or respectful nods—not just to Arielle but especially to Damien. Even guards tipped their heads in acknowledgment.

Lyone watched all of this unfold with growing fascination.

And then—

“Excuse me! Young man!” an old woman called from the other side of the street, struggling with a crate of vegetables too heavy for her small frame.

Damien didn’t hesitate.

He dashed across the cobbled road, gracefully dodging a passing cart and reached her side in seconds.

“Let me,” he said, lifting the crate with one hand and offering his other arm to her. “Where to?”

Lyone’s mouth parted slightly.

He turned to Arielle, confusion etched across his face.

“Why do they all treat him like this?” he asked. “Even the Town Lord listens to him, right? Is he some kind of noble or the son of one?”

Arielle smiled at that. It was a nostalgic kind of smile.

“No,” she said. “I highly doubt he’s a noble.”

Lyone looked more confused. “Then how?”

Arielle paused for a second, collecting her thoughts before speaking.

“He saved this town. Twice.”

Lyone blinked. “He what?”

“The first time,” Arielle said, “was during a demon horde attack. Westmont was nearly overrun. No one expected to survive. But Damien—he was just passing through back then—stepped in and turned the tide.”

Lyone’s brows furrowed. “He doesn’t even look that old…”

“He’s not,” Arielle said softly. “But sometimes, people grow fast because they don’t have a choice.”

She looked down the road as Damien finished helping the woman across, setting the crate near her doorstep and exchanging a few brief words before returning.

“And the second time?”

“There was a man,” Arielle said, “a would-be ruler and a well known tyrant. Tried to take Westmont for himself. Controlled the guards, bled the people dry. The Town Lord was forced into war. We faced him in war, dismantled his attempts on the city piece by piece. He turned and fled but Damien went ahead to slay the man in his own town just in case of any future attempt from the man.”

Lyone’s lips parted slightly, stunned.

“But how? How did he get that strong?”

Arielle’s eyes were far away now. “I don’t know what happened to him before he came here. But whatever it was… it turned him into someone dangerous. And sharp. And kind, in his own way.”

Lyone looked down. “So everyone respects him… because he saved them.”

She nodded.

“Whoever doesn’t,” she added, “didn’t deserve saving.”

Just then, Damien returned, dusting his hands on his pants.

“What’d I miss?”

Neither of them answered.

Damien raised a brow but didn’t push. He glanced down the street toward their destination and gestured forward with a slight tilt of his head.

“Let’s go.”

The rest of the walk was quiet.

Lord Ellian’s manor stood just ahead, its silhouette rising over the eastern hill, tall and proud. Damien didn’t slow his pace, and neither did the guards at the gate when they spotted him.

They saluted with immediate recognition.

One stepped forward. “Lord Ellian is inside, sir. We’ll announce you.”

“No need,” Damien said. “We’ll follow.”

The guard nodded and opened the gate, waving them through. The stone path curved gently toward the grand entrance of the manor, the windows shining gold with morning light.

Inside, the scent of spiced tea and freshly baked bread greeted them.

A servant led them through two wide corridors, the faint sound of clinking silverware and hushed conversation growing louder with each step.

And then—

They entered the dining chamber.

At the long, polished table sat Lord Ellian, dressed in his house robe, sipping calmly from a porcelain cup. The table before him was nothing short of lavish—fruit trays, smoked meat, baked pastries, and boiled eggs arranged in symmetrical perfection.

Damien took one look at the table and sighed dramatically.

“And here I am,” he muttered, “being beaten half to death by hunger, and he has all this to himself.”

Lord Ellian paused.

He turned slowly, raising one brow as his eyes settled on Damien.

Then, with a long sigh of his own, the man gestured toward the feast. “Mira,” he called over his shoulder. “We have guests that need to be fed.”

A maid appeared instantly, bowing once before she turned to the kitchen.

Lord Ellian gestured for them to sit. “You’re early,” he said, looking between them. “I take it this is business, not breakfast by accident?”

“Both,” Damien said, sliding into a chair. “We’ve got some things to discuss.”

Ellian’s eyes moved to Lyone. “This must be the boy.”

Lyone tensed slightly under the scrutiny but bowed politely. “Yes, sir.”

“My greetings, Town Lord.” Lyone bowed politely, not caring to know if he was doing it right or not.

Ellian nodded once at the boy, then looked back to Damien and Arielle.

“Well then. Eat first. Talk after. I’m not in the habit of negotiating with starving people.”

Damien smirked, reaching for a slice of bread. “Could’ve fooled me.”

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep