Chapter: 6

The next day, as the sun rose, Henry tapped on Rudravaan’s shoulder to wake him, but he didn’t move. Henry shouted, “Hey, wake up!” while shaking him harder. Rudravaan slowly opened his eyes and asked in a calm voice, “What happened? Why are you waking me this early?”

Henry replied, “Everyone’s preparing for the war, but you’re the only one still sleeping!”

Rudravaan said firmly, “I already told you I’ll help if the situation becomes tense.”

Henry frowned. “Then what, are you not going to help Fenlor?”

Rudravaan glanced at him briefly. “Didn’t I already answer that?”

Henry clenched his fists in frustration and left the room, muttering, “Why can’t he just help them if he’s that strong…”

Rudravaan heard him and thought to himself, If you show your power too easily, people stop thinking for themselves and start depending on you.

He stood up, took his swords, and walked downstairs. The air was tense—people were rushing about, grabbing anything that could serve as a weapon. Rudravaan watched quietly, then approached the bartender. “Are you planning to fight with these people?” he asked.

The bartender shook his head. “No, they’re the defense team. Fenlor’s gathering the attack team. They’ll strike first, and when people are injured, we’ll treat them. When the attackers grow tired, the defense team will take over and distract the enemy.”

Rudravaan gave a short nod. “You’ve planned this well.”

The bartender exhaled deeply. “Yeah… we’ve been preparing for this for a long time.”

Rudravaan looked at the bartender and asked, “How’s your arm? Are you able to move it?”

The bartender glanced down at the bandaged limb. “Yeah, it’s fine. Not like I can’t fight,” he said, then hesitated. “But more importantly… what was that yesterday? When you attacked—I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Rudravaan’s expression stayed still. “If you ever leave the kingdom, you might come across it. It’s a martial art known only to a few swordsmen. For an ordinary swordsman, facing it means certain death.”

The bartender nodded slowly, the weight of the words sinking in.

Rudravaan then asked, “Where’s Fenlor?”

“There’s an old shed outside town,” the bartender said. “He’s been gathering people there. Take Henry with you—he knows the way.”

Turning toward the back, the bartender shouted, “Hey, Henry!”

Henry came running. “Yeah? Did you call me?”

“Go with Rudravaan,” the bartender said. “Show him where the old shed is.”

Henry frowned. “Why can’t he just go by himself?”

The bartender’s tone hardened. “Watch your mouth. Just go with him.”

Henry sighed and muttered, “Fine,” before following Rudravaan toward the door.

Henry walked ahead, leading Rudravaan down the narrow dirt path toward the old shed. The morning sun cast long shadows across the fields, and the distant clang of metal hinted at others already training for the coming battle.

After a few moments of silence, Henry glanced back. “Hey,” he asked, “how strong are you? I mean… if you and Fenlor fought, who would win?”

Rudravaan gave a faint, almost tired smile. “Well, of course your favorite—Fenlor—would win. No doubt.”

Henry grinned proudly. “Then Fenlor’s stronger than you! I knew it.”

Rudravaan said nothing, his eyes narrowing slightly, though the faintest smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. He let the boy’s confidence hang in the air without correction.

As they continued down the path, the outline of the old shed came into view—its wooden walls worn and cracked, yet sturdy enough to hold the weight of the gathering rebellion.

They had arrived.

As they approached the old shed, a guard stepped forward, blocking their path.
“Hey,” the man said sharply, hand resting on the hilt of his sword. “No one’s allowed in here.”

Henry quickly replied, “We came to see Fenlor.”

The man hesitated, studying them for a moment. Then, recognizing the name, he nodded and stepped aside. “Alright. Go on in.”

Inside, the air was thick with the scent of dust, sweat, and steel. Men and women were scattered around, practicing swings, adjusting armor, or sharpening their blades. The atmosphere carried both fear and determination—an army of common people preparing for war.

Henry’s eyes lit up when he spotted Fenlor in the far corner, his sword slicing through the air in clean, precise arcs. “Hey, Fenlor!” he shouted.

Fenlor turned, lowering his blade. A grin crossed his face as he saw them approach. “Hey, boy—what are you doing here?”

Rudravaan’s tone was calm but direct. “We need to talk.”

Fenlor wiped sweat from his brow. “Yeah. Me too.”

He glanced at Henry. “Go sit outside for a bit, alright?”

Henry nodded reluctantly and left, taking a seat by the door while the two men stepped into a quieter corner of the shed.

Rudravaan spoke first. “Did you finish preparing the attack squad?”

“Yeah,” Fenlor said, rolling his shoulders. “Everything’s set.”

Rudravaan nodded. “Good. Then listen—something happened last night at the bar.”

He told Fenlor everything: the sudden attack, the wounded bartender, and the corrupt guards who had turned on the townsfolk. As the story unfolded, Fenlor’s expression darkened, fury rising in his eyes.

“Those bastards…” he muttered.

“Calm down,” Rudravaan said firmly. “Now’s not the time for anger. The bartender’s already injured—make sure he stays out of harm’s way.”

Fenlor exhaled, clenching his jaw. “Yeah… I’ll do that.”

Rudravaan leaned back slightly, his gaze distant. “So far, it looks like you can win this. But if the kingdom’s hiding something—some kind of trump card—it could lead to heavy losses. I’m telling you this because, if you remember when we fought Rick… the kingdom might have known about his support. Maybe that’s why they let him loose.”

Fenlor frowned but stayed silent.