The guard at the gate snapped to attention the moment he saw them.
But his eyes lingered for just a moment.
Arthur's armor was streaked with dried blood — dark and crusted at the edges. Clad's horse was being led by a servant, its reins out of Clad's hands entirely. Leo sat at the front of the carriage, holding the reins steady — but the exhaustion on his face was impossible to miss.
The guard didn't hesitate.
He rang the bell — once, hard.
The sound had barely faded before a small armed unit appeared, moving in from the sides as if they had always been there. Without a single word, they surrounded the caravan and began to escort it forward.
The road ahead cleared.
People stepped aside. Shopkeepers, passersby, children — all of them moved without being asked. All of them bowed.
Some eyes lingered on the state of the group — the blood, the exhaustion, the silence.
But no one spoke.
No one dared.
---
And then —
The caravan came to a stop before a grand manor.
High walls. Elegant stonework. Gardens that were quiet and well-kept without trying to be impressive. There was no excess in it — just a deep, settled dignity that didn't need to announce itself.
Two guards stood at the manor's front gate.
They saw the carriage and bowed immediately — pushing the gate open without a word.
The carriage rolled inside.
---
It came to a stop in the courtyard.
Leo held the reins steady.
The carriage door opened.
A man stepped out to meet them.
He was around the same age as the merchant — but his body was something else entirely. Broad shoulders. Not an ounce of softness anywhere. A neatly trimmed beard framing a face that had clearly seen its share of hard years. His eyes were sharp in a way that only came from decades of experience.
The merchant stepped down from the carriage.
The man looked at him and said —
"Welcome, My Lord."
The merchant gave a quiet smile.
"Thank you, Jorald."
---
Then the carriage door opened again.
Clad stepped out — carefully, with both arms occupied.
The unconscious child was cradled against him.
Jorald's eyes moved to the child immediately.
They narrowed — just slightly.
"So..." His voice was calm. Measured. "Who is this child?" He glanced around. "And where is Young Master?"
The merchant turned back toward the carriage.
He reached inside and lifted his son — who was still caught somewhere between sleep and waking — and brought him out.
Then he walked toward the manor entrance without another word.
---
Arthur, Jack and Leo came forward.
"Greetings, Master." All three said.
Jorald looked at them.
Arthur's bloodstained armor. Jack's face — still carrying the weight of everything he had witnessed through the night. Leo's eyes, quiet and worn.
Jorald said nothing.
But for just a moment — his gaze dropped to the merchant's hands.
Then to the unknown child in Clad's arms.
He said nothing. But something moved behind his eyes.
---
Everyone went inside.
The merchant's son — still hovering at the edge of sleep — suddenly murmured in a small, half-conscious voice —
"...I'm hungry."
His eyes were still closed.
The merchant pressed down a quiet smile.
"Yes, yes."
He called for a servant.
As he handed his son over, he said — "Take him to his room and put him to bed. If he wakes up, give him a bath and something to eat."
The servant nodded and carried the boy away.
---
The merchant walked toward Clad.
Clad had already laid the unknown child carefully on a bed — and was standing beside him, watching. Jorald followed and came to stand nearby.
Jorald looked down at the child.
"It seems like we should call a healer."
"No."
Clad said it immediately.
He was exhausted — that much was obvious. But there was no hesitation in his voice.
"The bones in his hands and feet were broken — and they've already healed on their own. If we introduce outside magic now, it could interfere with his growth."
"Understood." The merchant said.
Then he turned to Clad.
"Rest. Clean up — same as the others."
"But—" Clad started.
"No buts." The merchant's voice was calm but final. "He's safe here. That's enough for now."
Jorald added quietly — "Go."
Clad looked at the child one last time.
Then —
"Understood, Master. My Lord — I'll take my leave."
"Go."
Clad walked out.
---
The room was quiet now.
Just the merchant and Jorald.
Jorald glanced around — then cleared his throat.
"Ahem."
The merchant looked at him.
Jorald reached up and stroked his beard slowly — eyes drifting back to the unknown child on the bed.
"What exactly did you run into out there..." he said quietly. "That was enough to make someone like you draw that blade."
A pause.
His eyes stayed on the child.
"And this boy." He turned his head slightly, eyes narrowing. "Something doesn't feel right about him."
The merchant took a long, slow breath.
"It's a long story." He said. "Let me clean up first. Then we'll talk."
He turned toward the door — then stopped.
"And Jorald."
"Mm?"
"You've trained them well."
Jorald said nothing.
But the faintest trace of a smile crossed his face.
---
**[Chapter 6 End]**