Sudden Offer

The inside of Bryne Bravefeather's carriage was lavish, but not overly-done. The seats were soft but not so much that even Lieren, as small and light as he was, didn't sink.

The boy, having been an orphan for as long as he could remember, was not experienced in the ways of proper noble etiquette and basic civil manners. All of his time in the orphanage was spent reading books and occasionally helping out in the cleaning of the building. And—in some very are cases—even construction, though he mostly gives up after half a day due to overexertion. Lieren did the best that he could for the orphanage, within his limited ability. While he preferred to read in peace and ruminate about the worlds that the books showed him, he never said no when asked anything by the caretakers.

Nevertheless, Lieren was nervous.

The man in front of him, Bryne Bravefeather, was a noble—the high caste members of society, far above Lieren—an orphan with essentially no background, was.

He could feel his heart beating with nervous energy, his head kept low and his gaze to the floor, glancing every now and then to admire the décor inside the carriage.

Lieren kept his hand atop his seemingly glued together legs. He felt and unknown anxiety inside, ready to burst. The man's natural disposition, or rather, his being itself, was shrouded in what Lieren guessed as the air of self-importance that all high-ranking individuals possessed.

Harita, on the other hand, was dead calm, his legs crossed and his gaze sharp as steel. He said:

"What do you want?" The suspicious man, usually flamboyant, muttered in a questioning tone. His words were almost sharp as his gaze.

Bryne replied, waving his suspicion away: "I seek only a deal. One that, if you were patient enough, would find very appeasing."

He took a sip of the ruby liquid, sipping with grace as he downed everything in one elegant motion.

Bryne paused, as if remembering something,. The nobleman pulled out a another glass from a compartment on the carriage wall, produced a wine glass, and poured ruby liquid in it before offering it to Harita. The noble's eyes did take no as an option.

Harita begrudgingly accepted, staring at the ruby liquid for a second. He took a sip, just a bit, before speaking once more:

"This deal…" He took another sip, barely drinking reducing the liquid. "What are you offering?"

Bryne smiled. "I notice your curiosity and accept it wholeheartedly."

He took a swig of his wine, emptying the glass once more. With a somewhat annoyed expression, he poured more, filling the glass so much that when he spun it, ruby liquid drenched Lieren's pale face.

Harita watched the entire thing happen, his eyes somehow growing sharper.

Bryne, on the other hand, just joyfully smiled, not paying attention to the scrawny boy whatsoever. He stared at Harita with half-open eyes.

"I desire to enlist your services. In the matters of security, specifically." The man's eyes, drowsy and drunk, contained a glint of calculative pressure.

Harita stayed silent, watching the man intently. His eyes were trained on the many rings on the man's fingers.

"I offer five thousand shells. Ten shells for each kilometer of travel, including the distance already made." The nobleman, drunker by the second, rested his back on his leather seat.

"I am not a man of travel, and thus underestimated the dangers—and, quite frankly, the vast inconveniences attributed to it. With your services, I hope to rid myself of these dangers. As well as other…inconveniences." There was a glint of something malicious in the nobleman's eye.

Harita, his eyes still trained on the nobleman, kept silent. The tense atmosphere hanging in the air kept the only child in the room, Lieren, on the very edge of his breaking point. The pressure was getting to him.

Bryne, barely glancing at Lieren, said:

"I believe that the…boy is uncomfortable. It is both in our best interest to leave the boy outside. Besides, this is not the place for a young man to be present in, otherwise."

Bryne slid open a screen on the front side of the inner carriage that connected to the coachman outside.

"Uh, Reginald, please escort Mr. Harita's pet outside. It seems to be rather tense."

Before the coachman could hop off the carriage and "assist" Lieren out, Haraki, with his steel-sharp gaze, said aloud:

"No, that's fine. We were leaving anyways." He got up, prompting Lieren to do the same.

"H-Halt!" Bryne barked, spilling wine on the carpet of the carriage as he bolted from his seat.

Harita, halfway through the door with Lieren in front of him, glanced back with an impassive gaze.

"…What?" He said, almost forgetting to respond.

Lieren could feel, through their bond, that Harita was annoyed—offended even, about something that the nobleman did. As to what it was, that fact remains for Harita to know and for Lieren to guess.

The man, despite Harita's response, was too busy wiping some wine that doused his trousers.

Lieren mused. Is that really how noblemen act? Ignoring people so flippantly like that?

The boy, young and innocent, was witnessing firsthand the truth of the world.

Harita clicked his tongue, and—holding Lieren's hand—started walking away, only to be stopped yet again, not by the nobleman this time, but the coachman, the one he ordered earlier.

The coachman wore clean clothing of ample quality. It wasn't on the level of Bryne's, but it was kept in excellent condition, with some parts of it showing signs of having been sewn or patched, but was nevertheless better than what the two wore themselves.

Lieren was once again reminded of the economic divide between common folk and those lucky enough to be employed by the higher nobility. However, this time, he was less impresses by it, even pitying the man despite his otherwise admirable visage.

Harita did not turn back, instead sparing a glance to the coachman. Barely.

The coachman fixed his suit, cleared his throat, then fixed his posture.

"Viscount Bryne Bravefeather demands your presence." The coachman's chin was lifted high with his chest struck out.

Lieren glanced back to the lavish carriage, still open, and the man inside of it, still wiping his trousers.

"Tch." The viscount clicked his tongue audibly, glaring outside.

A group outside, better dressed than everybody else, flinched and started a  hushed commotion, electing a young girl to attend to Viscount Bryne. The girl was about the same age as Lieren.

"R-Right away, sir." The girl was timid, her face a mask of defeat.

"What was that?" The viscount snapped, his gaze sending a cold chill to the girl's back.

"Y-Yes, master." The girl, dejectedly but quickly walked over, holding her skirt so as not to dirty it.

She circumvented to the luggage area, rummaging for something, and brought to Viscount Bryne, her head lowered.

"What is this?" The viscount, however, just raised a brow at the pair of trousers held out.

The young girl began sweating bullets. "U-U-Ummm…m-my apologies, master."

Viscount Bryne slapped the trousers from the young girl's hands, pointing to his leg.

"Clean it." He barked, simple and clear.

The girl's face sunk. "…Yes, master." Her eyes were a hollow shade, almost lifeless.

The side of Viscount Bryne's lip curled up into a sick grin.

Lieren, and Harita, too, it seemed, watched this scene unfold in front of them.

"Ow!" Lieren winced as Harita tightened his grip on the boy's hand.

The two turned back, leaving the lavish carriage.

"So that's how nobles are like…"

The night passed, and so did the boy's innocence.