A boy was running alongside a young horse, his body dirty but a smile shining brightly on his face. He was on his way home.
Just as he was about to arrive, he saw a few people standing in front of his house. There was a farmer—his uncle, an old man who was the village chief, a knight with a sword on his back, and a woman holding a book and a small staff. His uncle looked angry, while the village chief appeared nervous and afraid, as if something terrible was about to happen.
"Calm yourself. Do you want to put the whole village in danger?" the village chief said to the boy's uncle.
"Shut up! So this is what you've been hiding from me!" the uncle yelled, grabbing the chief by the collar.
"Uncle! Why are you angry at Grandpa?" the boy asked as he arrived, hugging his uncle's leg.
"Uncle? So this is the child," the knight said, reaching out for the boy—but the uncle immediately grabbed his arm.
"Who gave you permission to touch him?" the uncle growled, his sharp gaze fixed on the knight.
"Do you want to make yourself an enemy of the Empire?" the woman with the staff snapped.
"Even if I ha—"
"Do you want us all to die? Why don't you just let him go? After all, he's not even—" the village chief started, but was cut off again by the uncle.
"Rubbish!" the uncle shouted.
"Waaah..." the boy burst into tears. He didn't understand what they were arguing about, but he could tell something bad was happening. His uncle, seeing the boy cry, suddenly fell silent.
The knight, noticing the moment of hesitation, didn't want to waste the opportunity.
"Nothing good will come from fighting back. Things will only get worse. Just let us take him."
The uncle tried to calm himself down. Then he gently patted the boy's head and comforted him. When the boy finally stopped crying, the uncle looked into his eyes, sadness and anger quietly swirling within them.
"These people were sent by your father... to take you."
The boy was stunned. He looked up at the two strangers who had come to take him. Since he was little, he had lived with his uncle. His mother had died when he was two and a half, and he never knew who his father was. He'd asked his uncle many times, but the man didn't know either. And the villagers always avoided the question. But now, someone had come, claiming to be sent by his father.
"Is Uncle coming with me too?" the boy asked.
"No. Only you will come with us," the knight cut in.
"Why? If Uncle doesn't come, then I won't go either."
The uncle looked down, heart aching. He didn't want to be separated either, but he knew he couldn't keep the boy by his side forever.
"You have to go. Your father is waiting. Besides, Uncle's going to be busy and won't have time for you anymore."
"But I'll miss you," the boy sobbed.
"Then take your little horse with you, so you won't feel lonely. And when you miss Uncle, pretend he's me," his uncle said softly, though the boy still cried.
"Don't cry, now. Don't be a crybaby—it's not good for a boy. Boys have to be strong. Here, wear this necklace. It'll protect you. And remember, Uncle will always be with you in spirit, always hoping you'll be safe and happy," he said as he put the necklace around the boy's neck.
"Okay, Uncle. I'll grow up to be strong," the boy said, wiping his tears.
"Let's go. Thank you for your cooperation," the knight said as he lifted the boy into the carriage. Then, they rode off.
"I hope you find happiness. Uncle will miss you," the man whispered as he watched them disappear down the road.
---
Once they had left the village, the knight and the woman spoke in hushed tones.
"What's wrong with you? You're not usually this soft with people who yell at you—especially some commoner."
"That man pissed me off. Acting so high and mighty in front of us. Maybe I should've just burned that village down before we left," the woman snapped.
"If you don't want to die, shut your mouth."
"You're worried about that kid? I never thought you'd actually care about him."
"I warned you," the knight said, his voice sharp.
"Are you threatening me? Let me remind you—we're on a mission directly from the Emperor. You wouldn't dare attack me. You know it won't end well. I might be weaker than you, but killing me won't be easy."
"I think you misunderstood. I won't be the one killing you."
"Don't talk nonsense. If not you, then who—" The woman stopped mid-sentence as she noticed the knight's hand trembling.
"That man wasn't ordinary. When I reached out for the boy, he grabbed my hand so hard I can still feel it. His glare, his presence—it was overwhelming. And only I felt it. That alone proves he's experienced. Even if both of us fought him, I'm sure we'd lose. So don't provoke him. If it comes to that, I'll have no choice but to kill you just to calm him down. I'd rather return covered in wounds than die here," the knight said.
"Impossible… Out of all eighteen kingdoms, there aren't even 500 people strong enough to beat you. And you're saying even both of us together wouldn't stand a chance? How could someone that powerful be completely unknown?"
(Note: In this world, each kingdom is ruled by a king, and all kings must submit to the Emperor. The child taken by the knight is the Emperor's son.)
"I don't understand it either."
"Then why don't we bring him along? If we convince him to serve the Emperor, we'll be rewarded. We could tempt him with luxury. Even if he finds out the real reason his nephew was taken, he might let it slide once he gets a taste of the good life. Maybe not at first, but once he's tasted comfort, he'll never be able to give it up. And if I'm wrong, the Emperor can just get rid of him later," the woman suggested.
"Are you stupid? He knew we were sent by the Emperor, and still he wasn't afraid. I'm sure he also knows that with his power, he could easily earn a title of nobility."
"Enough talking. We've reached the edge of the island. Open the teleportation portal."
"Can't you speak more politely? Do you think teleportation magic is easy? Let me tell you—there are fewer than a hundred people in all the kingdoms who can even use it," the woman grumbled, then began chanting a spell. Slowly, their bodies started to vanish.