Punishing a criminal.

When the soldiers left to follow the tracks into the woods it spared Belthor and Clide from sharing the same cruel fate. They stayed in the village taking care of the guard's horses while waiting for their return. As the sun started to set, they began to feel nervous.

"Boss, do you think something happened?"

Belthor smacked the back of his head and scolded, "That's a noble from White Light city you're talking about, they're the best our nation has."

Despite Belthor acting confident, he can't help but feel anxious deep inside. If something happened to them then wouldn't he have to take responsibility as the one who reported it? If they are fine then what is taking them so long?

"You don't need to worry about them, all we need to do is take care of the horses and wait for them to return."

Clide nods, still a little uneasy as he continues brushing the horse in front of him.

It was at this time that Myron came sprinting out of the woods.

When they saw him he was in horrible condition. His hair swaying around in front of his face and his eyes bloodshot, he could barely catch his breath. He walked over and mounted the nearest horse.

"You two are coming... with me... back to the city." Myron commanded, still trying to catch his breath.

Belthor and Clide had many questions they wanted to ask him, seeing how he returned alone after setting out with so many guards, but a part of them already knows the answer. Instead, Belthor speaks out with a voice of reason.

"M'lord, it's almost dark out. I can see something has happened and you want to return quickly, but riding our horses in the dark would be too risky. Why don't you rest in the village tonight and we'll set out tomorrow."

Finally starting to catch his breath, Myron replies coldly, "I didn't ask for your opinion. You think you have the ability to advise me? If you knew what was best for you, you would stay quiet. I'm in no mood to deal with you, prisoner."

"Prisoner?! What do you mean?!" Belthor gasped, he just advised him to rest for the night, worried for his well being, and now he's a prisoner? He didn't mind this noble when he was unreasonable before, but now he has no guards to protect him, what does he have to fear from a pompous brat with no ability. So weak he can't even hunt down a half dead robot, now he wants to arrest him?

"Of course, I'm talking about how you gave a false report about this robot, which costed the lives of over a dozen guards and almost lead to this noble's death!" Myron referred to himself in the third person, filled with righteousness.

Clide started stepping back, shaking in fear of this accusation, but Belthor was having none of it.

"A half dead robot and you can't even kill it! Making up lies to save your reputation, that's what your doing! I won't take the blame for this, it's all because you're incompetent!"

Seeing this dirty blacksmith talk back to him this way, Myron began to calm down. He put a smile on and said, "You're right, it's all my fault. I should never have believed your words anyway." After saying that, he drew his sword and slashed Belthor in half with one swing. Following up, he turned to the cowardly Clide and slashed across the side of his face, from his forehead all the way down his cheek.

Clide falls to the ground screaming in pain. He clutches his bloodied face with both hands while rolling around on the ground. Myron sheathes his sword and walks over to him. He grabs his shoulder and stops him from moving around while his other hand his raised, like he is about to give him a hard smack. Instead, white light starts to emit from his palm, bathing Clide in a bath of it's gentle rays.

Clide stops his struggling as he feels warmth spread across his body. The pain from his face receding. Calming down from the whole ordeal, he is confused on the noble's actions. Unable to move, he feels the wound on on his face closing before he passes out from exhaustion. From worrying about if the group would ever return from the woods to the quick events that lead to his boss's cheap death, his mind and body was tightly wound, so after feeling the gentle warmth of the white light, he fell asleep.

Myron let's go of Clide and stands back up, mumbling to himself, "Peasants should be like this guy, one strike from my sword and he passed out. Although I like his servile attitude better than the blacksmith's, It's a shame..."

Myron still needs to have someone take the blame for the disaster in the woods. A loss of fifteen guards can't be shoved under the rug even if he begged his father for help. So he has to push all the blame on this boy for, 'reporting wrongly and luring so many brave guards to their deaths'.

He looks around at the night sky. It's getting late now. He feels the exhaustion from the earlier events more clearly now that he has calmed down. He takes a rope from the back of one of the guard's horses and ties the unconscious Clide up. He then walks over to a stack of hay heaped into a pile in the corner, and lays down on it. He can't ride a horse in the dark, without fear of getting lost and extending his return trip home. He decides to rest here in this filthy place until first light, and then make the journey back. Making himself as comfortable as possible, he closes his eyes and starts to rest.

"God, I hate this village."