Being the son of an impoverished lord in a county, Mehmed never had the best of teachers. All he had were the individuals that worked in the county. For example, the Marshal, Steward, and Spymaster did provide some lessons to him from time to time. While that role usually lay to the clergy, few clergymen were willing to come to this town by the edge of the wilderness. Most of them headed to the capital of the Alwaleed Duchy to engage in their proselytising. Even then, the numbers are minute due to the general poverty of the region.

Mehmed made his way to the county Marshal, currently looking over some papers in the working space. Knocking on the door to inform the Marshal of his presence, Mehmed made his way to his office. The Marshal raised his head and greeted,” Mehmed. How can I help you today?” The Marshal returned his gaze to his papers. The loss of some arms by the expedition somewhat emptied the armoury, and he had to restock that inventory.

“I want to master the blade, Marshal Hassen!” Mehmed enthusiastically declared, causing one of the Hassen’s eyebrows to raise.

“I never knew you were so enthusiastic about the blade; what brought the change? The expedition made you realise how weak you were.” Hassen queried.

“Well, we were attacked by some bandits, marshal,” Mehmed explained.

“I didn’t receive that in a report. Nonetheless, can you explain why bandits would be in the middle of nowhere?” Hassen’s eyes narrowed as Mehmed failed to produce an answer. Sighing, he continued,” The interest in the blade is a good thing, and I know a good instructor for you. You went with him on the expedition; his name is Basil Abbas. He’s probably drunk in that tavern run by that old Steward.” Hassen refocused back on his papers as Mehmed hesitantly left the room.

“Anything wrong with him as an instructor?” Hassen asked as he glanced at the boy and gleamed his true thoughts.

“Nothing, sir!” Mehmed replied and hurried away from the office, leaving Hassen by himself, grumbling about cleaning up after someone else’s mess.

“I found gold on the ground, lying there innocently! It was waiting for someone like me to take it! But I took it, and the next thing I knew, a couple of hours were gone!” A man hollered inside the establishment.

“Go back home if you’re drunk, you fool! Why the fuck would gold be here?” Another voice chided.

“Fuck off! Don’t come crying to me for the gold once I find gold!”

Mehmed walked to the entrance to see a man leaving the establishment with a bottle in his hand. His nose was bright red, and he looked at the boy with a cloudy gaze. Mehmed quickly looked away from the individual, and he grinned as he walked away. The boy walked into the establishment, and he could see a large group sitting by one corner. He saw familiar faces amongst the group, members who went on the expedition with him. Basil Abbas sat in the centre of the trio, dumping wads of cash into one of the staff’s hands while demanding more drinks. Basil looked towards the establishment entrance and saw a boy shyly looking at him.

Beaming at the newcomer, he called out, “Mehmed! While I will invite you to drink with him, your father will probably kill me if he finds out.” He gestured towards the boy, who fought the nerves within himself to walk towards the group. The rest of the expedition members laughed at his words, and Mehmed did not know when to interject into the group’s conversation. “So Mehmed, why are you looking for your old friend Basil?” Basil’s nose grew redder as he gulped down another serving of alcohol.

“Marshal Hassen recommended you as an instructor,” Mehmed explained.

“Oh really?” Basil clumsily pushed himself up and dismissed himself from the group members around him. Before leaving the tavern, he staggered towards Mehmed and gestured to follow him. Mehmed glanced towards the bartender, who seemed somewhat aloof, but had his eyes on him. Mehmed smiled, and the ex-Steward Nadim smiled back before Mehmed scurried after Basil.

Basil headed right by the edge of the town, near the desolate sands where only sand could be found. He wrapped his grip around the handle of his blade before sheathing the sword back. “Alright, the first thing I want to teach would-be arming yourself. An assassin can strike in mere seconds, so you need to dodge or grab a weapon to protect yourself. So, you would be practising unsheathing the blade.” Basil removed the sword sheath from its holster and gripped it in his hands.

“I want to learn how to fight with the blade, not do these dumb exercises!” Mehmed insisted, but Basil lunged and struck the boy on the head. “Ouch!” The young boy shrieked as the hardwood tapped on his head.

“Too slow; I’m going to attack again in a few seconds.” Basil leapt backwards and relaxed his posture. He seemed non-threatening and feeble at that moment.

“Unsheathe your blade, and let’s see how long you can survive if someone wants to take your life.” The explorer grinned menacingly, and Mehmed quickly drew his blade. The man charged at the boy, and the boy barely released the edge from its confinement before his weapon arm got tapped by Basil’s unsheathed sword. Caught by surprise, Mehmed released the grip on his weapon. It clattered onto the sandy ground, displacing some of the sand. Basi then raised the scabbard towards the boy’s neck, putting it mere inches away from his flesh.

“Second lesson, never lose your grip over your blade.” He warned before backing off. Mehmed sighed as he quickly picked up his blade and sheathed it. Basil returned to his usual benign stance before suddenly lunging at him. Mehmed drew his sword and raised it to block a strike. Basil ran to Mehmed’s side and got behind him. Before the boy could turn around, his head was tapped by the scabbard, inducing a groan.

“Too slow.” Mehmed joyfully uttered, making Mehmed clench his teeth as he sheathed the blade. The two underwent this exercise for a couple of hours under the glistening light of the full moon.

As Mehmed heaved and hawed, Basil patted his back. “It’s a good first lesson. Well, see you again.” The man walked away, sneaking some glances at the young master behind him. Seeing that he was all fine, he continued his merry way.

“What is your… relationship with the bandits?” Mehmed asked, footsteps to be abruptly stopped.

“There is no relationship. I was robbed too!” Basil pouted in a fashion that would be cute on a child but was horrifying on a grown man’s face. The two stared at one another before Basil turned around. What was once an annoying expression changed into pure stoicism as all emotions were erased from his face. Mehmed stared at the back that grew ever smaller in the dark night, wondering about his subsequent actions.

“What is this?” Steward Wasifi asked as he glanced at the request written on a sheet of paper he held.

“The paper should clearly explain it.” Mehmed balefully glared at Wasifi. The boy looked into the dark recesses underneath the hood, making out some humanoid features before continuing,” Send a letter to the Alwaleed Duchy. I want to pay my respects to the liege and….” Mehmed paused, unsure about phrasing it. “The future liege.” The boy stopped and glanced at the Steward.

“Which one?” Wasifi’s lips curled up as he asked.

Mehmed shrugged and said,” Shouldn’t you assist your liege in figuring out which one?” The hooded individual’s head bobbed up and down.

“Shouldn’t the role be left to the chancellor? We could wait for Akel to come back with the lord and lady.” Seeing no response from the boy, Wasifi swiftly replied, “I understand.” Wasifi left the room, glancing at the boy behind him before leaving him in the study. Mehmed sighed and sat by his desk, which had books piled upon it. Scrutinizing did him no good; it led him into endless rabbit holes with no tangible results. Perhaps the records in the Alwaleed Duchy hold some information about the superhuman bandits, and maybe he could leverage the duchy’s forces to rid them of these pests?

Seeing the sun falling by the horizon, he left the study as it is, knowing that Wasifi would clean up his mess. He went to the edge of the Alkhadra to see a man standing there. Explorer Basil always arrived 5 minutes early or late; his arrival was based on the sun’s position, which is different from one’s current location. This time he was before; it seems he did not travel too far away from Alkhadra today. “Mehmed, shall we continue?” He grinned as some of the boy’s limbs brought memories of past pain. Basil lunged at the boy as the boy quickly drew his blade. The explorer swung an overhead swing which Mehmed dodged to the side. However, the boy stumbled a little and took some time to regain his balance. That was all Basil needed before he lightly shoved Mehmed with a thrust to the chest, pushing him into the sandy ground.

Basil looked toward the fallen Mehmed, and the boy had some Deja-Vu about the current situation. Instead of being knocked out like last time, Basil extended a hand, which Mehmed thankfully grabbed. As the man pulled the boy up, the young master asked,” Are you still not going to explain anything?” Basil released his grip on Mehmed’s hand, sending him tumbling to the ground. As Mehmed glared at Basil, Basil extended his hands once more.

“I’m sorry, Mehmed. But you should know better than to ask pointless questions.” Basil looked around his surroundings as he pulled him up. Brushing some sand off the boy’s shoulders, he praised the boy,” Better than last time. Let’s try again.”

Looking out the carriage window, Mehmed could only feel glad that he no longer had to look at its exterior. But the interior was not any better to look at, so his eyes could only enjoy the endless sands around him, which nauseated his stomach. His family was poor, one of the poorest nobles in the kingdom, and the carriage reflected its complete glory. Yet somehow, an ancestor rebranded it as a good thing. It showed the Spartan nature that Bob the Berserker passed down, and it should be something that should be celebrated. Perhaps peasants might be fooled by these words, but the nobles knew the brevity behind it. And so what others call the pride and joy for the family was utter humiliation in Mehmed’s heart.

Even the glance outside the windows brought no relief today, as it brought up memories of that failed expedition that Mehmed led. Because of his rash decision, he almost had everyone killed. Still, it wouldn’t have happened in the first place if those bandits were gone. And thus, he firmed his resolve and grabbed a book by his side. It was a book borrowed from Wasifi, who procured it from who knows where. The book talked about the life of an ordinary peasant and how the lords have it easy. No, it heavily emphasised the latter point, which made Mehmed a little uncomfortable, but it was better than staring outside the window all day long. Thus, Mehmed enjoyed the uncomfortable book he held in his hands.

A slot by the coachman opened as a voice announced, “Young master, we have company.” Mehmed glanced away from the passage regarding the peasantry’s abuse before looking outside the window. Outside, he saw a couple of black dots by the horizon. Gulping, he immediately reached for his blade and drew it. The coachman was a little taken aback by the drastic actions of the young master.

Mehmed ordered, “Hurry! Get away from them!” And the dazed coachman nodded and quickly whipped the horses into a frenzy as they ran across the sandy land. Mehmed bit his lip, and he continued to observe the black dots by the horizon. They did not descend from the dune but instead moved to disappear from his sight. Breathing a sigh of relief, he rubbed his eyes to ensure that his eyes were okay. They were fine.

“Should I continue, sir?” The coachman asked as the horses sped down the sand. Feeling a little pleased by the title that the coachman addressed him, Mehmed took some time to savour the feeling of respect.

“Continue for about a few minutes before resuming to a steady pace,” Mehmed ordered. The coachman slid the communication slot shut, leaving Mehmed with his privacy. He placed the book by his side and continuously looked towards the window. A gut feeling told him that the situation was not over; thus, he kept his blade unsheathed in his hands.

The slot reopened, and the coachman explained,” Sir, there is a carriage right ahead.” Mehmed moved his head out of the carriage window and glanced at the comparatively luxurious carriage that travelled at a steady pace. A couple of camels hauled cargo stored in wagons.

“Slow by their side; I would like to hail them,” Mehmed replied, and the coachman nodded, closing the slot.

The horses slowed down to a crawl, and the carriages met side by side.

“Greetings, from the lordship of Alkhadra.” Mehmed’s coachman greeted the other coachman, who panicked at the sudden sight of the impoverished carriage. It looked too similar to the carriages of bandits who used hit and run tactics on fellow merchants.

“Ahh… what a relief; I wanted to see my wife and kids.” The merchant’s coachman mumbled in a tone that he thought was soft, but his fellow coachman could hear it audibly. He hailed the other party, “His majesty’s Merchant Union, Desert Division, Coach #45. Trading in cabbage, carrots and dates.” The coachman dutifully replied and glanced towards his employer sitting in the carriage behind him.

Mehmed looked towards a boy who looked similar in age and greeted, “Mehmed Alkhadra of the Alkhadra Lordship.” The boy was scrawny and held a pen in one hand while holding papers in another hand. With his attention stolen by the newcomer, he gulped upon hearing the other’s title.

“Hakim Zaki, merchant-in-training for the His majesty’s Merchant Union! How can I help you, milord!” The boy nervously uttered as he tried to remember the political entanglements of the region but gave up soon after. The fact that the other party was holding the blade like a bandit did not bring much reassurance to him.

Mehmed beamed at the boy’s address and took some time to imagine a future where everyone greeted this way. Daydreaming for a while, he snapped out of it and replied with a tinge of disappointment, “I’m just an heir, not yet a lord.”

“I see. Nice to meet you.” Hakim nodded and made a mental note in his mind.

But before the two could continue their conversation any further, Mehmed’s coachman hollered, “Sir, they’re back.” Mehmed looked outside the window behind Hakim’s carriage and saw the black dots on the horizon. He tightened his grip over his blade.