Approaching amicably, Rómulo took Erick's hand and squeezed it tightly. His wide, trustworthy smile was certainly that of a merchant, Erick thought, although the pressure in the handshake revealed more than simple cordiality.
"Thank you so much, young man! You saved not only my life but that of my men and my merchandise," Rómulo said while rubbing his hands with joy.
With a snap of his fingers, Rómulo had some clothes brought to him to cover Erick's chest, which, having walked without anything for all this time, had obtained a very provocative tan.
"This is the least I can do for now," Rómulo said, handing him a tunic made of sand-colored linen and a pair of loose-fitting trousers.
Touching the clothes, Erick was surprised. The quality and comfort offered by this clothing were incredible, which demonstrated the great kindness of the merchant. Putting on the tunic, the unexpected luxury after a month outdoors left him speechless.
Rómulo smiled, satisfied with Erick's reaction.
"Lad, I don't know where you're heading, but if you could accompany us on my journey, I promise you great pay and help with whatever you are looking for. With your skills, I am sure I will reach my destination without a problem."
Erick nodded. The offer was exactly what he needed.
"I am heading south, Señor Rómulo," Erick spoke calmly.
"What luck! We are heading precisely to that area, to the Pearl of the Desert, Aruk. Don't call me Señor, just Rómulo, lad," Rómulo said happily, his large, trustworthy smile reappearing. "So, do you accept the proposal? A safe trip south and pay that you won't be able to refuse."
Erick, seeing nothing wrong with taking the proposal, smiled.
"My destination is near Aruk. Yes, I accept the deal, Rómulo."
"Excellent, then! Erick, your first task will be to rest. I'm sure facing those guys left you exhausted," Rómulo said. "It might sound bad, but we will check if those guys had anything of value. We are merchants; a misfortune is just an unopened opportunity."
Rómulo, with a satisfied smile, tapped Erick's shoulder and showed him a corner where the sun wasn't beating too fiercely—the place for him to rest.
"That smile, that look, those hands, they remind me of my boss!" the sword yelled forcefully, still knowing that no one could hear it. The resentment and hatred in the sword's internal voice were undeniable.
Closing his eyes, Erick tried to rest, something he failed to do. The adrenaline of being uncontrollably hit by someone did not allow his brain to sleep. Besides, Rómulo's occasional gaze was somewhat disturbing.
Stretching out his hand, Erick felt his sword. The security it gave him was absolute, but the fact that he was hit so much by one person showed him something that his pride refused to accept.
"I am weak," Erick whispered.
He thought that with a powerful weapon, he would be invincible, but the fight had proven that to be a lie. His attacks couldn't be stopped, and his body healed at superior speeds, yes, but combat experience and the agility of his mind were his Achilles' heel. He lacked the foresight and technique that only years of fighting could provide.
Without realizing it, the sun was already setting, and Rómulo and his men approached him, looking at him lying down and just smiling.
"Lad, we will be serving dinner soon. There isn't much I can offer you because of where we are, but my men are incredible with their culinary skills," Rómulo said with a look of joy.
Thinking about it, Erick realized that up until now he had only been eating what he hunted; he was practically a jungle man, and anything well-seasoned would be a luxury for his palate.
"Anything will be fine, thank you," Erick replied.
"Well, I also have a question," Rómulo continued, rubbing his hands and looking around as if the desert had ears. "When you saved us, you had a very... powerful sword. There's no doubt about that, the brilliance was absurd. I would just like to know where you hid it. I don't plan on stealing from you or anything; I would just like to know who the blacksmith of that great weapon is," Rómulo expressed. "I am a merchant; if I could speak with that blacksmith, perhaps I could trade their weapons."
Erick, feeling nothing malicious in his words, stretched out his hand and, closing his eyes, the wind around him exploded, revealing the sword.
The sword was strange. Erick had only focused on the blade's shine until now, but now he saw the matte black pommel, along with its handle wrapped in a black fabric with golden straps, alongside emerald engravings that pulsed slightly.
"Dragon skin!" Rómulo exclaimed, catching his breath. "The fact that someone can work a piece of dragon skin into a sword handle demonstrates mastery! Lad, I seriously want to meet that blacksmith."
"I only found the sword," Erick finished curtly. "I don't even know if I deserve it. I have no way to help you."
Erick concentrated, and the weapon disappeared as quickly as it had appeared. The air around them returned to calm, leaving only the desert breeze.
"Well, I respect your secrets, lad, but you must know that that sword is incredible," Rómulo replied, maintaining a tone of forced admiration.
"Yes, I am incredible!" the sword shouted with joy at being recognized again.
"That's something I know, and that's why I feel bad. I don't think I am worthy of this sword; even having this weapon, I was almost defeated by a single man earlier," Erick said, the frustration over his lack of technique evident.
"But you defeated him, that's what counts," Rómulo replied with pragmatism.
"Yes, I defeated him only because the sword had no problem eliminating him, but if I didn't have this sword, I... would have just been another dead man," Erick answered.
Rómulo approached Erick with a pat on the back.
"Maybe so, but what counts is that you ultimately emerged victorious. Besides, maybe you don't know why you have that sword, but that sword chose you as its bearer. That must be worth something, mustn't it?"
With a smile, Erick did not reply. He didn't know what to say, in fact.