Rómulo's smile stretched flirtatiously, as if he were looking at his new toy.
"It's a very interesting story, isn't it, Erick? An object that contains someone's life's work," Rómulo said, rubbing his hands, as an assistant approached carrying a heavy bag.
Rómulo carefully analyzed Erick.
"I know you didn't tell me, but that hair and those eyes are not common around here. Perhaps in the North or in the imperial family in the center of the continent you could find someone similar, but you said you lived near this city, didn't you?"
Rómulo took a long sigh, his voice heavy with feigned sorrow.
"It's sad, but you must know it. Your village, Kallpa Sunqu, no longer exists."
With a buzzing in Erick's ears, time stopped. But instead of shouting or falling, he could only laugh.
"That is a very cruel joke, Rómulo," Erick said, his laughter thin and brittle.
"It happened a little less than half a month ago. Apparently, they were waiting for a savior to bring supplies or something, but the saying goes, 'he who waits, despairs' " Rómulo said, with terrifying tranquility. "In the end, the village was attacked by bandits. There were no survivors."
Erick stared into nothingness, trying to force a logical thought through the fog that had settled in his brain. Kallpa Sunqu. His friends, his people. The oath he made to bring them help.
He had spent the last month playing in the jungle as the invincible man with his sword, while his people suffered. He was swearing he would take revenge on the wrong people, while he wasted time in his fights, his people were dying.
"It's impossible... I was, what was I doing?" With delirium in his words, Erick looked at Rómulo, and in him, he saw a sad look, but underneath it, his eyes remained playful.
"You were lost, lad, and when you finally found your way, your people were dead," Rómulo said cuttingly, as he placed his rough hand on Erick's back.
With a small tremor, Erick felt Rómulo's hands move down his back to rest on his shoulders, at the same time Rómulo's face came close to his ear.
"But I'm sure your people would have wanted at least one person to live," Rómulo calmly whispered.
Rómulo's breath hit Erick's ear, carrying the sweet, cloying smell of his expensive perfume, which barely managed to mask the persistent stench of fear.
"Sell me your sword, lad. A sword that shines like the sun and cuts through everything but destiny," Rómulo said.
At the same time, Rómulo grabbed the bag his assistant had brought and, placing it in front of Erick, he released it. From it, like a golden sea, countless gold coins spilled out, scattering across the counter.
Without stopping, Rómulo tightened his grip on Erick's shoulders, a gesture that was not one of comfort, but of possession.
"Take the money and live a good life. Forget your village, forget your destiny. That sword is destined for a hero; use the sword to save yourself from a life of suffering in these lands. With this money, you could even live in the empire's capital."
Closing his eyes, Erick knew Rómulo was right. Sure, he wanted to be a legendary hero, but most of them always have a place to return to and someone to save. Compared to them, Erick was nothing more than a very lucky villager. He should be dead, either from the betrayal in the forest that almost killed him or from returning to his village where nothing remained. Even if he had been there, it wouldn't have changed anything.
Erick, staring hard at the floor, felt disgust at his own weakness. Even with this sword, he realized he was weak. The combat with the beasts and with the caravan attackers demonstrated it. He was not worthy of the sword.
With a final smile, Rómulo released his grip on Erick, rubbing his hands together in satisfaction.
"Good, I will even let you have one product from my store free of charge. Come on, it's a great store, there must be something you like, lad," Rómulo said happily, gesturing toward all the doors of the shop.
"Ah, yes, thank you," Erick replied timidly. Despair had drained his energy.
"Come on, accompany me," Rómulo ordered, as he snapped his fingers for one of his assistants to put away the gold coins.
Erick, still with a clouded mind, continued walking alongside Rómulo, passing several doors where Rómulo showed them finely crafted swords to precious jewels, something that seemed more like a display of wealth than an attempt to sell. Rómulo delighted in the opulence, naming origins and materials with a haughty voice.
Until finally, they reached the last door, one where there were no lions or inlaid jewels. It was an old wooden door, reinforced with thick planks and uneven iron nails.
"Mm, it smells like fear in here," the sword, which had been quiet until now, whispered to itself.
"Well, you're a difficult customer, you know. This is the last product we sell, and the one you helped protect, you know," Rómulo said, going first and guiding Erick. Crossing the threshold, the merchant covered his nose with feigned disgust.
Inside, the darkness was almost total, only broken by a small slit high up on the wall that let through a weak, dusty ray of light. It was a dungeon.
The stench of stale dampness, sweat, and feces hit Erick with a nauseating force, making Rómulo's perfume seem like a cruel joke. The walls were bare stone, stained and covered with mold.
Throughout the room were thick, rusty iron bars, dividing the space into narrow cells. Inside them, human figures could barely be distinguished, chained to the walls or huddled on the ground. The silence was broken only by a dry cough or the faint clanking of chains.
In a corner, far from the nearest cell, a puddle of dirty water had formed, of uncertain origin, faintly reflecting the dim ray of light. It was a visual reminder of the misery and abandonment of the place.