Jason wiped his blade on the palm of his glove and sheathed it. "There," he announced. "Job's done. Now let's get the hell out of here."

They made their way through the labyrinthine corridors of the dungeon, stepping over the bodies of dead creatures, the stench of blood and death in the air. Jason was a big fan of stabbing monsters, so really, there was nothing better. He did, however, wish that His Majesty the King (and his esteemed adoptive father) would stop sending this damned knight along. He didn't need protection!

"See?" he said, crossing his arms behind his head as they walked, ignoring the disapproving glare of his guard. "Told you I could clear the dungeon solo. You could've stayed back at the palace, you know. Could've hung out with Tim. I bet Tim needs a babysitter." He paused, then cast a sharp glare at his knight. "And, before you say anything about how you healed me, I didn't ask you to, yeah? That cut on my cheek would've made a really cool battle scar, but nooo, you just had to go and ruin it. And now I gotta look like a kid who fell off his pony, instead of the badass who took down a whole dungeon's worth of monsters, all by himself."

At least he had some cool scars goody-two-shoes over here couldn't heal. Hmph.

Granted, those were from his time as a street urchin, before his life had turned into the plot of a sh*tty novel. A disenfranchised kid whose potential was recognized by the king himself, now the second prince of the kingdom, inspiration to commoners all across the land, blah, blah, blah. Of course the official story had left out the detail that he'd been a petty criminal, stupid enough to try and steal from the king's entourage.

Plus, the courtiers and the nobles were all corrupt. The military was run by a bunch of greedy, power-hungry scum. But Jason? He was doing some good. Jason was out here killing monsters. Doing an actual service to the people.

He was a badass, and that was final. Even if he did have to deal with his knight hanging around him like a lost duckling.