The streets had begun to thin as we moved away from the busiest avenues, drifting toward quieter corners of the capital. I'd polished off the last of my café snack a few minutes ago, some kind of pastry with cream filling that had been better than it had any right to be, and now my hands were stuffed in my pant pockets, matching pace beside Reinhard as the cobbled roads clicked gently underfoot.
Rein, of course, still looked like he'd just stepped out of a royal portrait. Regal, yet commanding. Meanwhile I probably looked like I'd rolled out of bed and decided good enough was good enough.
"You've got a good eye," he said thoughtfully, not for the first time that afternoon. His tone carried approval, which somehow made the compliment feel both encouraging and slightly embarrassing. "But if we're going to hone it properly, you'll need more than that. Observation without discipline is like a sword without a hilt, you'll end up cutting yourself before anyone else."
I smirked. "Is that your way of saying I need to start doing push-ups?"
"I was going to suggest morning drills," he replied with that earnest sincerity that made it impossible to tell if he was joking. "But yes, push-ups will do nicely."
Reinhard had just finished outlining the first week of training when we rounded another bend in the road, passing beneath a merchant's awning that cast striped shadows across the cobblestones.
"Three days on physical preparation," he said, ticking off points on his fingers like he was planning a military campaign rather than just getting me into shape. "One rest day. Then weapon drills." He nodded to himself, already visualizing the schedule. "We'll start with wooden swords, but I'll get you used to a real blade before long."
"Guess I better start stretching every morning," I muttered, already feeling phantom muscle aches. "Unless I want to die by day two."
"You'll thank me later," he said, grinning with confidence.
"I'll curse you first."
"Oh?" His grin widened, eyes glinting with mischief. "But unfortunately for you, my friend, I possess the Divine Protection of Anti-Magic."
I gave him a stunned look, the sheer deadpan delivery catching me completely off guard, before bursting out into laughter. He'd sounded just a little too goofy saying something like that with such a straight face, like he was announcing he had protection against stubbed toes or bad haircuts.
Then my eyes caught something.
The laughter died in my throat.
A man leaning near the edge of an alleyway, maybe twenty feet ahead and to our left. Nondescript at first glance, grey cloak, hood pulled low, hunched posture like someone nursing a hangover or just watching the foot traffic roll past without any real purpose.
But then...
His hand shifted.
Subtle, but wrong. This was no practiced pickpocket with smooth, confident movements. His thumb tapped once, twice against the hilt of something hidden under his coat. The motion was jerky, nervous. His jaw tensed, muscles working beneath stubbled skin. His eyes, what little I could see beneath the hood's shadow, locked onto someone in the crowd with laser focus.
I traced his gaze through the sea of people moving past.
A woman.
She walked arm-in-arm with a well-dressed man, their bodies angled toward each other in easy intimacy. Smiling. Laughing, maybe, from this distance I couldn't hear her over the chorus of voices and street vendors hawking their wares, but I could see her shoulders shaking slightly, head tilted back in what looked like amusement.
I watched as the cloaked man's hands tightened around the concealed hilt, knuckles going white. The timing was precise, mechanical, each squeeze synchronized with the woman's visible laughter. Silent rage radiating from him in waves I could almost feel.
Click
Reason and Judgment
Time slipped sideways. The world stretched into frozen silence, every moving piece suspended. Reinhard's foot hung mid-step beside me. A merchant's hand was caught halfway through gesturing at his wares. A child's thrown ball hung motionless three feet above the cobblestones.
And I could look.
I turned my full attention back to the man in the alley.
His boots weren't dusty despite standing in an alley that clearly saw little maintenance. That meant he'd been standing there recently, not wandering. His cuffs were frayed, threads hanging loose, old clothes, worn past their prime. The visible fabric of his shirt beneath the cloak looked wrinkled, stained. Clothes not cleaned recently.
What little hair I could see peeking from beneath his hood looked greasy, unkempt. Several days without washing, at least.
His appearance screamed desperation. This was a man who had lost everything. Perhaps not literally, he still had the cloak, the blade, his life, but figuratively enough that material possessions had stopped mattering.
His eyes remained deadlocked on her even in this frozen moment, the muscles around them tight with barely controlled emotion.
A small twitch at the corner of his mouth betrayed the rage masked behind forced calm. He was psyching himself up, working up the courage. Building to something. This wasn't random street violence or opportunistic crime.
This was personal.
Was this revenge?
Against the woman?
My focus shifted to her, analyzing with dull curiosity.
Blonde hair, clean and well-maintained, almost silky in appearance with how it caught and reflected the afternoon sunlight in golden highlights. She wore an emerald-green dress, the fabric fine quality, no fraying anywhere along the hems or seams. This dress was new, or at least very well cared for.
My gaze traced the rest of her form, cataloging details.
The woman's left hand caught my attention first. No ring adorned her finger, but the skin beneath her knuckle was noticeably lighter, a faded band where one had been worn for years. The tan line was distinct, unmistakable. Recently taken off, within the last few weeks at most.
Her hands showed light calluses along the palms and base of the fingers. Working-class origins, someone who'd labored with her hands. But the expensive clothes spoke otherwise, creating a contradiction. A recent change in circumstances? A new job with significantly more money? Or was the man holding her hand providing it?
The noble, if he was one, or perhaps simply a wealthy merchant, showed no visible family insignia or heraldry from where I stood.
He wore a well-tailored suit, grey with tasteful red accents at the collar and cuffs. White gloves hid his hands completely, the leather perfectly unmarred, either new, or simply only worn on special occasions when appearance mattered. His black leather boots were recently shined to a mirror finish, but closer inspection showed the heels were lightly worn down. Bought recently and worn frequently since. His new favorites, perhaps?
Irrelevant. I was getting distracted by details that didn't matter.
I needed to stop focusing on the peripheral information and actually do something about the situation that was clearly about to unfold here.
But what do I do?
'Well, Ethan,' I answered myself with forced calm, I think the answer should be rather clear. 'To your right stands the current Sword Saint of Lugunica, a rather lofty title that apparently came with equally lofty responsibilities. And while we may not fully understand the depths of his power yet, considering how thoroughly he thrashed us in that sparring session the other day, I'd say this would-be murderer doesn't stand a chance against him.'
Tell Reinhard. Let him handle it. Simple.
I stepped out of that frozen moment, time resuming its normal flow with a lurch.
Reinhard noticed me pause immediately, my sudden stillness breaking our easy rhythm. "Ethan?" he asked, voice quiet but instantly alert. His hand didn't move toward his sword, but his posture shifted.
"Rein," I said, keeping my voice low and fast. "We've got a situation developing. Left alley, guy with the grey cloak." I angled my head slightly in that direction without obviously pointing. "He's armed, concealing a dagger under the coat. He's after the woman with the noble, the blonde in green. Recently divorced based on her ring tan line, probably left him or cheated. He's planning to kill her."
The words came out with a subtle sense of detachment. Just facts, just observations.
Reinhard didn't ask how I knew.
Didn't question my certainty or demand proof or suggest I might be wrong.
He simply turned his head, those sharp blue eyes narrowing as they found the man in the alley, then tracking to the couple I'd quietly indicated, then back to assess the crowd and potential complications.
The look he gave me when his gaze returned spoke of complete trust. Zero hesitation in accepting what I'd spoken as truth, in believing my assessment of a situation he'd only just been made aware of.
He took a step forward, then paused. "Come," he said quietly, his voice taking on a different quality, still friendly, but underlaid with command. "Don't speak. We'll follow him for now, observe his movements. If he tries something, I'll apprehend him."
We moved with the crowd, blending in. Reinhard shifted his entire posture and presence, transforming before my eyes. No longer the open, affable knight who'd been cheerfully discussing training schedules, now just another tall man in a crowd, one whose every step was deliberate and measured.
The would-be killer didn't look back.
He followed the couple from a careful distance, never too close to be noticed, never too far to lose sight of his target. Just enough to keep eyes on her without drawing attention from the crowd. Professional spacing, or maybe just instinct born from obsessive planning.
The couple walked into a narrower side street, and I was surprised to find it busier than I'd expected. Merchants lined the walls on both sides, selling small trinkets from folding tables, woven charms, cheap herbs bundled with twine, skewers of grilled meat that filled the air with savory smoke. The perfect place to get lost in the crowd.
Or to make a move without being immediately noticed.
Reinhard's hand hovered near his side now, not touching his blade but ready. He didn't need to draw. With his speed, he just needed to be close enough.
The man stopped near a merchant's stall, pretending to examine a rack of worn bracelets with exaggerated interest. His fingers traced over the tarnished metal without really seeing them. His eyes never once moved from the couple as they continued down the street.
I leaned close to Reinhard and spoke before I could think better of it. "He's waiting for her to split off from her companion. If she goes anywhere alone, he'll move then."
After the words left my mouth, I immediately berated myself. 'No shit, Sherlock. This is Reinhard, the Sword Saint. He's probably dealt with hundreds of these situations. You're stating the obvious to an expert.'
But Rein didn't look patronized or offended at my unnecessary commentary. He simply nodded, voice barely above a whisper. "Then we won't let that happen."
We followed at a steady pace. Reinhard slipped further to the edge of the crowd with ease, circling slightly to put himself closer to the man's potential path of approach. I trailed half a step behind him, trying to look casual while my heart hammered against my ribs.
Then the moment came.
The man, new husband, or lover, hard to tell which, stopped to inspect something displayed in a shop window. His body angled toward the glass, attention momentarily diverted by whatever trinket or fabric had caught his eye.
The woman walked a few steps ahead, casually, obliviously. Now separated by three strides and a handful of wandering strangers who'd drifted between them. The distance looked innocent. Natural. Just a momentary gap in their connected path.
The cloaked man moved.
I felt it before I saw it, that shift in his center of gravity, the subtle lean forward that preceded action. The way his cloak drew tighter against his right side as his elbow pressed inward. His hand dropped toward his belt with sudden purpose, fingers reaching for the concealed blade.
Reinhard vanished.
Not literally, but fast enough that it felt like he'd stepped between heartbeats, slipping through the gaps in time itself. One moment he was beside me, the next he was simply gone, the space where he'd stood still holding the ghost of his presence.
The would-be killer reached for his dagger—
And stopped.
Because Reinhard was already beside him. As if he'd been standing there all along and the man had only just noticed. No sword drawn. No dramatic flourish or battle stance. Just a hand placed firmly on the man's wrist, gentle but absolutely immovable, and eyes that could've stopped a war mid-charge.
The man froze completely, his entire body going rigid. His fingers were still inches from the dagger's hilt, suspended in the act of drawing.
"Don't," Reinhard said softly, his voice barely audible over the street's ambient noise."It's not worth it."
The woman never noticed. She kept walking, her blonde hair swaying with each step, laughing at something over her shoulder, some joke or comment her companion had made before stopping. The nobleman caught up seconds later, placing a hand on the small of her back with familiar ease, steering her gently onward toward whatever shop or destination they'd been heading for.
They passed by, oblivious to the violence that had almost reached out for them. Unaware that death had been three seconds and ten feet away.
Reinhard guided the would-be killer away from the main street with that same gentle-but-unyielding grip, angling him toward a narrow gap between buildings where they'd have relative privacy.
I followed quietly, my heart pounding harder now than it had during the actual intervention. More from the adrenaline of watching everything click into place exactly as predicted than from any real sense of danger. The threat had been neutralized so smoothly, so effortlessly, that it felt almost anticlimactic.
"I wasn't going to do anything," the man muttered, but there was no strength behind the lie. His voice came out hollow, defeated. He didn't even sound like he believed it himself.
Reinhard's expression remained calm, understanding without being permissive. "I believe you mean that now," he said, his tone gentle. "But you didn't believe it five seconds ago."
The man's hand trembled where Reinhard still held his wrist.
"I loved her." The words came out broken, barely more than a whisper.
Reinhard's expression softened just slightly. "Then honor that love by not turning it into something else," he said quietly. "Something worse. Something you can never take back."
The man didn't respond immediately. Just sagged, the weight of the act he hadn't committed pressing down on him like he'd done it anyway. Like the intention alone was enough to crush him.
His shoulders slumped, the rigid tension draining away. Rage melted into something smaller, weaker, regret, maybe. Or just emptiness.
Reinhard released his wrist slowly. Then, in one smooth motion, he confiscated the concealed dagger, slipping it free from the man's belt and tucking it into his own. "You need to come with us," he said gently, but there was no room for refusal in his tone. This wasn't a request.
The man didn't resist. Couldn't, really. The fight had gone out of him completely.
Reinhard turned to me, his expression easy and composed like we'd just finished a pleasant stroll. "Come. We'll deliver him to the guard station. They'll know how best to proceed."
"Yeah," I said, still feeling a little breathless despite not having done anything physical. "Shouldn't be hard to spot, right? Guard station, I mean."
"Not in the slightest," he said with a warm smile that seemed at odds with the situation but somehow fit perfectly. "Most major plazas have one nearby for quick response. And given our current location, we're likely quite close to the City Guard's main headquarters."
He gave the man a nudge soft nudge, and we moved, forming a small procession through the side street back toward the main thoroughfare.
As we walked, the crowd seemed to part for us. Some people eyed the subdued man with curiosity, piecing together what must have happened. Others were now finally recognizing Reinhard, I caught the widening eyes, the whispered "Is that the Sword Saint?" and quietly stepping aside with hasty bows and respectful nods. The weight of his presence worked better than chains or handcuffs ever could.
I kept glancing at the guy as we walked. No more resistance. No last-ditch efforts to bolt or fight or plead his case. Just someone who'd completely given up.
It struck me as strange. Back in America, if someone wasn't actively cuffed or restrained? Many would bolt at the first opportunity. No question. Take your chances running, hope the cops were slow or distracted.
'Guess Reinhard's presence alone is enough,' I thought, studying the way people unconsciously gave him space. 'A living deterrent. Who's going to run from the Sword Saint? Where would you even go?'
I glanced away from the crowd that had gathered to watch in quiet awe, some pointing, some whispering behind cupped hands, and back to my friend walking beside me.
He hadn't needed to question my word. Could've hesitated, asked for more evidence, waited for actual proof before acting. Could've dismissed my observation as paranoia or overreaction from someone who didn't know this world's customs.
But he didn't.
He believed me. Instantly and completely.
And together, we'd stopped something terrible before it could start.
That felt... good. Both being trusted so implicitly, and having prevented a tragedy before it could unfold. Like I'd actually done something meaningful with the strange abilities I'd been given.
—
Escorting our prisoner down the main road didn't take long. And Rein had been absolutely right about the guard station, it stood out prominently even in a city this packed. Hard to miss something as deliberately official-looking.
The guard station rose tall and structured at the edge of the eastern market district, its stone walls solid and imposing. Royal banners bearing Lugunica's crest, a golden dragon on a field of red, fluttered faintly in the afternoon wind.
Inside, the atmosphere shifted immediately. The calm hum of military discipline echoed off polished stone floors. Boots stepped in precise rhythm as patrols changed shifts. Commands were given and received with crisp efficiency, no wasted words or casual conversation.
All of that seemed to hush as Reinhard entered, like someone had turned down the volume on the entire building.
The would-be murderer shuffled forward under Reinhard's guiding hand, his head drooping in silent acceptance of whatever fate awaited him. No fight left. No defiance. Just tired resignation.
At the heart of the station's controlled chaos stood a man dressed in the full royal knight uniform, the same formal style Reinhard had worn yesterday at the manor. A more elaborate, ceremonially embellished version of the simpler white coats we were wearing now.
This Royal Guard radiated polish from every angle. Perfect military posture, spine straight as a sword blade. Violet hair groomed to absolute fault, not a strand out of place. His uniform was pristine, no dust, no wrinkles, every button and buckle gleaming. He was mid-conversation with a junior officer, gesturing at what looked like patrol assignments on a nearby board.
But the moment his eyes met Reinhard's across the station floor, his words trailed off mid-sentence. His expression softened from professional severity into something caught between genuine amusement and warm curiosity.
"Reinhard," he greeted, tone polite but touched with familiarity. The kind of voice you used for a respected colleague you actually liked. "I had not expected you today. Has duty chased you down even on your designated day off?"
"Good afternoon, Julius," Reinhard replied easily, gesturing lightly toward me at his side. "It would seem so. Even when not officially on duty, I tend to find trouble." A slight smile. "Or perhaps it finds me."
Julius's sharp eyes shifted to me immediately, taking in my presence with clear interest. I met his gaze, offering a half-smile, unsure what to expect from this obviously high-ranking knight who radiated competence.
There was a pause. His gaze tracked across my outfit with obvious recognition: the matching white coat, the Astrea family crest embroidered on the chest. His eyebrows ticked upward just a fraction, subtle surprise breaking through his controlled expression.
"I see," he said, tone still pleasant and professional, but now distinctly laced with intrigue. "And who, may I ask, is your companion?"
"This is Ethan Caldwell," Reinhard said warmly, placing a hand lightly on my shoulder in a gesture of both introduction and endorsement. "A new friend. We met yesterday."
Julius blinked once, his composure flickering. "Yesterday," he repeated, the single word carrying layers of unspoken questions. He muttered it almost to himself.
But he quickly and smoothly shook himself free of whatever shock he felt, his professional mask sliding back into place. Placing a hand over his heart in formal greeting, he straightened further, somehow, and his voice rose slightly, taking on an almost noble, ceremonial tone.
"My name is Julius Juukulius, royal knight of Lugunica. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Ethan Caldwell." He finished with a precise, respectful bow in my direction, the motion practiced and elegant.
'Well, respect begets respect, right?' I thought, scrambling to remember proper etiquette. 'Don't embarrass yourself. Don't embarrass Reinhard.'
"Likewise, Sir Julius," I replied, doing my best to match his formal tone. I executed my own bow, not as smooth or practiced as his. "The honor is mine."
'I feel like a noble or something...' The thought came with equal parts amusement and surreal disbelief.
While we exchanged pleasantries, Reinhard was already smoothly nudging the cloaked man toward a pair of waiting guards who'd appeared at some unspoken signal. They took custody of the prisoner without hesitation or question, clearly well-used to the Sword Saint occasionally swinging by with apprehended criminals in tow.
Reinhard turned back to us with an easy smile, watching Julius and me get properly acquainted. "He's staying at the Astrea estate," he added, providing context that made Julius's eyebrows rise another fraction. "I've been giving him a tour of the capital today."
For a second, Julius seemed to turn that information over carefully, his gaze drifting back to me with new attention. His expression didn't change overtly, but something in the way he held himself shifted.
"And you've already given him access to your tailor," Julius observed, a note of dry humor entering his voice as he gave a subtle nod toward our matching outfits.
"I've seen the potential Ethan possesses," Reinhard said, his tone calm and absolutely certain. "He's expressed a genuine desire to stand with us as a knight, in service to the kingdom. I'm honored that he's chosen to place his trust in me... and in my family."
That statement earned Julius's full attention.
His gaze locked onto me with renewed intensity, measured, composed, and sharper than any blade hanging at his side. It wasn't cruel or mocking. But it was exact. Calculating. Like he was weighing everything about me at once: my posture, my expression, the way I held myself under scrutiny, searching for cracks or deception or weakness.
This was a test I hadn't known I was taking.
And in that moment, I almost—
No.
I wouldn't look away. Wouldn't flinch.
Click
Reason and Judgment
Time froze mid-breath.
Julius stood like a statue of discipline made flesh, every inch of him radiating controlled precision. His amber eyes were judging who I was beneath the surface. Beneath the posture I'd adopted, the borrowed clothes, the polish of Astrea colors I wore without having earned them.
I could see it clearly now in this frozen moment: the assessment happening behind those sharp eyes.
I wasn't from this world. Didn't have the background or context everyone else took for granted.
I didn't have a soldier's build, not yet, anyway. Still too soft around the edges, too obviously civilian in how I moved.
I didn't have noble lineage or family connections beyond Reinhard's inexplicable faith in me.
I had no achievements to point to, no proven service record, nothing but one prevented murder and Reinhard's word.
To Julius's experienced eye, I probably looked like a charity case. Or a liability waiting to happen.
But...
I'd saved a life today. Spotted something no one else had noticed and prevented a tragedy.
And I didn't need to flinch under anyone's gaze for that.
I let time slip from my grasp, releasing Reason and Judgment.
The world resumed its normal flow.
My spine straightened without conscious thought, muscle memory from the Authority's influence carrying over. I met Julius's measuring gaze directly, holding eye contact without aggression but without submission either.
I didn't blink. Didn't look away. Didn't fidget or shift my weight nervously.
Just stood there and let him see whatever he was looking for.
Reinhard, ever the steady anchor beside me, spoke into the weighted silence. "Ethan is the reason that man didn't commit murder in broad daylight today."
Julius went completely still. For a beat, his expression was utterly unreadable, but then something broke. A subtle easing around his eyes. A softening of his jaw. A flicker of warmth breaking through the noble facade like sun through clouds.
"I see," he said, his voice dropping to a lower, more genuine register. "Well then, Ethan..."
He gave a small but unmistakably respectful bow of his head.
"You have my thanks. And my respect."
He let the silence hang just long enough to feel intentional, the weight of those words settling between us. Then he continued, his voice taking on a shade more thoughtfulness, less formality.
"I understand you wish to join the knight order," he said carefully. "That is no small ambition to hold."
His eyes met mine again, steadier now but not cold. Evaluating still, but with something closer to interest than skepticism.
"It's a path that demands complete dedication," he continued, each word measured. "Discipline. Integrity. And no shortage of hardship along the way. The royal knights are expected to serve as the nation's shield and sword, not just in strength of arms, but in strength of character. We are judged not only by our combat prowess but by our conduct, our decisions, our willingness to sacrifice for those we protect."
There was no accusation in his tone. No dismissiveness or condescension. Only honesty delivered by someone who had walked that path himself and knew exactly how difficult it was. A kind of tempered caution from someone who'd seen many hopeful candidates come and go, witnessed more failures than successes.
"But if your resolve matches your stated intentions..." A small, almost warm smile touched his lips. "And if Reinhard sees potential in you worth cultivating..."
He paused deliberately.
"Then I'll be watching your progress with interest."
That last line landed heavier than I expected, settling into my chest with unexpected weight. It wasn't a threat. Wasn't dismissal disguised as politeness.
It was simply the truth from a man who took his role seriously enough to measure others by the same exacting standards he held himself to.
Julius inclined his head one final time in polite farewell, then turned away with military precision. He was already calling for a status report from one of the stationed guards nearby, voice shifting back to crisp command. Just like that, he returned to duty, our conversation filed away and his attention refocused on his responsibilities.
Reinhard and I stepped back out into the bright afternoon sunlight a moment later, the heavy wooden doors of the guard station swinging shut behind us with a solid thunk.
For a while, neither of us spoke. We just walked, letting the familiar rhythm of our footsteps fill the silence.
Then, as we moved back into the living pulse of the capital, merchants calling out their wares, children laughing, the constant background hum of city life, I exhaled slow and deep. Like I'd been holding my breath since the moment Julius first locked eyes with me and hadn't realized it until now.
"...That guy doesn't mess around," I muttered, reaching up to rub at the back of my neck where tension had knotted the muscles. "Like, at all."
Reinhard chuckled softly beside me, the sound warm and genuinely amused. "No, he certainly doesn't. Julius takes his duties very seriously." A pause, then: "But you handled yourself well. Better than most would have."
"I felt like my spine was about to tap out and surrender for a second there," I admitted with a self-deprecating laugh. "But yeah... I stayed standing."
Reinhard's smile widened with what looked like genuine pride. His hand came to rest lightly on my shoulder as we walked, the gesture both friendly and grounding. "You did. And that matters more than you might think."
And just like that, the lingering tension melted away like morning frost under sunlight.
The streets were still buzzing with afternoon life, vendors haggling, couples strolling arm-in-arm, mercenaries fresh from the gates comparing their hauls. But the weight that had settled on my shoulders inside that guard station was already beginning to fade, replaced by something lighter.
Accomplishment, maybe. Or just relief that I hadn't completely embarrassed myself in front of someone who clearly mattered in Reinhard's world.
We walked on together, and for the first time since arriving in this strange new reality, I felt like maybe I could actually belong here.