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, 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.
"You've got a good eye," he said thoughtfully, not for the first time. "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. But yes, push-ups will do."
Reinhard had just finished outlining the first week of training when we rounded another bend in the road.
"Three days on physical prep. One rest day. Then weapon drills," he said, nodding to himself. "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 unless I want to die by day two."
"You'll thank me later," he said, grinning.
"I'll curse you first."
We shared a light laugh, the kind that felt easy, like it belonged in our routine. We were just two guys walking through the capital, talking about tomorrow like it was ours to plan.
Then my eyes caught something.
A man leaning near the edge of an alleyway. Nondescript at first glance, cloak, hood, hunched posture like someone nursing a hangover or just watching the foot traffic roll past. But then…
His hand shifted.
Subtle, but rough, this was no practiced pickpocket. His thumb tapped once, twice, against the hilt of something hidden under his coat. His jaw tensed. His eyes locked onto someone in the crowd.
I traced his gaze into the sea of people.
A woman.
She walked with a well-dressed man, linked arm-in-arm. Smiling. Laughing, maybe. From this distance, I couldn't hear her over the chorus of voices, but I saw it. I watched as the cloaked man's hands tightened around the hilt in sequence with the lady's laughs. Silent rage.
I didn't think.
Click
Reason and Judgement.
Time slipped. The world stretched into frozen silence.
I looked back at the man in the alley. His boots weren't dusty. His cuffs, frayed, old. Clothes not cleaned recently. What little hair I could see from beneath his cloak looked greasy, unkempt.
His appearance screamed that this was a man who had lost everything. Perhaps not literally, but figuratively enough.
His eyes were deadlocked on her.
A small twitch at the corner of his mouth, rage masked behind calm. He was psyching himself up. This wasn't random.
Was this revenge?
Against the woman?
My focus snapped to her.
Blonde hair, clean, almost silky appearance with how it shone in the afternoon sun, a nice emerald-green dress, the fabric wasn't frayed anywhere, this dress was new, my gaze traced the rest of her form.
The woman's hand caught my attention first. No ring, but the skin beneath her knuckle was lighter, a faded band where one had been. She had worn it for years.
Recently taken off.
Hands showed light calluses; she was a working-class lady, but the clothes spoke otherwise. A new job with more money, or is the man holding her hand providing it?
The noble, if he was one, perhaps simply a wealthy merchant, no visible insignia from where I stood.
He wore a well-tailored suit, grey with red accents, white gloves hid his hands, perfectly unmarred leather, though, new, or simply only worn on occasion? His black leather boots were recently shined, but the heels looked to be lightly worn, bought recently and worn a good bit, his new favorite?
Irrelevant, I need to stop focusing on the distraction, and do something about the situation that is clearly about to unfold here.
But what do I do?
Well, Ethan, I think the answer should be rather clear, to your right stands the current Sword Saint of Lugunica, a rather lofty title, and while we may not fully understand the depths of his power, with how thoroughly he thrashed us in that spar the other day, I'd say this would-be murderer doesn't stand a chance against him.
I stepped out of that frozen moment.
Reinhard noticed me pause. "Ethan?" he asked, quiet but alert.
"Rein," I said, low and fast. "We've got a situation. Left alley, guy with the grey cloak and dagger. He's after the woman with the noble. Recently divorced, maybe cheated on him. He's planning to kill her."
Reinhard didn't ask how I knew.
He simply turned his head, eyes narrowing on the man and then the couple I quietly pointed out, then back to me.
The look he gave me spoke of trust, zero hesitation in accepting what I spoke of as truth. He took a step forward, then paused, "Come, don't speak, we'll follow him for now, if he tries something, I'll apprehend him."
We moved with the crowd, blending in. Reinhard shifted his posture, no longer the open, affable knight beside me, now just another tall man in a crowd, one whose every step was deliberate.
The would-be killer didn't look back.
He followed the couple from a distance, never too close, never too far. Enough to keep eyes on her. Not enough to draw attention.
The couple walked into a narrower side street, busier than I expected. Merchants lined the walls, selling small trinkets, skewers of grilled meat, woven charms, and cheap herbs. The perfect place to get lost or make a move.
Reinhard's hand hovered near his side. Not on his blade, just ready. He didn't need to draw. He just needed to be close.
The man stopped near a stall, pretending to examine a rack of worn bracelets. His eyes never once moved from the couple.
I leaned close and spoke before I could think better of it. "He's waiting for her to split off. If she goes anywhere alone, he'll move."
After I spoke, I immediately berated myself, 'No shit Sherlock, this is Reinhard, he's probably dealt with hundreds of these losers.'
But Rein didn't look patronized or offended at my unnecessary comment, he simply nodded, "Then we won't let that happen."
We followed at a steady pace. Reinhard slipped further to the edge of the crowd, circling slightly to put himself closer to the man's potential path. I trailed half a step behind.
Then the moment came.
The man, new husband, or lover, stopped to inspect something in a window. The woman walked a few steps ahead, casually, obliviously, now separated by three strides and a few wandering strangers.
The man moved.
I felt it before I saw it, the shift in his center of gravity, the way his cloak drew tighter against his side. His hand dropped toward his belt.
Reinhard vanished.
Not literally, just fast enough that it felt like he stepped between seconds.
The man reached for his dagger, and stopped.
Because Reinhard was already beside him. No sword drawn. No dramatic pose. Just a hand on the man's wrist and eyes that could've stopped a war.
The man froze.
"Don't," Reinhard said softly. "It's not worth it."
The woman never noticed. She kept walking, laughing at something over her shoulder. The nobleman caught up seconds later, placing a hand on her back, steering her gently onward.
Reinhard guided the would-be killer away from the main street.
I followed quietly, heart pounding, more from the adrenaline of seeing it all click into place than any real danger.
"I wasn't going to do anything," the man muttered, but there was no strength behind the lie.
Reinhard's voice remained calm. "I believe you mean that now. But you didn't believe it five seconds ago."
The man's hand trembled. Not from fear, from loss. From grief.
"I loved her."
Reinhard's expression softened just slightly. "Then honor that love by not turning it into something else. Something worse."
The man didn't respond. Just sagged, the weight of the act he hadn't committed pressing down like he had.
The man's shoulders slumped, rage melting into something smaller, weaker, regret, maybe. Or just emptiness.
Reinhard released his wrist with care, not dismissiveness, but precision and swiftly disarmed his dagger. "You need to come with us," he said gently, but there was no room for refusal in his tone.
The man didn't resist. Couldn't.
Reinhard turned to me. "Come. We'll deliver him to the guard station, they'll know how best to proceed."
"Yeah," I said, still a little breathless. "Shouldn't be hard to spot, right?"
"Not in the slightest," he said with a warm smile. "Most major plazas have one nearby. And given our location, we're likely quite close to the City Guard's main headquarters."
He gave the man a nudge. Not rough. Just firm. Then we moved.
As we walked, the crowd seemed to part for us, some people eyeing the subdued man, others now finally recognizing Reinhard and quietly stepping aside. The weight of his presence worked better than chains.
I kept glancing at the guy. No more resistance. No last-ditch efforts. Just someone who realized what he'd almost done and had given up.
It struck me as strange. Back in America, if someone wasn't cuffed? Many would bolt. No question.
But not here.
'Guess Reinhard's presence alone is enough. A living deterrent.'
I glanced away from the crowd that was silently watching in awe and back to my friend.
He hadn't needed to act on my word. He could've hesitated. Questioned. Waited for proof.
But he didn't.
He believed me. Instantly.
And together, we stopped something before it started.
That felt… good, both to be trusted and to have prevented a tragedy before it unfolded.
Escorting our prisoner down the road didn't take long. And Rein had been right, it stood out. Hard to miss something that official-looking, even in a city this packed.
The guard station stood tall and structured at the edge of the eastern market, its banners bearing the kingdom's crest fluttered faintly in the wind. Inside, the calm hum of discipline echoed off the stone, boots stepping in rhythm, commands given and received with crisp precision.
All of that seemed to hush as Reinhard entered.
The would-be murderer shuffled forward under Reinhard's gaze. His head drooped in silent acceptance of his fate.
At the heart of the station's-controlled chaos stood a man dressed in the full royal knight uniform, the same style Reinhard had worn yesterday. A more formal, embellished version of what we were wearing now.
The Royal Guard radiated polish. Perfect posture. Violet hair groomed to a fault. His uniform pristine. He was mid-conversation with a junior officer, but the moment his eyes met Reinhard's, his words trailed off, and his expression softened into something caught between amusement and curiosity.
"Reinhard," he greeted, tone polite but touched with warmth. "I had not expected you today. Has duty chased you even on your day off?"
"Good afternoon, Julius, it would seem so," Reinhard replied, gesturing lightly to me at his side. "Even off duty, I tend to find trouble. Or maybe it finds me."
Julius's eyes shifted to me. I met his gaze, half-smiling, unsure what to expect.
There was a pause, brief, thoughtful. He took in the outfit, the matching white coat, the Astrea crest. His brows ticked up, just a hair.
"I see," he said, tone still pleasant, but now laced with subtle intrigue. "And who, may I ask, is your companion?"
"This is Ethan Caldwell," Reinhard said, placing a hand lightly on my shoulder. "A new friend. We met yesterday."
Julius blinked. "Yesterday." He muttered, but quickly and lightly shook himself of his shock.
Placing a hand over his heart, he properly greeted me, his voice rising and taking on an almost noble tone, "My name is Julius Juukulius, royal knight of Lugunica. It's a pleasure to meet you, Ethan Caldwell." He finished with a light bow in my direction.
'Well, respect begets respect, right?'
"Likewise, Sir Julius," and I finished with my own little bow to him.
'I feel like a noble or something…'
While we exchanged pleasantries, Reinhard was already nudging the cloaked man toward a pair of waiting guards. They took him without hesitation, clearly used to Reinhard swinging by with criminals in tow.
He turned back to us with a smile, watching the two of us get acquainted. "He's staying at the estate," Reinhard added. "I've been giving him a tour of the capital."
For a second, Julius seemed to turn that over, his gaze drifting back to me, reading between the lines. His expression didn't change, but something in the way he held himself did. Not suspicion. Just… attention, curiosity.
"And you've already given him your tailor," Julius said, a note of dry humor in his voice as he gave a subtle nod to the matching outfits.
"I've seen the potential Ethan has," Reinhard said, calm and certain. "He's expressed a genuine desire to stand with us, as knights, in service to the kingdom. I'm honored that he's chosen to place his trust in me… and in my family."
That earned me Julius's full attention.
His gaze locked onto me, measured, composed, and sharper than any blade at his side. It wasn't cruel. It wasn't mocking. But it was exact. Calculating. Like he was weighing everything about me at once.
And in that moment, I almost—
No.
I wouldn't look away.
Click
Reason and Judgment.
Time froze.
Julius stood like a statue of discipline made flesh. Every inch of him carried control. His eyes weren't just watching me, they were judging who I was beneath the posture, the clothes, the borrowed polish of Astrea colors.
I wasn't from this world.
I didn't have a soldier's build.
I didn't have a noble lineage.
But I wasn't ashamed of that anymore.
I'd saved a life today. And I didn't need to flinch under anyone's gaze for it.
I let time slip from my grasp.
The world resumed.
My spine straightened without thinking. I met Julius's gaze directly.
I didn't blink. I didn't flinch.
Reinhard, ever the steady anchor, spoke next. "Ethan's the reason that man didn't commit murder today."
Julius went still. For a beat, his expression was unreadable, too polished, too composed. But then it shifted. A subtle easing of the eyes. A softening of the jaw. A flicker of warmth breaking through the noble facade.
"I see," he said, voice lower now. "Well, Ethan…"
He gave a faint bow of his head.
"You have my thanks. And my respect."
He let the silence hang just long enough to feel intentional, then continued, his voice a shade more thoughtful.
"I understand you wish to join the knight order," he said. "That is no small ambition."
His eyes met mine again, steadier now, but not cold.
"It's a path that demands complete dedication. Discipline. Integrity. And no shortage of hardship. The royal knights are expected to serve as the nation's shield and sword, not just in strength, but in character."
There was no accusation in his tone, no disbelief, only honesty. A kind of tempered caution from someone who had seen many come and go.
"But if your resolve matches your intentions… and if Reinhard sees potential in you…" He gave a small smile. "Then I'll be watching your progress with interest."
That last line landed heavier than I expected.
It wasn't a threat, nor a dismissal, it was the truth from a man who took his role seriously enough to measure others by the same standard.
Julius inclined his head one final time, then turned away, already calling for a report from one of the stationed guards nearby. Just like that, he returned to duty.
Reinhard and I stepped out into the sunlight a moment later, the doors of the guard station swinging shut behind us.
For a while, neither of us spoke.
Then, as we moved back into the pulse of the capital, I exhaled slow and deep, like I'd been holding my breath since Julius first looked at me.
"…That guy doesn't mess around," I muttered, rubbing at the back of my neck.
Reinhard chuckled softly beside me. "No, he doesn't. But you handled yourself well."
"I felt like my spine was about to tap out for a second there. But yeah… I stayed standing."
Reinhard smiled, his hand resting lightly on my shoulder as we walked. "You did."
And just like that, the tension melted.
The streets were still buzzing with life, but the weight that had settled on my shoulders at the station was already beginning to fade.