The morning breeze blew gently through the branches of the wisteria covering the royal garden's gazebo, bringing with it the sweet scent of flowers and the distant whistle of carriages along the capital's avenues.
Redvers Wilder whom everyone at court, including the officers and princesses, simply called Wilder slid off his heavy silver steel mail gauntlets with a fluid motion. He placed them carefully on the dark wooden table, right beside Zhilian's mountains of paperwork, and let out a relaxed sigh. Then he turned toward Hayjin and, without asking permission or standing on ceremony, sat down on the edge of the stone bench, right beside the boy.
Hayjin stiffened instinctively, shifting a few centimeters away. His heavy, blocky gray iron greaves scraped against the stone. His hazel eyes scrutinized the knight with a blend of suspicion and paranoid defensiveness an automatic reaction for someone accustomed to being treated like trash.
Wilder, completely unbothered by that distrust, rested his elbows on his knees and turned to look Hayjin in the eyes with a warm, completely unpretentious expression.
"Listen, kid," Wilder began, his deep, clear voice resounding pleasantly in the garden's quiet. "I heard a lot about you when that nasty business went down inside the tower dungeon."
Hayjin tilted his head slightly, his bolo tie dangling against his black vest. "Oh yeah? And I guess they told you how useless I was, right? How I passed out from bile, or how I don't have even a crumb of mana."
Wilder shook his head slowly, a genuine smile curving his lips. "Far from it. They told me how you didn't back down when everything went south. How you shielded Princess Zhilian and put yourself between her and danger despite having no magic defenses or academic powers. I'll tell you with complete frankness: I'm truly proud of how you acted. You showed a kind of courage that many of our cadets in polished armor wouldn't even dream of."
Hayjin was caught entirely off guard. The words caught in his throat. Accustomed as he was to Riko's contemptuous stares, Isabelle's disdainful jabs, and the disgusted looks from the royal guards along the corridors, those compliments hit him like a cold shower.
He felt heat rush to his cheeks. Embarrassed, he scratched the back of his neck, running his fingers through his black and white streaks of hair.
"I... well... thank you, really," Hayjin muttered, his voice momentarily losing its usual sarcastic edge. He was pleasantly and deeply surprised that someone so genuinely kind and empathetic could exist inside this castle of stone and gold. "To be honest, I was expecting yet another lecture on etiquette or how I'm a non-noble breathing the same air as nobility."
Wilder chuckled, a hearty laugh that vibrated through the silver plates of his cuirass.
"Don't worry about how they look at you," Wilder said, giving him a friendly nudge on his vest-covered shoulder. "They're like that with everyone at first. This place is full of people hiding behind armors of pride and noble titles for fear of showing their own weaknesses. But I assure you, with time, they soften up. You just have to give them time to realize who you really are."
Hayjin raised an eyebrow, still a bit skeptical. "Easy for you to say. You're an elite knight in armor that gleams in the sun. I don't think people glare at you when you walk down the street."
Wilder paused briefly. His gaze grew slightly more nostalgic, drifting toward Wren, who was still trying to levitate her small grimoire a short distance away.
"You're mistaken, Hayjin," Wilder replied softly. "It wasn't a walk in the park for me at first, either. When I was assigned to Wren as her personal knight, the other nobles of Opes didn't look kindly on me at all. To them, I was just a northern provincial, an outsider from the border without a pedigree, undeserving of such a prestigious role."
Hayjin froze, struck by his words. "What do you mean... 'assigned'?" he asked, intrigued.
Wilder shifted on the edge of the bench, explaining patiently.
"I am Princess Wren's personal knight," the warrior revealed with a touch of pride in his voice. "It is an ancient tradition observed in every kingdom across the continent of Exilia. All knights who reach high rank are assigned directly to a princess or a specific member of the royal family, depending on how many princesses there are in the realm. Our duty isn't merely fighting the crown's wars; it is to become their shadow, their personal shield, and their guide when the weight of the throne grows too heavy."
Hayjin listened to the explanation in silence, taking in every single word. For the first time since being thrust into the castle after the dungeon, he began to feel a little better about himself. He realized that his visceral urge to protect Zhilian at all costs that impulse that had driven him to risk his life and endure hellish torment in the loops wasn't some foolish whim of a "mana-less weakling." It was something dignified, something even the strongest warriors in this world regarded as a sacred duty.
Wilder stretched his broad shoulders, his back popping beneath his silver breastplate. Then he turned back to Hayjin, his crimson-red eyes glowing with a sudden, enthusiastic spark.
"Tell you what, Hayjin... how about doing a bit of sword training with me?" the knight proposed, gesturing with a nod toward the level lawn of the garden. "Just a few light sparring passes, to stretch our legs and get the blood pumping. What do you say?"
Hayjin instantly tensed up. His social anxiety and sense of inferiority bobbed back to the surface like a cork in water. He looked down at his hands, then at his heavy iron greaves and the plain iron sword hanging from his belt.
"Um... me? Honestly, I don't know..." Hayjin stammered, visibly reluctant and uncomfortable. "I don't think it's a good idea, Wilder. I've never taken fancy swordsmanship lessons. I just know how to grip a piece of iron and swing wildly so monsters don't kill me. I'd only end up making a fool of myself in front of everyone."
Before Wilder could reply, Zhilian's voice called out from the paper-covered table.
The princess set her quill down on the wooden surface and turned to them with an encouraging smile on her still slightly pale face.
"Come on, Hayjin! Take him up on it!" Zhilian said, her voice warm and filled with genuine affection. "You can only benefit from Wilder showing you a few tricks. He's one of the best swordsmen in the kingdom. You'll see, taking your mind off dark thoughts for a while will do you good."
Hayjin looked at Zhilian, then shifted his gaze to Isabelle, who stood a short distance away with her hands folded behind her plum-purple cloak.
The small maid raised her right hand, brought her thumb and middle finger together, and delivered her signature sharp, disdainful finger flick outward.
"Hmph," Isabelle huffed, looking at the knight with her usual aristocratic haughtiness. "Mind you go easy on him, Wilder. He is still a mana-less plebeian who has only just recovered from a collapse. I would rather not have to scrape his remains off the lawn before lunch."
Wilder stood up. His imposing figure clad in silver armor towered over the bench. His warm smile from before vanished, replaced by a serious, solemn, and deeply professional expression.
"No," Wilder replied firmly, his voice cutting through the garden air. "I will not go easy on him."
At that blunt and unexpected response, Hayjin was left profoundly and disturbingly stunned.
His hazel eyes widened. A cold shiver raced down his spine as his paranoid mind scarred by years of isolation in his old world and the recent trauma of the loops and his own decapitation began to twist those words into the most painful, distorted interpretation possible.
"What... what did he say?" Hayjin thought, his heart starting to pound frantically against his ribs. "He won't go easy on me? Really?"
Wilder, noticing the boy's shocked expression, hastened to take a step forward, raising his open hands in a peace gesture to explain.
"Hayjin, please don't misunderstand me," Wilder said in a calm, reassuring tone. "I don't say that because I want to humiliate you or anything of the sort. Far from it! Going easy on you would be a deep mark of disrespect. Treating you like a fragile shell, pulling my punches, or letting you win just because you are an F-Class would be mocking you. I respect the courage you displayed in the dungeon, and for that exact reason, I will treat you like a true warrior on the field, regardless of your rank."
In Wilder's mind, those words were the highest tribute of esteem a knight could offer a comrade-in-arms.
But for Hayjin, they were nothing of the sort.
In the boy's mind ravaged by anxiety, inferiority, and paranoia those words sounded like yet another aristocratic provocation. He remembered the kids from his school back on Earth: well-off boys who used polite, formal language to tell him they didn't want him around or had no desire to associate with someone like him. It wasn't overt malice, but a subtle, hidden cruelty that appeared harmless on the surface yet caused him immense suffering within. He remembered the contemptuous stares of the castle guards, the snickers of nobles in the hallways, and the crushing feeling of being nothing more than a valueless toy to these people.
The notion that a knight in silver armor wanted to use him as a punching bag on the royal lawn, peddling that violence as "respect," made his blood boil.
A surge of blind, pure, uncontrollable rage exploded in Hayjin's chest.
"Disrespect?!" Hayjin hissed, bolting to his feet. His iron greaves clattered against the stone with a deafening thud.
Wilder stiffened, startled by that unpredictable reaction. "Hayjin, wait, I didn't mean..."
"Shut up! Shut your fucking mouth!" Hayjin screamed, his voice cracking with fury. His hazel eyes were bloodshot and filled with a rage-fueled despair that forced even the knight to take a step back.
"I almost fell for it for a second!" Hayjin continued to yell, pointing a trembling finger at him. "I really believed you were different! That you were actually a kind person! But you're just the same stuck-up, arrogant piece of garbage as the rest, only with smooth, golden words!"
"Hayjin, please, hear me out..." Wilder tried to interject, reaching out a hand.
"Don't touch me!" Hayjin snarled, slapping the knight's hand away with a sharp strike of his arm. "'I won't go easy out of respect'? Who the fuck do you think you're fooling?! You use these refined words and this fairytale-hero tone just to have an excuse to humiliate me on the lawn in front of everyone! To show the princesses how strong you are while beating up a poor bastard like me! You like an easy win, don't you?! Does beating up someone who can't defend himself with magic make you feel big?!"
The royal garden fell into a deathly, icy silence.
Zhilian and Isabelle watched without uttering a single word, frozen in their seats by the sudden violence of that outburst. Zhilian's lips parted, her golden eyes wide with shock as she watched the boy who had saved her shaking with rage and humiliation.
Isabelle froze with her hand halfway to her chin, her customary mask of superiority completely shattered before that raw, unchecked pain.
Only Wren found the strength to move. The little girl ran toward him, reaching out her small hands to grab his black vest.
"Hayjin! Please stop!" Wren whimpered, tears welling in her eyes. "Wilder didn't mean that! He's not mean, I swear! Please, calm down!"
Hayjin looked down at the little girl. For a moment, his expression softened, but the anger and suffocating feeling were far too overwhelming. He gently pried her grip loose, letting out a long, shaky breath.
"I have no intention of being anyone's laughingstock," Hayjin muttered hoarsely, his gaze fixed on the ground.
Without another word, he turned abruptly and marched briskly back into the royal palace, his iron greaves clattering against the pavement before slamming the heavy wooden door behind him with a deafening bang that reverberated throughout the garden.
The silence that followed the door's slam was as heavy as a boulder.
Wilder stood frozen in the middle of the lawn, his hands still hovering mid-air. He stared at the closed palace door, then down at his bare hands, and finally turned back toward the princesses' table.
The knight let out an immensely long, heavy sigh, letting his arms drop to his sides. His silver armor seemed to lose much of its brilliance.
"I am a complete fool..." Wilder said, his voice cracking with deep, sincere regret. He ran a hand through his thick blonde and red hair, shaking his head bitterly. "An absolute and utter fool. I spoke to him as if he were a cadet from the military academy, without considering what he went through down there and the pressure he is facing..."
Isabelle stepped forward. For the first time since Hayjin had met her, the small maid didn't perform any disdainful gesture with her fingers. Her expression was solemn, almost melancholic.
"Yes, you are right, Wilder," Isabelle confirmed, her tone unusually calm and devoid of arrogance. "You were reckless. People often carry wounds on their shoulders that cannot be seen with the eyes. Talking to him about 'challenges of honor' and 'not going easy' must have touched a far too painful nerve."
Isabelle glanced at the palace door, then turned to Wilder and Zhilian. "For now, it is best to leave Hayjin alone. He needs to vent his anger and process this. If we try to chase after him now, we will only make him withdraw even further into himself."
Zhilian nodded, in complete agreement. The princess rubbed her tired forehead, feeling an immense weight settle on her chest.
"Isabelle is right," Zhilian whispered, her voice muffled. "We must give him time."
But while the three adults agreed on a reasonable and cautious course of action, someone beside them disagreed entirely.
Wren, who had remained standing on the lawn with her fists clenched and tears streaming down her red cheeks, raised her head. Her golden eyes blazed with a pure, childish fury.
"Well, do you know what I say?!" the little princess screamed, stomping her foot on the ground so hard that a few magical sparks flared up from the grass. "Screw all of you! You, your etiquette, and your stupid grown-up talk!"
"Wren! Mind your language!" Isabelle tried to reprimand her, caught completely off guard.
But Wren didn't even listen. Dismissing them all with an angry wave of her hand, she spun around and sprinted at full speed toward the palace door to go help and comfort Hayjin, leaving the three adults alone in the garden, submerged beneath the weight of their own mistakes.