Chapter 13: Knights and Old Ghosts
The morning air was crisp and smelled faintly of honeyed bread from the baker's stall tucked beside the cobblestone alleyway. Golden sunlight danced on rooftops, and the quiet murmur of the town waking up felt oddly dignified—as if even the pigeons knew that this part of the city belonged to people who read their way through life rather than fought it.
Brian felt… out of place.
Not in the "wearing-your-armour-to-a-dinner-party" kind of way (he'd done that before—once), but in a subtler sense. The people here walked like they had time. Their steps were soft, their backs straight, their fingers ink-stained and uncalloused. It wasn't like the rough parts of the city where men spoke with their fists and children carried knives sharper than their teeth.
And here he was, escorting two little noble girls to school.
"Brian, how much farther?" Ure asked, trying to balance a tiny satchel that was almost as big as she was.
"Are we late?" Kuuderika added, tugging on his coat. "We can't be late. Teacher says nobles should never be late."
Brian gave a tired chuckle. "We've got ten minutes. And I could get you there in two if I carried you."
Both girls grinned. "No!" they shouted together. "We're grown-ups now!"
Brian gave a half-smile. Truth was, he didn't know why he'd agreed to bring them. Arche had looked him in the eye—those cool, pale eyes of hers—and simply said, "I can't trust just anyone to protect them on the road." And that was that.
He was used to swords, not satchels. But something about the twins—small, cheerful, curious—had stirred a strange instinct in him. Not quite brotherly. Not quite fatherly.
Just protective.
As they turned the corner by a stone statue of some long-dead scholar, Brian spotted something that made him stop short.
A company of soldiers, iron-clad and gold-crested, moving through the main road with steady discipline. The emblem on their armor shone in the morning light—the royal crest of Re-Estize.
At their head rode a man with a presence that cut through the quiet like a sword through silk.
Gazef Stronoff.
The Warrior-Captain.
Brian nearly turned away.
He didn't like being remembered. The past had too many scars for comfort. And someone like Gazef—honourable, noble, shining like some storybook hero—probably wouldn't even recognize a washed-up swordsman like him.
But Gazef's eyes swept the street once—and locked on Brian instantly.
And then, to Brian's utter surprise, the Captain smiled.
"Brian?" he called, swinging down from his horse with the fluid grace of someone born in a battlefield.
Brian straightened awkwardly. "Didn't think you'd remember me."
Gazef reached him in three strides and clasped his forearm with a strong, genuine grip.
"How could I forget?" he said. "The man who trained beside me at the Red Sand Arena? You nearly took my arm off in that spar, remember?"
"I remember you knocking me out cold," Brian muttered, but there was a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
Ure and Kuuderika peeked from behind Brian, wide-eyed.
Gazef turned to them with a kind expression. "And who are these noble-looking young ladies?"
"I'm Ure," one said.
"And I'm Kuuderika," the other piped in. "And Brian's our knight!"
Brian nearly choked.
Gazef laughed, a rich, warm sound that startled a few of his men. "A knight, is it? Seems like you've found yourself a new calling."
Brian rubbed the back of his neck. "Just making sure they get to school in one piece."
Gazef's expression softened as he looked at the girls—then at Brian again.
"There's honour in that too, old friend."
And for a brief moment, Brian felt taller. Not because of pride, but because someone had looked at him—not as a relic of a forgotten duel—but as someone still worthy.
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"Since we're in the middle of rounds," Gazef said, pulling his gauntlet back on with a practiced snap, "we'll have to catch up properly another time. I'll be in the city for a while—royal business and such." He gave Brian a wink. "So unless you vanish again like a ghost in the mountains, we'll find time."
Brian smirked, though he tried to hide it. "I don't vanish. I just… drift."
Gazef laughed again and turned back to his men, issuing a few sharp commands with the ease of someone who'd lived more in armor than out of it. His soldiers moved like water flowing around a stone—precise, practiced, and utterly loyal.
But just before he mounted his horse, Gazef gave one last look back.
"Brian," he said, voice lower now, so only he could hear. "It's good to see you doing something worth more than a blade. But if you ever feel the weight again—the urge to fight for something—I'll have a place for you."
Then he was gone, hooves clattering over cobblestone as the squad disappeared around the bend like a dream leaving morning light.
For a long second, Brian stood silent.
"...You knew the Captain?" Ure said, eyes wide.
Kuuderika gave Brian a sideways glance. "You're more than just our knight, aren't you?"
Brian scratched his beard awkwardly. "I used to be something, yeah."
He didn't say what. He didn't need to. The glint in Gazef's eyes, the strength in his words—it had spoken volumes.
But as the girls tugged his sleeves again, the tension in his shoulders melted.
"Come on," he said, adjusting Ure's slipping satchel. "Let's get you two to your book fortress."
And they went on.
The school was nestled at the edge of the noble quarter—a stately old building wrapped in ivy, its stone towers curving like the arms of an old scholar offering a warm hug. Children chattered on the steps, dressed in crisp tunics and polished shoes, their laughter floating up like sparrows.
The twins hesitated on the threshold, their small hands tightening around Brian's.
He knelt down between them. "You'll be fine," he said, voice gruff but gentle. "Books might be heavy, but they don't bite. And if anyone gives you trouble... just remember, you've got a knight waiting outside."
Both girls giggled, but they hugged him anyway—quick and fierce, like only children can.
Then, with a mixture of nerves and excitement, they ran off toward the entrance, their blonde hair catching the sunlight as they vanished through the great oak doors.
Brian watched them go, hands in his pockets.
He hadn't expected his morning to feel like a chapter from someone else's story.
But somehow, he didn't mind being in this one.
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Gazef Stronoff watched Brian's retreating back with a half-smile tugging at the corner of his scarred lips. He'd always known Brian wouldn't vanish so easily—not a man like that. Men like Brian were iron beneath the rust, stone beneath the moss. Even when they disappeared, they never truly went away.
He adjusted the hilt of his blade at his hip as his horse snorted beneath him. The city streets of E-Rantel bustled with the usual midday life—merchants shouting prices, children darting between carriages, and cloaked adventurers slipping through crowds with practiced grace.
But the shadows had teeth now.
"Sir Gazef?" one of his younger men asked, trotting up beside him on a lean gelding, a scroll in hand. "A report from the scouts. Another hamlet was hit last night—burned down, livestock taken, survivors... minimal."
Gazef's jaw clenched, though he kept his expression as neutral as a stone statue. He took the scroll and read it quickly, eyes narrowing.
King Ramposa III had tasked him with more than just ceremonial sword-waving and courtly appearances. There were wolves in the Kingdom's woods—imperial knights dressed in the colors of Baharuth, hitting vulnerable settlements along the borders. Whether they were official soldiers or rogue factions, it didn't matter. People were dying. That was reason enough for Gazef.
The war with the Baharuth Empire had always been a subtle one—sprawling skirmishes across no-man's-land, where the lines on maps blurred like ink in the rain. E-Rantel, the great city caught between the Kingdom and Empire, was the prize, and both nations wanted the crown upon its head.
No wonder mercenaries and adventurers flocked here like crows to a battlefield. Where there was conflict, there was coin.
Gazef pocketed the scroll and looked toward the school in the noble quarter.
"Brian's children…" he murmured. "Or... not by blood, maybe, but by heart."
He'd heard whispers, of course. Rumors that Brian had descended into the underworld of blades-for-hire and dark dealings. Some said he'd vanished to avoid disgrace. Others swore he'd dueled demons and walked away, changed. The truth, Gazef now knew, was far simpler and far nobler.
Brian had just been trying—like so many of them—to protect something precious.
His horse stamped the cobblestones, eager to move.
"Tell the men," Gazef said aloud, shifting his grip on the reins. "We ride north after sunset. I want scouts ahead and wagons ready. If they're striking villages, we'll give them a reason to hesitate."
"Yes, Sir!" the soldier saluted with crisp enthusiasm.
But even as the squad dispersed to prepare for another march into danger, Gazef's thoughts lingered behind—on a fellow warrior who'd once stood across from him in the tournament ring, eyes burning with fury and pride. The man who'd forced him to draw on every ounce of Vesture's teachings to win.
Brian.
Still strong.
Still standing.
Still a sword worth trusting.
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It was supposed to be a simple morning.
Naruto and Arche, both dressed for light travel, strolled toward E-Rantel's bustling Adventurer Guild. The streets hummed with the familiar medley of clanging forge-hammers, squawking market hens, and the sing-song shouts of potion hawkers promising miraculous cures for everything from battle fatigue to foot fungus.
Arche walked beside him with her hood drawn up, her silvery hair catching faint morning light. Her spellbook dangled at her hip like a wizard's badge of honour, and she carried herself with the quiet confidence of someone who knew the true weight of knowledge.
They were midway through the square when the ground trembled.
The distant thud-thud-thud of boots echoed down the cobbled avenue like a heartbeat. Children who had been playing knights-and-ogres stopped mid-swing, wooden swords half-raised. Shopkeepers leaned over stalls, craning to see.
An army was moving.
Long lines of Kingdom soldiers marched through the inner gates—dozens upon dozens of them, clad in polished mail and bearing the crimson standard of Re-Estize. The sun caught their helmets like firelight on water. The banners billowed dramatically in the wind, though even the breeze seemed unsure whether to cheer or carry warnings.
Naruto stopped in his tracks, expression sharpening as only a ninja's could.
Around them, the whispers began. Like spiders spinning a web of rumor:
"Another village burned—north of Katen."
"It's the Empire, I tell you. Those monsters strike in the dark, not even sparing the livestock..."
"One family—they say they found 'em lined up, like some kind of sick warning..."
"The King's sending Gazef this time. Must be serious if he's going."
Arche's breath caught beside him. "They're not just rumors, are they?"
Naruto's fists clenched. His jaw set.
"No… they're not."
His voice, usually warm and teasing, had gone cold—the kind of cold that precedes lightning.
He had heard of distant wars. Of nobles playing chess with real lives on the board. But this… this was on his doorstep. He had walked these streets, laughed here, trained here. He had shared meals with Arche and the children in this very city. The idea that people were being massacred not a day's ride away—it boiled his blood.
"This close," he muttered, eyes scanning the soldiers. "And I didn't even know. What good is all this power if I can't protect the people right under my nose?"
Arche turned to him, her soft voice trying to tether him.
"We didn't know, Naruto. No one did."
But Naruto shook his head. "It's not enough to be strong. You need to be aware."
He stared out at the soldiers vanishing down the avenue like a tide of steel and sweat.
"I'll go to the Guild. We need a quest that takes us north. I want to see what's happening. With my own eyes."
Arche nodded, gripping her book a little tighter.
The square began to move again. Whispers faded into murmurs. The soldiers disappeared into the horizon. But something in the air had shifted, as if the world had exhaled and decided not to relax.
Naruto Uzumaki had heard the call of injustice—and no matter the world, the name or the crown, he would answer it.