We walked for a solid hour, and as the city streets gave way to broader roads and cleaner facades, the homes around us started getting… bigger.
No, massive.
What I had first considered "nicer houses" quickly revealed themselves to be sprawling, walled estates. Gated gardens, ornate ironwork, and manicured hedges lined the path.
That's when it really sank in:
The man I was walking beside wasn't just someone important.
He was someone big.
And he carried it with the kind of grace that made you forget just how high the pedestal he stood on actually was.
As we had walked, citizens waved cheerfully at him.
Women offered flowers, slipping shy glances.
Merchants leaned out of their stalls to call his name and offer discounts, gifts, praise..
Armored guards one and all saluted him.
Reinhard responded with the same gentle smile every time, gracious, never smug.
At first, I figured he was just a well-liked royal knight. But after hearing the sheer volume of adoration tossed his way, I started noticing the pattern. The common thread.
Eventually, curiosity got the better of me.
"So… Sword Saint, huh?"
His reaction almost floored me.
He gave an awkward smile, one hand rising to rub the back of his neck, suddenly less composed, almost... shy. The confident calm he'd carried through our entire walk seemed to crack slightly, revealing something far more human beneath it.
His gaze turned thoughtful, voice low.
"My family is... unique. Some days, it feels like I'm being crushed beneath the weight of their expectations. The title I've inherited demands that I do everything in my power to live up to the ideal placed on me, to be the strongest."
There was no arrogance in the way he said it. Just quiet pressure. Quiet pain.
I frowned, walking in silence for a beat.
"Sounds like a rough position to be in," I said eventually. "Back in my world, I had expectations too, nowhere near your level, but... enough to glimpse how heavy they can get."
Pushing through school. Keeping the grades up. Passing exams. Staying on track for college.
Never faltering. Never slacking.
Always pushing, because anything less felt like spitting on all the effort my parents poured into me.
'Stand strong. Do them proud.'
That mantra lived rent-free in the back of my skull every time I walked into another test, and my stomach cramped from stress. The constant worry and pressure that I might fall. That this test would be where I faltered.
It wasn't a nation riding on my shoulders like him, but it carried its own form of weight.
I gave him an awkward smile of my own.
"If it's not too far a reach... I'm always open to talk. I probably won't have any amazing answers, but I'll always be willing to listen."
That got a real smile out of him.
Not the polite kind. Not the practiced one.
The real kind, the kind that warmed the air around us.
"Thank you, Ethan. Truly. Perhaps I will take you up on that someday."
The moment passed, the mood lightened, and we continued on in easy conversation about the world I'd fallen into.
A little while later, we arrived.
And I realized, his house wasn't a house.
It was a mansion.
Standing before the colossal gates of the estate, I found myself pausing, not just at the size of the thing, but at the golden insignia etched into the center where the twin doors met.
A golden shield, trimmed in deep violet, stood proud against the steel, interlocking and symmetrical, like a seal that had held strong for centuries.
I glanced over at Reinhard's shoulder.
Same symbol. Same crest.
He noticed my gaze and gave a small smile.
"The crest of House Astrea," he said. "For generations, my family has served the Kingdom of Lugunica as Sword Saints. We stand as the stalwart shield against any threat to the kingdom and its people."
I expected the line to sound rehearsed, something memorized and repeated for the sake of formality.
But it didn't.
His voice carried weight, not boredom. Pride, not obligation.
He meant every word.
It reminded me of some of the deputies back in my hometown, the ones who actually gave a damn. The ones who'd pull long shifts not for glory, but because they genuinely cared about their community. The kind of people who'd quietly bleed if it meant someone else got to make it home safe.
It was an ideal I could get behind.
I wasn't the boots-on-the-ground type, not like him, but I always wanted to help. Maybe from behind a desk. Maybe behind a screen.
But helping was helping.
So, to his passion, I gave a firm nod and let a grin spread across my face, quiet approval, but genuine.
Finally stepping through the estate gates, I found myself genuinely taken aback by the level of care and precision in the landscaping.
The lawn was trimmed to perfection, not a single blade out of place. Hedges had been sculpted into clean, symmetrical arcs, lining the path like proud sentinels. Along either side of the walkway, rows of flowers bloomed in a myriad of colors, carefully arranged, yet still vibrant and alive.
As we walked down the main stone path, I lifted my gaze to the mansion ahead.
It wasn't the largest estate I'd seen on our walk here; if anything, it was modest compared to some of the behemoths we passed, but it had an understated elegance that made it stand out more.
Gleaming marble pillars flanked the front steps, leading up to two towering oak doors, each one engraved with the same Astrea crest I'd seen at the gate and on Reinhard's shoulder.
Everything here radiated tradition. Stability. History.
"You have a beautiful home," I said, my tone lighter now, warmed by the peaceful surroundings.
A small smile crept in. "And I haven't even seen the inside yet."
Reinhard chuckled, his voice a touch more relaxed than before, as if something heavy had quietly slipped off his shoulders.
"This is actually our second manor," he said. "It looks impressive, but only because we have to maintain appearances here in the capital. Our main estate is far more humble."
The way he said it, half joking, half sincere, told me he wasn't just brushing off the grandeur out of modesty. He really meant it.
For him, this place wasn't about pride. It was about duty.
With a smooth motion, Reinhard pushed open one of the massive oak doors, and I mean massive, easily three times our height and a couple feet thick.
He swung it open like it was nothing. Effortless.
I blinked at him, visibly stunned.
He noticed, and actually laughed. Light, genuine.
"It's not my strength," he said with a grin. "The doors are enchanted to open more easily for those recognized by the estate wards."
I made a little oh face in response, and before I could say anything else, he gently ushered me forward.
Inside, the entry hall spread out like something out of a museum crossed with a noble's armory.
The floor beneath my sneakers was smooth marble, polished to a mirror shine. A deep violet runner carpet led straight through the center, its edges stitched with the same golden crest I'd seen on the gate. The ceiling arched high above us, supported by carved stone columns, and every few feet along the walls—
Swords.
Dozens of them. Mounted in gleaming displays, each one different, some thin and curved, others heavy and broad, some elegant, others brutal. Beneath each blade, a small engraved plaque offered names, dates, and battles fought. Some displays held a full matching set: sword, dagger, sheath. Others had only a blade, cracked or blackened from fire, preserved like relics.
This wasn't just decoration.
This was a legacy on display.
Of course the Sword Saint's home had walls lined with swords.
Even so, I caught myself slowing down just to gawk.
Then I noticed them, two young maids standing near the base of the stairs ahead. Twins, by the look of it. Petite, maybe ten years old at best, with short peach-colored hair tied with cheerful yellow ribbons. Even their eyes matched, a soft pink-orange hue that shimmered under the crystal chandeliers overhead.
Their uniforms resembled the classic maid look from my world, though simpler and more practical. Made sense, I supposed, different world, different standards.
Still, maids that young?
It gave me pause.
But the girls didn't seem tired or overworked. Just... curious.
They studied me with polite, veiled interest, then dipped into a graceful, synchronized curtsy before turning to Reinhard.
"Welcome back, Master Reinhard. Shall we provide refreshments for your guest?"
They spoke in perfect unison, and in any other setting, that might have been the start of a horror movie. But their soft tone turned it into something practiced, elegant, almost comforting.
Still.
Twins. Maid uniforms. Unison dialogue.
'Yeah. I am definitely in a fantasy world now. This is like, next level cliché.'
Reinhard responded to the twins in his ever-polite tone.
"Ah, Flam, Grassis, thank you for the offer. That would be appreciated. Could you bring us tea and lunch in the drawing room, please?"
This time, they didn't just speak in unison; they split the sentence.
The one with a lateral fringe began, "Of course, Master Reinhard—"
The one with a straight fringe finished seamlessly, "We'll provide you with lunch and refreshments as soon as possible."
They dipped into another perfectly matched curtsy and turned with robotic grace, gliding off in step like a mirrored reflection.
I tilted my head as we resumed walking.
"Cute... maids?" I said, almost to myself. "Never seen any in real life. Didn't expect them to be so young."
Reinhard glanced at me, a flicker of confusion passing through his normally steady gaze.
"The one on the left was Flam. The right, Grassis. They serve the Astrea household. While they're young, they wished to work alongside their family, who also serve our house." He hesitated for a second. "Pardon me asking, but... what do you mean by 'in real life'?"
I gave him a small, lopsided smile.
Even that one little phrase had slipped through. It hit me how far from home I really was.
"Ah, bit hard to explain quickly. Let's just say the world I come from has… much higher technology than yours. The way we see things like maids is mostly through fiction, entertainment, not many actually employ real maids."
Reinhard didn't press further, but I caught the intrigue in his eyes.
Curiosity, held back by politeness.
He simply nodded and led me down a long hallway, its walls lined with smooth stone and dark wood accents. A wide window let golden light spill across the carpet, and ornate sconces with crystals instead of flame lit the shadows in between. I caught sight of more Astrea emblems etched subtly into the moldings; there was no escaping the family's legacy, not even in the wallpaper.
We stopped at a thick door set into the side of the hall. Reinhard rested his hand on the handle, then turned to me with a soft smile.
It was then that I was given the honor of meeting Reinhard's father.
By that, I mean the man was a complete asshole, which made me wonder how Rein turned out so damn decent when his own bloodline seemed determined to fail him.
"Well, well. About time you came back, Reinhard."
The voice echoing from down the hall was coarse, slurred, and far from welcoming.
Marching toward us with heavy steps was Heinkel van Astrea, Reinhard's father, and a walking PSA for what not to become. A brown knapsack jostled over one shoulder, and in the other hand, he carried a massive bottle of something that was definitely not water. Judging by the sloshing from the bag, he had more where that came from.
Now that he stood in front of us, I could fully take in the disaster that was the middle-aged man before me.
Up close, the tragedy was undeniable. His hair, duller and redder than Reinhard's, was unkempt and wild. His jaw wore a patchy stubble that screamed zero effort. Bloodshot eyes sat above heavy, dark circles, the kind you earn from staying up too late doing God knows what. Lips chapped to hell. One boot missing. Shirt half-unbuttoned like he couldn't decide whether he was getting dressed or giving up.
And the look in his eyes?
Like the world owed him something, and Reinhard was the one who stole it.
"And who's this then?" He sneered. "Some stray you picked up off the street? Gods help me, boy, you'll take in anyone who smiles at you."
I blinked.
'Damn. No warm-up. Just straight for the throat.'
Reinhard didn't flinch.
"This is Ethan Caldwell," he said evenly. "He's a guest. And I'd appreciate it if you spoke to him with respect."
Heinkel barked out a joyless laugh and tossed back the rest of his drink. Then, with all the grace of a toddler, he hurled the bottle into the wall beside us. Glass exploded, raining down in glittering shards across the once-spotless tiles.
"Respect? You think respect is free, Reinhard? You don't get to hand it out like candy to every nobody who steps through our door."
His glare snapped back to me, appraising and hostile.
"You from a backwater village, or are you just another star-eyed fool looking to leech off the Astrea name?"
I kept my voice level, cool, but not confrontational. As much as I wanted to knock the man down a peg, I was a guest, and all things considered, he was definitely more built than me.
"Neither, sir. Just a lost traveler. Reinhard offered me kindness, not the other way around."
The silence that followed was heavy, thick with something unspoken.
Then Heinkel scoffed and turned towards the door Reinhard had been about to open prior to this nice meeting.
"Whatever. Just don't touch anything."
Without waiting for a reply, he swung the door open and slammed it shut behind him like a sulking teen.
The sound echoed down the hallway.
'Don't let the door hit you on the ass on the way in, prick.' I grumbled internally.
Reinhard gave me a small, apologetic smile but didn't break his calm.
I understood immediately.
This wasn't the exception. This was normal.
My expression, which had been carefully neutral, slowly shifted into something more concerned for my friend.
We walked in silence a bit longer, the sound of our steps the only thing filling the hall, until I finally reached out and placed a hand on Reinhard's shoulder.
"You good, buddy?" I asked, gently. "He always such a colossal dick?"
Reinhard's face, still stiff with embarrassment from the scene we'd just witnessed, twitched into a tired sort of smile. "My father is a troubled man," he said, voice low. "I've made my share of mistakes in the past… some of them still trouble him. I try to make up for them every day."
This wasn't the time to dig deeper, but I filed it away. Someday, I'd ask him what those mistakes were. Someday, I'd help shoulder the weight if he let me.
I shook my head. "Whatever you did, there's no way that justifies him turning out like that."
I shifted my tone, lifting it a little, easing us both away from the black cloud hanging over the moment. "So. Where are we gonna eat now that he's hijacked the drawing room, pal?"
Reinhard gave me a more genuine smile this time, soft and grateful. "There's a place I use when I'm here in the capital," he said. "A quiet little room off the servant's kitchen. It's private, and peaceful."
Turning a corner, we came upon a small group of maids chatting quietly with a tall man who I could only assume was the head butler. When I glanced at Reinhard for confirmation, he gave me a relaxed smile that said: "They're fine. They're good people."
Stepping ahead of me, Reinhard addressed the butler in his usual polite tone.
"Mr. Grimm, could you please let Flam and Grassis know that my guest and I will be taking our lunch in the usual room near the kitchen instead of the drawing room?"
The older man, tall, broad-shouldered, with a strong jawline and a white beard so well-kept it practically shone, turned to face him. A thin scar ran across his throat, but his voice was steady, if not a little quiet, and warm. His sharp eyes, which had initially narrowed with the precision of a soldier, quickly softened at the sight of Reinhard.
"Of course, Master Reinhard. It's wonderful to see you again." He then turned his attention to me, gaze steady, assessing, not with suspicion, but the kind of quiet scrutiny someone gives when trying to judge a man's character on short notice. "May I inquire if your guest is in need of anything?"
Was I trustworthy? Worth Reinhard's time?
I kept my tone light and respectful. "I don't need anything at the moment, Mr. Grimm. Thank you for the offer, though."
I added a light bow for good measure. It earned me a nod of approval from the man, and a small smile from Reinhard.
I thought we were about to move on when Reinhard addressed the gathered maids. "Apologies, ladies, but my father appears to be… distressed at the moment. He's made a bit of a mess in the hallway outside the drawing room. Please spread the word to steer clear of the area for now, I'll take care of it myself."
The maids lit up at his words, not just out of admiration, but gratitude. They all smiled warmly, responding with enthusiasm and reverence, some even placing hands to their hearts as they promised to pass along the warning and work even harder.
It was clear to me now: Reinhard wasn't alone.
Even if his father barely saw him, these people did. And they loved him for it.
'Though maybe... the reverence is part of the problem', I thought, watching the adoration on their faces. 'Hard to be seen when everyone expects you to be perfect.'
After parting on a friendly note from the Astrea staff, we turned down one final hallway. The air changed subtly, warmer, fuller, and I caught a whiff of something that made my stomach physically ache.
Savory herbs. Fresh bread. Roasted something. My nose wouldn't lie to me like that. I had faith in its holy compass.
We passed by the wide double doors of the kitchen, and it took everything in me not to throw them open and dive inside like a starving raccoon.
'No. I am a man of respect. I have manners. I can last ten more minutes without licking a cutting board.'
'…Probably.'
Marching onward with the strength of a thousand rumbling stomachs, we stopped just short of the end of the hallway. There, nestled beside a wide window that offered a view of the Astrea estate's sparring grounds, was a small wooden door. Plain, unpainted, unassuming, but Reinhard paused before it with a familiarity that said this was his place.
Reinhard, ever the gentleman and kind friend, opened the door with a practiced ease. Honestly, I had a sneaking suspicion that even if he tripped over his own feet, he'd manage to make it look intentional. The kind of guy who could fumble a handshake and still get knighted for it.
As I stepped through the door, my eyes swept across the room. It was humble, but clearly well-loved.
Soft beige stone walls were accented with deep, burnished oak paneling along the lower half, and a handful of faded landscape paintings hung in simple wooden frames. Nothing fancy, but placed with care. A nearby window let warm afternoon sunlight spill in, and beyond it, I spotted a neat herb garden swaying gently in the breeze, full of plants I didn't recognize, but probably the "you-will-die-if-you-eat-this-wrong" fantasy type.
At the room's heart stood a thick wooden table. Sturdy. Scratched. Dependable.
The chairs didn't match, one had a cushion, one had none, one looked like it had been re-stained sometime in the last decade, but the mismatched look just added to the room's charm. A fireplace rested in one corner, unlit but spotless, ready to be used.
And then there was a soft-looking red couch parked right in front of it, practically singing my name.
I resisted. Barely.
The whole place felt… safe. Not like a soldier's fortress. Like a real home, the kind of space where you could set down your burdens and just be for a while.
Reinhard approached the table and ran his hand along the wood with the faintest hint of nostalgia in his eyes. Before sitting, Reinhard unbuckled the sword from his hip and leaned it carefully against the table. Then, with wordless ease, we took our seats across from one another.
At long last, I dropped the sacred burden I'd carried across half the damn capital, the twelve-pack of Dr. Pepper, now sweating through the cardboard like it, too, had been through a long day.
I slumped into the plush wooden chair, and my spine cracked with a sound I was pretty sure violated noise ordinances in at least seven U.S. states.
Looking up at Reinhard, I gave him the biggest, dumbest, most exhausted smile I could muster.
He returned it, bright and effortless, like smiling was just his default setting, and I leaned back, trying to keep my posture respectful but also… God, finally letting go.
At last.
I could take a fucking break.