Chapter 03 Chasing after Quiet Life

He giggled as they both kissed his forehead goodnight. His father gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze.

“Sleep well, my boy.”

“Good night, our miracle,” his mother added.

They stood at the door a moment longer before quietly stepping out and closing it behind them. Rein lay on his back, staring at the ceiling. He’d never had this kind of love before. Not in the world he came from. His old life was faded and grey—full of yelling, arguments, and empty rooms. But here… Here he was someone special. Loved. Cherished.

"I love them. I really do. They’re everything I wished for and never had in my past life. And I’ll protect them… even if it cost me my life."

The warmth from their presence still lingered in the blankets. He sighed and let his eyes drift shut.

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Two years later

Rein’s wooden sword hit against his opponent's with a sharp crack, stinging his arms. He gritted his teeth and pivoted, using his smaller frame to duck under the knight’s counter. He didn’t land a strike, but he didn’t fall either—and that, in itself, was a victory.

“Keep your guard up!” the knight shouted, stepping in with a sweep that nearly took Rein’s feet out from under him.

“I’m trying!” Rein shouted back. His heart pounded with the same excitement it always did when he trained—half fear, half thrill.

They clashed again. The wooden swords rang out like hammers striking steel.

"I haven’t won yet," Rein thought, "but I’m still standing. That counts for something."

He bounced back a step, legs aching, sweat trickling down the side of his face. His knuckles hurt from gripping the hilt too tightly, but he held on.

"Five years old. And I can hold my own against a full-grown knight. Well, sort of."

He darted in again, aiming for the knight’s ribs.

 Parried. 

He twisted, tried for a feint.

 Blocked. 

Then came the push—a heavy shoulder bump that sent Rein stumbling back across the sparring ground, landing on his butt with a dusty thud.

A beat of silence. Then: laughter. Rein’s own.

The knight asked, lowering his sword, “Well, young prince, we go again? We have been on this for hours, I suggest taking some rest. What would you like?”

 “Ugh, rest would be nice. Let me catch my breath. I only have tiny lungs.”

The knight smiled and offered a hand. Rein took it, hauled to his feet with a grunt.

"Two years since I started training for real. Two years of swordplay with the castle guards. Two years of learning to shape mana into flame and light. I’m not just a weird, reincarnated kid anymore. I’m starting to become something… more."

The knight clapped him on the shoulder. 

“You're a natural warrior, kid. Still lacking in size of course but you have the skills. Give it a few years and you will beat me no problem.”

“Thanks, I think.”

He turned his gaze to the training courtyard—stone walls surrounding the practice grounds, the sound of other knights sparring nearby, sunlight reflecting off armor and weapons. The smell of sweat and dirt, the clang of blades. This place had become familiar. A second home.

"Most kids my age are learning their letters or how not to fall face-first into soup. Me? I’m practicing sword forms and sparring with men three times my size. I’ve grown so much, and it still feels like I’ve barely started."

His magic had come in bits and pieces over the last year. First, it was just sparks. Then tiny lights dancing in his palms. Then warmth—a controlled ember that sat in his hand like a flickering candle. By now, he could conjure a small flame strong enough to light a torch and even push it outward like a weak firebolt. 

"It's not much but I'm getting there. Over this past year I got a good grasp on how magic works. It's only matter of time now."

The magic tutors said he was gifted. His sword instructors called him scary. The servants whispered that he had the strength and the focus of a grown man.

None of them knew the truth.

"They don’t know I had another life. That I already know what it's like to be weak, ignored, worthless. I’m not going back to that. Not here. Not ever."

Somewhere inside, his parents were probably watching from a balcony. His mother had a habit of sneaking peeks at his training sessions when she thought he wouldn’t notice. His father often came down himself, giving clumsy but enthusiastic advice like “Hit harder!” or “Don’t fall on your face!”

They were good to him. Better than he’d ever dreamed parents could be. The love they gave was real warmth that filled the hollow places inside him.

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At the far end, King Arthur stood near the fire, his hands clasped behind his back, eyes locked on the flickering flames. His robe dragged faintly as he turned.

Before him stood Cael, his son. And beside Cael, his wife Elenora, hands folded in front of her. She kept her eyes low, shoulders stiff beneath her modest noble dress.

Arthur’s gaze shifted from the woman to his son. “My dear boy. You’ve come to speak of Rein.”

“Yes, father.”

“You’ve done well, Cael. You and your wife. Rein is... special. But you know that better than anyone. His strength, his magic, his mind—at five years old, and already he carries the weight of his name with pride.”

 “Yes, father. He’s remarkable and I’m proud of him.”

“As am I, my boy.”  He stepped past them, hands clasped behind his back, voice lowering to something nearly fond.

 “He is of my blood. Royal blood. A gift from the heavens. There has not been a child like him in this kingdom for over a hundred years. The strength in him… he could even surpass the Hero of old.” 

He turned, smiling gently, “In time, he may succeed me. The world is changing, and even I will not live forever.”

Elenora’s eyes darted up, worry flickering. But she said nothing. She couldn't, was too afraid.

“Father, he’s just a child.”

“Oh, my foolish son, this child is destined for greatness.”

“No, father. He’s a child. Not a sword. Not a throne. And not your legacy to carve into shape.”

Arthur’s smile waned, “You would deny him his future?”

“I’m giving him one. A real one. One he chooses.”

Elenora bowed her head, voice almost a whisper, “My King... we mean no offense.”

But Arthur’s gaze didn’t leave his son.

“And what would you have him be? A farmer?! A shopkeep?! Hide him away in the woods while the world begs for a leader?”

“Father, I will not back down on my words. It is decided. We’re leaving the castle. We’ve found a home—peaceful, far from the court. Rein will be raised there. He’ll learn the sword, the spell, the world, yes. But he will not be turned into a symbol. Not unless he wants to be.”

Arthur’s voice dropped to an angry whisper. 

“You would steal him from me? Rob him of the greatness he is destined to have? You dare to hide the savior of our kingdom and its people?”

“No, father, I’m saving him from you.”

A long moment passed.

Then Arthur laughed. Softly. Not cruelly—but not warmly, either.

 “You were always more heart than mind, my son. My foolish son. Do as you wish, you have my blessing. But mark my words, you will regret it one day.”

“Maybe I will, maybe I won't, only time will tell, father.” 

Arthur’s smile didn’t fade, but his eyes cooled. 

“Go, then. Take your wife, take the boy. Build your quiet life behind your stone walls and countryside. But know this, Cael—blood does not forget its purpose. You may teach him the sword for play, but one day, the world will demand it be used for war. You may raise him far from politics, but fate has long arms.”

Cael turned to leave, gently placing a hand on Elenora’s back. Just before the doors opened, Arthur added quietly, “And when that time comes... I pray you haven’t raised him too soft to rise.”

Cael didn’t look back as he said, “If he rises, it will be as himself. Not as your shadow or some fake Hero.”

The doors closed behind them. Arthur remained alone in the waning golden light. His smile was gone. Only dark shadow falling over his eyes.