Gabriel's POV – Barracks of Artois
The final blow landed with a resounding crack. Gabriel stepped back, lowering his blunted training sword as his opponent stumbled and fell to one knee. Silence fell over the training field. Even the watching squires and men-at-arms held their breath.
His mentor, an old veteran scarred by decades of beastmen raids, wiped sweat from his brow and smiled wearily.
"You've surpassed me, Gabriel. I have nothing left to teach you. You have taken the mantle of leadership and exceeded every noble's expectations. Your swordwork now rivals that of many Grail Guardians."
Gabriel offered the man a respectful nod, though his expression remained guarded. At twenty years old, he was no longer a promising ward — he was a full noble of Artois, officially recognized and feared on the training grounds.
As he left the field and walked alone through the muddy streets of the city, the weight of two lifetimes pressed down on him.
Twenty years in this world… and it still feels like I woke up from a nightmare yesterday.
The party. The betrayal. Elizabeth dying in his arms. The gunshots. All of it had faded into hazy fragments, but the emotions remained sharp — especially the anger. The easy-going, outgoing Gabriel from Earth had died that night. The man who walked these streets now trusted almost no one.
His father, Grail Knight Stovain, had raised him with strict discipline and quiet kindness. His mother had given him warmth. Yet he felt little true attachment to them. They were teachers more than family. Useful. Distant. Safe.
At seven, his father had marched off to war against the undead hordes of Vampire Count Kendrick Kemmler. Artois bled in those campaigns. Beastmen in the Forest of Arden grew bolder every season, making trade dangerous and life for peasants brutal. At fourteen, Gabriel had been made a ward of the court and granted command of eighty soldiers. He had trained them mercilessly, turning them into something better than common levies.
But gold was always the problem. Elite equipment and proper training cost more than a minor noble's stipend could easily cover. His mother was too devoted to his father to risk upsetting the household budget. Convincing her would be difficult.
Lost in thought, Gabriel reached the barracks. He watched his men training under several Bretonnian squires. The squires were skilled, but their loyalty belonged first to the Duke, not to him. He would need independent funds if he wanted true control over his company.
With a quiet sigh, he turned away from the barracks and continued down the muddy road. An idea had been forming for days. Dangerous, but necessary.
Elizabeth's POV – Castle Artois
Life as a princess of Couronne was nothing like the fairy tales she once read in her previous world.
For twenty years, Elizabeth had lived in near-isolation. Her mother, the Duchess, was a cold and calculating woman who issued commands through servants rather than offering affection. Her father, the Duke, was a man of the battlefield — rarely present, more interested in glory beside King Louen Leoncoeur than in ruling his own lands.
The one steady presence in her life had been Grail Knight Stovain. He visited the castle frequently, teaching her courtly politics, history, and the harsh realities of Bretonnia. She had come to think of him as more of a father than her own blood. When her magical talent began to bloom — an unnatural affinity for the Winds of Light and Life — Stovain had been the one to guide her early studies.
Now, at twenty, her formal magical apprenticeship was beginning in earnest. And Stovain had proposed that his son, Gabriel, serve as her personal champion and protector.
The name still sent a shiver through her.
Gabriel.
Could it truly be the same young man who had died trying to save her? The charismatic quarterback with kind blue eyes? Or was it simply a cruel coincidence in this grim world?
A soft knock at her chamber door pulled her from her thoughts.
"My lady Elizabeth," a servant called gently, "I am here to escort you to your magic lessons. The Lady's priestesses await."
Elizabeth smoothed her expression into one of regal calm and opened the door. "Very well. Lead on."
Third Person – The Forest of Arden
The next morning, Gabriel led a handpicked force of thirty of his best men deep into the Forest of Arden. Winter was approaching fast. They needed gold, and the forest held resources — if they could survive long enough to claim them.
The trees grew ancient and oppressive here. Twisted roots clutched at the earth like claws. The air smelled of damp rot and distant smoke.
"Sir," a scout whispered, returning from ahead, "we've crossed into confirmed beastmen territory. We should proceed carefully."
Gabriel nodded. They dismounted and continued on foot, weapons ready. Eventually, the wind carried the stench of decay and roasting meat. Through the trees, they spotted a crude camp. Roughly one hundred beastmen danced and grunted around a large bonfire, tearing into what were unmistakably human remains.
Gabriel's jaw tightened. Monsters.
He studied the camp coldly, mind working with the tactical precision he had honed in both lives. Direct assault was suicide. Instead, he sent ten men with torches to the far side of the camp.
"Start a controlled fire. Draw as many away as possible. We strike when the camp is thinned."
Fifteen tense minutes passed. Smoke began to rise. Shouts and animalistic roars echoed as over seventy beastmen charged into the woods to deal with the flames.
An opening.
Gabriel's POV
"Now!" Gabriel roared. "Charge! Leave none alive!"
His men surged forward with him. The remaining beastmen panicked. Gabriel moved like death incarnate — shield raised, sword flashing. He cut down the first gor that charged him, then spun to block a crude axe. Blood sprayed across his armor.
"Monster!" a beast howled.
A colossal war-bull emerged from a tent, roaring in fury. It smashed through two of Gabriel's soldiers with a single swing of its axe.
"Hold the line!" Gabriel shouted. "I'll take the giant. The rest of you finish the others!"
The duel was brutal and exhausting. The war-bull's strength was immense. Each blow rattled Gabriel's bones. But his training, combined with the calculating ruthlessness of his second life, gave him the edge. He dodged, feinted, and struck at joints and openings until the beast finally crashed to the ground.
The fight ended in victory, though not without cost. A handful of his men lay dead or wounded. They looted what they could — roughly six hundred gold in crude coin, jewelry, and stolen goods.
"Gather everything of value," Gabriel ordered, breathing hard. "We leave before the others return."
As they rode back toward the city under the darkening sky, one thought weighed heavily on him.
Tomorrow I swear my vow… and become the champion of the Princess.
If it really was her — the Elizabeth he had failed to save — then everything was about to become far more complicated.