Several days had passed since the tournament, and Twig still believed that training young Madrik in the art of swordsmanship might be the key to completing his mission.
The boy was improving fast — disciplined, eager, and naturally talented — yet even after all the effort and passing days, the System remained silent. No completion notice. No reward. Nothing.
Night had fallen over the city. The stone streets were quiet, lit only by the flickering glow of torches fixed to the walls. Twig and his squire walked side by side through the narrow lanes.
"Ser Monde, Ser Monde!" Madrik called cheerfully. "My swordsmanship's getting better, isn't it? What do you think?"
Twig's tone was patient but firm, the voice of a teacher.
"You're improving, Madrik. But don't let pride get to you. No matter how skilled you become, keep your humility. The moment you let arrogance rise to your head—"
He gave a faint, knowing smile. "—might be the last moment it stays attached to your body."
The boy's eyes widened, and he gulped hard.
"Y-yes, Ser Monde! I'll remember that!"
Twig chuckled softly, pleased by the boy's sincerity — though his mind was elsewhere.
What am I missing? What's keeping this mission from ending? I've been stuck here for so long… doing everything right, and still no progress.
As they turned into a dim alley, searching for an inn, the silence of the night was broken by the distant sounds of the city fading behind them. Madrik, distracted, bumped into another figure coming from the opposite direction. Both fell to the ground with a thud of falling to the solid ground.
Twig rushed to help them up. "Are you all right?"
"I'm fine, master!" Madrik replied quickly, face flushed with embarrassment.
The other "boy," cloaked and wearing simple clothes, hesitated before standing. When Twig offered a hand, he caught a glimpse of something — a familiar softness in the face, the hint of noble features beneath the grime.
Then it struck him. The eyes, the poise — even through the disguise, he knew.
No way… Princess Rhaenyra.
Twig froze for half a heartbeat. So it's that moment from the series… when she sneaks out of the Red Keep at night to walk among the people.
He forced himself to stay composed. Do I call her out? No… that'd cause a scene. Better to play along. Pretend I didn't notice.
The "boy" stared at him nervously, realizing she might have slipped. "You… you're Ser Monde Rouster, aren't you? The champion of the melee?"
Twig smiled politely, keeping his tone light. "Ah, so you recognize me? That was quite the noisy event, wasn't it?"
"Yes, I… I saw you fight," she said quickly, trying to sound casual. "Your skill was… impressive."
"Well, I'm glad someone enjoyed the show," Twig said. Internally, though, his mind was racing. What's she doing out here, dressed like this? Alone, at night? If someone else finds her, it could turn into a royal disaster.
Madrik, squinting, tilted his head. "Ser Monde… doesn't this boy look familiar to you somehow?"
Twig's expression froze for a fraction of a second — and so did Rhaenyra's. Their eyes risen in mutual alarm.
He reacted fast, forcing a laugh. "What are you talking about, Madrik? I've never seen him before."
The boy scratched his head awkwardly. "Huh… guess it's just my imagination, then."
"Exactly," Twig said, chuckling. "Come now — let's find an inn before the hunger catches us."
As they continued down the street, Rhaenyra pulled her hood tighter, visibly relieved.
That was close, Twig thought. But now there's no doubt — that's her. Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen, wandering King's Landing disguised as a boy. Just like in the story.
Before they could go much farther, she called out:
"Ser Monde! You said you were looking for an inn? I think there's one nearby. I can show you — and pay for my own meal."
Twig paused, considering. Can't let her wander off alone. If something happens, I'd be responsible.
He smiled faintly. "No need. I've got more than enough gold for one more plate. Come along, lad — no sense letting you get lost in the dark."
Guided by the disguised princess, they soon found a small inn — simple, but warm and inviting. The scent of stew filled the air, and a crackling fire glowed in the hearth.
Moments later, the three were seated at a wooden table, food steaming before them. Madrik attacked his meal like a starving wolf, while "Rhaenys" — as she called herself — ate slowly, eyes often drifting to the mysterious knight across from her.
"Manners, boy," Twig said mildly. "Chew slowly. The food isn't going anywhere."
"Y-yes, master," Madrik mumbled, swallowing quickly and slowing his pace.
Twig turned to the cloaked "boy." "And you, young man — what's your name? I don't think I caught it earlier. And thank you for helping us find this fine place."
"Ah… Rhaenys," she said quickly.
"Rhaenys, huh?" Twig arched an eyebrow, smiling knowingly. "That's quite a name. Noble-sounding, even. You from a good family?"
Her posture stiffened. She hesitated, fumbling for a response.
Seeing her discomfort, Twig decided to ease off. "Forgive me," he said gently. "I shouldn't pry. Rhaenys is a fine name. That's all that matters."
"Thank you, Ser Monde," she replied quietly. After a brief pause, her curiosity took over. "I heard you're on some kind of quest — to discover the true worth of a knight. Is that true?"
Twig's brow furrowed. "My mission? How do you know about that?"
The words left his mouth before he could stop them. The girl froze — realizing she'd just revealed too much.
Twig exhaled slowly. She's making this harder for herself.
He looked her straight in the eye. "It's all right, Princess Rhaenyra," he said calmly. "You can stop pretending. I know who you are. You don't need to lie — it's exhausting, and honestly, you're not very good at it."
Her eyes widened. The color drained from her face.
"You… you knew from the start?" she whispered.
Madrik's jaw dropped. "P-Princess—?!"
Twig immediately pressed a hand to his squire's shoulder, forcing him back down into his seat. "Quiet," he said softly but firmly. "No shouting. No attention. Understood?"
Madrik nodded quickly, pale as milk. "Y-yes, master."
Rhaenyra sighed, her voice trembling. "I thought my disguise would hold. I just wanted… to see the city. To feel free for a while."
"It's dangerous," Twig said, leaning slightly closer. "A princess walking alone at night — even disguised — is a risk. You could be recognized, or worse. The streets are cruel to anyone, noble or not."
She stared down at her untouched food. His tone softened.
"But you're safe now," he added with a faint smile. "With me around, no one's going to lay a finger on you tonight."
Madrik nodded eagerly. "That's true, Princess! My master's the best swordsman in the realm — no one would dare touch you!"
Rhaenyra blinked, then smiled for the first time that evening.
Twig leaned back. "You asked about my mission earlier," he said. "The truth is, I still haven't found what I'm looking for. I don't know what 'the true worth of a knight' really means."
Rhaenyra tilted her head thoughtfully. "That's a noble quest, Ser Monde. I wonder… perhaps a knight's worth lies in his strength. A knight strong enough to defeat any foe would surely be of great value."
Twig rubbed his chin in thought. "If strength were all it took, I'd have finished long ago. Winning the tournament should've been enough. But somehow, it wasn't."
He turned to his squire. "And what do you think, Madrik? What makes a knight truly worthy?"
"Me?" the boy stammered. "Well… I think you already are one, master."
Twig blinked, surprised. "I am? Why's that?"
The boy took a deep breath, speaking earnestly.
"Because you found me in Flea Bottom — a filthy street rat. You didn't judge me, or hit me, or call me trash. You gave me food, clothes… and hope. You're teaching me to be someone better. If that's not the true worth of a knight, I don't know what is."
Twig sat quietly for a long moment, his expression softening. A small, genuine smile formed on his lips.
Maybe that's the closest I've come to understanding it.
"Flea Bottom, huh?" he asked suddenly, frowning slightly. "So that's where I found you? When was that, exactly?"
"Just a day before the tournament," Madrik said, blinking in confusion. "Don't you remember, master? You walked right up to me and said I'd be your squire. I thought you were joking — or crazy."
Twig's mind reeled. Only a day before the tournament…? Then this body didn't belong to anyone real.
He glanced down at his hands — the faint metallic sheen of his gauntlet reflecting the firelight.
No… this can't be coincidence. This avatar — this body — must've been created by the System. Made for me. To exist, to learn, to complete the mission.
He straightened, eyes narrowing slightly. If that's true… then maybe the place I first appeared holds the answer.
"Madrik," he said softly, "can you take me back there? To where we first met?"
The boy's face went pale. "You're not… going to leave me there, are you?"
Twig smiled faintly and placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "Of course not. I just want to see it again. Maybe I'll remember something."
Rhaenyra, still listening, frowned. "You don't remember what happened before the tournament?"
Twig shook his head. "Not clearly. But maybe if I go back, I'll find a clue. A starting point."
Madrik nodded quickly. "I can take you there, master! It's not far."
"Good," Twig said. "Once we finish eating, we'll go."
Across the table, Rhaenyra studied him quietly, eyes gleaming with curiosity. She didn't quite understand what kind of knight he was — or what kind of memory he was truly chasing — but something about him felt larger than the world she knew.