"Thrice, sir. Once for the stolen sheep, once for the burnt haystack, and a third time because he had a very punchable—well, kickable—expression." Barnaby leaned against a pillar, looking remarkably un-singed. "He’s currently relocating to the Southern Isles. He said the 'vibe' here was becoming too hostile toward giant lizards."
Barnaby wasn’t your average squire. While his peers spent their afternoons polishing shields and learning the delicate art of "not dying in a ditch," Barnaby was busy redefining the chivalric code. His philosophy was simple: why poke someone with a pointed stick when a well-placed boot to the backside achieves the same moral victory with significantly more flair? 11 : Butt-Kicking Squire
The heavy oak doors of the Great Hall didn't just open; they groaned under the weight of destiny—or perhaps just the sheer force of Barnaby’s oversized boots. "Thrice, sir
"Sir Roderick!" Barnaby shouted, his voice echoing off the tapestries. "The Dragon of Oakhaven has been dealt with." He said the 'vibe' here was becoming too
