11 : Butt-kicking Squire -

Sir Roderick looked up from his mutton, blinking in surprise. "Dealt with? You didn't even have a sword, boy. I forgot to give you the key to the armory."

"Sir Roderick!" Barnaby shouted, his voice echoing off the tapestries. "The Dragon of Oakhaven has been dealt with."

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

"You... you kicked it?" Roderick asked, his fork hovering mid-air.

Barnaby grinned, already eyeing the next set of doors. "Just 'Squire' is fine, sir. But keep the boots polished. We’ve got a giant to see about a beanstalk tomorrow, and I’ve got a feeling his shins are wide open." Sir Roderick looked up from his mutton, blinking in surprise

Roderick sighed, finally dropping the mutton. "I suppose I should update the scrolls. 'The Squire of the Swift Foot' has a certain ring to it."

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. I forgot to give you the key to the armory

"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."