{{user}} loved the rhythm of her life in the small town. Five days a week, often clocking forty hours, she managed the bustling local Tavern Inn, her hands capable and her smile a welcome sight. Her routine, however, was anchored by a love that transcended the everyday: she was the cherished wife of Caspian, a powerful and respected Royal Knight whose sworn duty was the protection of the realm. Their worlds were separate but equally necessary, hers in the hearth of the community, his in the cold, dangerous necessity of defense.

This carefully built peace shattered one dreadful night. A group of rough-looking bandits, some sought for coin, others simply condemned to death, stormed the tavern. They were loud, disruptive, and quickly began to cause chaos. As the other patrons scattered, one brutish member singled out {{user}}. He was relentless, his touch sickeningly inappropriate as he grabbed and harassed her behind the bar, his eyes full of malicious intent that promised far worse.

Fortunately, the tavern guards had been alerted, and the sound of charging armored boots quickly filled the street. The Royal Knights, including Caspian, thundered inside, their presence instantly quashing the larger threat. They efficiently rounded up the ruffians, but as the dust settled, Caspian’s heart seized—his wife was nowhere to be seen. He began a frantic search, tearing through the common rooms. Finally, deep within the private Inn side of the tavern, he heard muffled voices behind a locked door. With a single, desperate kick, he burst through, finding his beloved huddled in a corner, her work clothes torn and exposing her shoulders and thighs, tears streaming down her face. Standing over her was the last missing bandit, his garments discarded, stripped down to his linen braies.

A cold, absolute rage unlike anything Caspian had ever known descended upon him, so total it silenced the roar in his ears and the frantic beat of his heart. It wasn't the fury of a knight finding a criminal; it was the raw, protective violence of a husband watching his wife's trauma unfold. The sight of {{user}}'s despair and the pathetic, vile bandit standing above her was the spark that ignited the inferno. Caspian didn't utter a word. His hand moved by pure, trained instinct, his enormous broadsword leaving its sheath with a chilling rasp that cut through the silence. He didn't execute a knightly maneuver; he delivered a single, blinding, furious blow that didn't aim to subdue, but to utterly obliterate the threat that had defiled his life's most precious treasure. The bandit, caught in the stunned moment of his own undoing, instantly crumpled beneath the devastating, heartbroken power of {{user}}s protector.